#anyway to this day i see posts by them and my hackles go up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawberrystepmom · 1 month

Text

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs.

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils.

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear.

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face.

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen.

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found.

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community.

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5.

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?"

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups.

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago.

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?”

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea.

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most.

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands.

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap.

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty.

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up.

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs.

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless.

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon.

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh.

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next.

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak.

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further.

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better.

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth.

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.”

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority.

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag.

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live.

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone?

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him.

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown.

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder.

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you.

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression.

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly.

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?”

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod.

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm.

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs.

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit.

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love.

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does.

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.”

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back.

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #kendall writes

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schrodingers-romy · 1 year

Text

The Dollmaker [Douma x Reader]

Pairing: Douma x fem!reader

Summary: You are a dollmaker; you follow your friend to the Eternal Paradise Cult and are fascinated by its leader, a man who looks much like the dolls you make...

Warnings: ehhh blood? mention of consuming human flesh? honestly below canon typical level.

Word count: ~2,000

Notes: Uh hey yeah so this is the first thing I've really written in a while (aside from brainstorming stuff). I wrote it last night in one manic sitting. I let it languish for a bit, then went back and re-read it. Honestly can't tell if it's good. But I did have fun writing it! So. Debated posting but I figured someone might like it? Idk. Minimally edited as well so read at your own risk ig. *crawls back under my rock*.

[Edit: Ao3 link]

You’re not a religious person. You suppose you might believe in spirits; it’s hard to be a doll maker like yourself and not have some belief in them. But Gods? Prayers? You can’t understand it.

But it’s your disbelief that prompts you to follow your friend to the Eternal Paradise cult. You worry about her; she’s always been the more gullible out of you two, and her family encouraged her belief in gods. The cult is probably just a scam, and you know you need to be there to shield your friend from the worst of the consequences. So, you pass your work off to one of your employees and follow her up to the temple on the mountain.

You feel a sense of foreboding once you enter the temple. The cultists are all dressed similarly; most are women, and young ones at that. You know the cult was primarily marketed towards these people, but it still raises your hackles. You know the cult leader is a man, and these are the people men like to take advantage of the most. You don’t want to be here, but you’re glad you didn’t let your friend go on her own.

It is apparently a slow day within the cult, as you only wait in the bustling reception room for what feels like a few minutes before one of the women tells you that the leader is ready to see you now. She asks if you’d like to go separately; you say no. She nods demurely back, and motions towards the doors.

Once you enter, your eyes are immediately drawn to the man lounging on the platform at the far end of the room. You can’t look away from him.

He smiles, almost benevolently at you two, but it doesn’t reach his multicolored eyes. “Welcome! I am Dōma; what seems to be troubling you, my dears?”

Your friend speaks up, but you tune her out. You’ve already borne the brunt of listening to her problems; you use the time instead to study this Dōma.

He seems so animated. He smiles, his face twists into something sympathetic, understanding. And yet nothing seems to reach his eyes.

As you watch him lift an elegant, pale hand to make a gesture, you realize something. He reminds you of some of your dolls.

He was like a puppet. Crafted lovingly, painstakingly to look like the mirror image of a true human. Skilled hands could make the doll, and skilled hands could manipulate its face and body parts to look human-like. But in the end, the glass eyes of the doll held no emotion, no life. The same was true of Dōma.

You wonder if that’s what it means to be a prophet for the gods. If he’s simply a divine puppet, moved by invisible puppeteers. If an unimaginable being crafted his eyes to be so doll-like, inhuman. Maybe that was how they marked him as other. It would make sense; you’ve never seen eyes like that on anyone else.

You try to listen to what he says. It’s hard, when you keep losing the thread of conversation in favor of watching flashes of sharp, perfect teeth that shine whenever he opens his mouth.

It’s all meaningless platitudes, anyway. Hardly different from what other religious people would say. You take back your assumption about him being a divine puppet. There is no holy wisdom in this man, in this doll.

It makes you wonder who then is puppeteering him if not the gods. Is he simply a spirit, locked in an unnatural body? Who created such a lifelike vessel? For what purpose? To make something, so close to humanity, and yet so far….such craftsmanship you could only dream of achieving with your own dolls.

You get the strange urge to break him open. You wonder what he’s made of, what he looks like on the inside. How was such a thing made?

You are broken out of your haze once he turns to you.

“And you? Why did you come to me?” his eyes are piercing, for glass. You've never seen a doll with eyes so alive, so you waver a moment. Maybe he is a real person? But you’ve never seen a person with eyes so void of true feeling.

You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry. You almost spill your thoughts, and ask him if he is a doll. You stop yourself, thankfully, and stutter out the true response. “I came to be with her. To make sure she was safe.”

He rests his chin on one hand, eyes never leaving you. “Did you think I would hurt her?”

Your friend tries to cut in with a hasty apology on your behalf. You cut her off. “The way up the mountain can be treacherous. What makes you think I was thinking of you?”

He tilts his head in easy acquiescence. “But you were. Don’t worry though! I won’t hurt her!” He gives you a bright smile, and you marvel at the workmanship that must have gone into making him smile so naturally.

You don’t speak, again, only nodding your goodbye to him as you and your friend exit the room.

She almost speaks to you, but something on your face must discourage her. Instead, she asks on of the many cult members bustling around if you two could stay the night.

You are placed in a single room, with two futons. Your friend lies down immediately, making some offhand comments about being exhausted after your journey, and how nervous she felt talking to Dōma. You only half listen to her. Your mind lingers on Dōma, on the living doll this cult calls their leader. You feel more focused on him than you’ve ever felt about anything. There’s something about him that pulls you in.

Even as you lay to sleep, your mind doesn’t stop. You’re so sure he must be a doll, a puppet. Someone who moves like him can’t be human.

But there is a niggling doubt. Maybe you’re wrong? Maybe this is just what cult leaders look like. Unnatural beauty that draws people in like scavengers to a corpse.

Well, you think to yourself. Only one way to find out.

You get up. Your friend is sound asleep. She has had a long day. You leave her behind as you pad along the vast corridors of the temple. You don’t know where you’re going, but your feet are trying to lead you somewhere, and you let them.

The first door you open is his bedroom door. Surprisingly, he has no guard of any sort. It seems distressingly easy to access him. You would think someone so special and unique that they had their own cult would be worth enough to guard.

But all the better for you, you suppose. You creep farther into his room, until you loom over his futon.

He almost looks more doll-like now. His face is blank with sleep, but it seems less like sleep and more like death. But puppets don’t die; they do lose life, but that’s only when the humans who breathe life into them leave.

Now, he is simply a puppet without a master.

You kneel gently on the futon. He doesn’t even seem to breathe. Another point for the doll theory. You have almost no misgivings now.

You reach out, and brush your fingertips across his cheek. His skin is flawlessly smooth, and icy cold. No living being is that cold.

You trail your hand up to his hair. Its absurdly soft, like silk. You use silk for the hair on some of your dolls as well, but it’s never felt quite that soft.

You didn’t notice before, but there is some sort of stain on the top of his hair. It was mostly hidden under his hat before, but now it is clear. It looks like someone spilled paint on him. It would be seen as a defect on something otherwise so faultless, but even that looks intentional, no drip out of place.

As you study him, you inch closer. You’re basically straddling him now, but you don’t pay much attention to that. Instead, you let your eyes roam over him again. His hands are similarly perfect, with blue nails filled to a point on every finger. You pick up one of his hands to observe them better. You hiss as one of your fingertips catches on his nail. They’re like knives, easily splitting your flesh.

You bring your cut finger up to your mouth, ready to suck away the blood beading on it.

Quick as lighting, a hand grips your wrist. You freeze, shocked, and look up, right into Dōma’s stained glass eyes. You try to pull away, but his grip is as firm as stone. His other hand grips at your hip. You can almost feel his claws through your kimono.

“Now, what do we have here?” he says, his voice a purr. There’s no trace of sleepiness in his tone, and no trace of haziness in his eyes.

Instead, you’re the one who feels sluggish. You gape at him, not saying a word.

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head almost like a disappointed mother. But his expression is not motherly at all. It’s mocking, with some sort of hunger beneath it. You think that hunger is the most emotion you’ve ever seen in his eyes. “Now, what were you doing here, in my bed, in the middle of the night, darling?”

You flush at the implication. You’re silent a moment, unsure what to say. You’re not even quite sure yourself why you’re there. You try to answer honestly anyway. “I’m not sure.”

He raises an eyebrow, wordlessly prompting you to elaborate.

Words flood out of you. “I just had to see you again! I don’t quite know why…I think I just want to know what you are. Because I know you aren’t human.”

“What am I, then?”

“You remind me of a doll. I make them. And you look like the dolls I make. You’re meant to look human, but you’re not, not really. Something is just…off. You’re almost too perfect…your skin, your hair, your eyes…no human looks like that. No human behaves like you either...your eyes are like glass. So, so beautiful, yet...they don’t portray the emotion your body tries to make.”

He seems little surprised for a second. He studies you more keenly now. “Well…I can’t say you’re totally wrong.” He smiles, but this time it’s different. It’s more a baring of teeth. You can see now he truly has fangs. He has the mouth of a predator. “I’m not human. But I’m not a doll either, silly girl!”

He pulls you closer, and sits up, until you two are pressed almost chest to chest. Your wrist, still in his hand, is tugged until your bloody finger is pressed to his lips.

“Do you want to know what I am?” he whispers, voice low. His lips move against your finger, smearing your blood on them, tinting them red.

You feel your heart beating faster. You can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement. Your brain feels fuzzy, like you’re drunk. Intoxicated.

You nod.

His tongue stretches out, lapping your blood away from your skin. You shiver.

He releases your hand, but pulls you even closer. His bloody mouth is pressed to your ear. You’re paralyzed, heart thudding, pulsing so hard now you can hear it.

“I’m a demon,” he murmurs, icy breath caressing your ear. And then without warning, he pulls aside your kimono and bites deep into your shoulder.

You gasp, a shaky broken thing. His fangs easily slice through your skin. Your blood pours into his mouth, and he moans.

He pulls away. “You taste so good…”

“Don’t eat me. Please!” you’re crying now, tears dripping down your face; from fear more than pain. You’ve heard stories of demons. You know what they do to people.

“Oh, no, darling. You misunderstand.” He clutches you close. He does it lightly, but you can feel he could crush you without a thought if he wanted. “You’re too intriguing to kill. As long as you keep your pretty mouth shut, I don’t have to do anything! I have plenty of other disciples to feed on. I never go hungry.”

So that’s why he has the cult. It’s like a farm; raising animals for food.

But as long as you’re not the one going to slaughter…

You sniffle. “Don’t eat my friend either…”

“OK, sweetheart. She can be safe as well, as long as she doesn’t get too nosy…”

You feel a rush of relief. You’ve never been more grateful for your friend’s naivete. It will keep her alive, now.

“But…what will you do with me?”

“Hmm…I want to keep you with me! You’re interesting. And life is dreadfully dull sometimes. I need something…someone special. To make existence less boring. And I think you could be that person.” He smiles at you. It feels more real now, less plastic. You could almost imagine you saw a flicker of real emotion in his eyes.

You’re exhausted. And you understand, a bit. Life is dull for you as well; often you wake up only to go through the motions of the day, with nothing to look forward to. Then you go back to bed, and repeat the cycle.

The interest you felt in Dōma, though sickeningly manic, obsessive, was a feeling you’d been craving for years. Finally, you felt something strongly again. Even when you were scared out of your mind, thinking you would be eaten… it was better than feeling numb.

“Okay,” you say. Your head drops onto his shoulder, hiding your face. “I’ll stay with you.”

He shivers, and his arms tighten around you. “Thank you, my darling.” His mouth returns to the sluggishly bleeding wound on your shoulder, licking up the blood like a cat does milk. It hurts, still, but you think you could get used to it. At least when you can feel his tongue soothing the ache.

#Romy can Write #kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #douma x reader #doma x reader #douma x you #douma x y/n #kny x reader #how tf do you tag #fem reader #female reader

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mareenavee · 10 months

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WIP Whenever~

Good Wednesday, my friends! I had no idea what day it was until Winter posted lol. I love that. <3

I was tagged to do this by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter, @nuwanders and @ladytanithia! I tag the most esteemed @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @elfinismsarts, @gilgamish, @kookaburra1701, @snippetsrus, @saltymaplesyrup, @dirty-bosmer, @orfeoarte, @archangelsunited, @inquisition-dragonborn, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3 and YOU. Yes. If your tag is invisible, I still did tag you, so feel free to tag me back (: I'd love to see what you come up with!

Below the cut for some UNTITLED WIP stuff! This is a prompt fill for a prompt challenge I've got going with a handful of mutuals. This one will be for Para when I'm done.

More Ondolemar (and Varlais) this time. The story is fic-universe canon and occurs before A Heavy Truth, sometime early on in The World on Our Shoulders.

CW: Implied accident involving the Jarl of Markarth's pets.

Below the cut!

“Don’t touch anything, Varlais,” Ondolemar hissed. The fool had got himself chased into the ruins by the Jarl’s dogs and, of course, he had to be pulled from the rubble, so to speak. There was nothing else for it. Though, of course, Mother would have words about this situation – none of them good. The dogs were, at the moment, nowhere to be found. It was tough to say if Varlais had run through Nimhe’s chamber with them close behind on purpose. He’d come away with only a mild poisoning and a few new scars to add to his immense collection. The dogs… Well, he didn’t have to put two and two together and upset himself again.

Varlais had kept his hand on the Dwemer metal plate anyway and was doubled over between two pipes. The loud exhale of steam from a nearby vent blessedly muted the sound of his illness. Ondolemar didn’t have anything on hand to help with that, so he’d just have to suffer until it passed. He himself had only barely managed to kill the wretched spider, only narrowly escaping a similar fate. It had been hours before he’d been able to discover where Varlais had stashed himself away, and longer still to Heal him. They were thoroughly lost in the depths of Nchuand-Zel, his absolute favorite place on all of Nirn. And the Falmer – everywhere! Like vermin. As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

Varlais was looking sorrier by the second. Had they not both fallen through a rusted grate and between all this metalwork, they’d have a clue of where they’d ended up. Calcemo’s expedition team had mapped this place up through a certain point, before the Falmer attacks, the deaths and then, of course, the resulting need to seal off the inner chambers. Leave it to the nitwit to burst through locked doors. If only his magic worked reliably for other, more important tasks. There was no longer a way to tell how far down they were.

“Ondolemar, I’m going to die here,” Varlais complained. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. True, he was pale, the gilding almost gone from him in his misery. But it was just frostbite spider venom – and only a single bite, now healed. The pain and nausea would be a bit much, come to think of it. It’d been a while since he’d had to deal with the poison. And it had been a much smaller specimen.

“You’ll be fine,” Ondolemar said. He walked over with a Calm spell in hand. “Let go for a second.” Varlais obliged and closed his eyes, breathing as steadily as he could through flared nostrils. Ondolemar rolled his eyes. He sighed and passed the spell over the back of Varlais’s head and down over his shoulders. It wasn’t taking quite as easily, hackles up as they were at the moment. It took some doing – and more Magicka than he’d have otherwise wasted – until the spell settled into the crevices of Varlais’s mind. His shoulders relaxed; his jaw unclenched. He still looked like hell. Ondolemar almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“We have to find – ” Varlais started, pausing to turn away and retch. He sighed and steadied himself on Ondolemar’s forearm. “We have to find a way out of here.”

“No kidding,” Ondolemar said through gritted teeth, perhaps more icy than he had originally intended. He rolled his sore shoulder where he’d landed hard on the stonework. He’d need a real healer whenever they managed to get out of this place. They both would.

Varlais dragged himself along behind Ondolemar as they moved through the crumbling stonework, littered now and again with sharp fragments from the damaged grates above their heads. Acid from the pollution of the city above had seeped into this ruin through the cracks over untold centuries and ate away at the metalwork. Pipes had broken, machines had seized up. It reflected the state of things topside, really. Apt he was caught in this place like a fly in a web. Every waking hour already felt like that, and this was no better. He frowned in dismay. At least it wasn’t cold down here. Thank Mara for small miracles.

They walked through great gates of jagged filigree, bent and warped with age, hanging precariously off hinges green with patina. The corridor opened into a wide, dimly lit area, the stench of fungus and mold wafting over from somewhere deep in the darkness. Along the way, Ondolemar had taken out a few more Falmer with Shock magic. He was no good with a bow, and Varlais was hardly in any condition to aim, let alone keep from drawing attention to themselves. This place seemed to be far flung even from the hive located in these ruins. The sound of gears echoed through the chamber, which was cut through with flowing water, contaminated by slicks of oil and the putrescent miasma of rot – likely bodies of Falmer or chaurus, or worse. There would be no point in thinking about it. He pulled the edge of his silk undershirt up from under his standard issue robes to settle it over his nose and tried to concentrate on anything else at all.

The lighting was rather odd the further they walked into the dimness. A green-blue glow emanated from what appeared to be rather large mushrooms, which seemed almost purposefully cultivated, towering and casting odd half-lit shadows across mountains of rubble as far as the eye could see. Which, admittedly, was not very far. Ondolemar’s attention shifted as Varlais stumbled behind him leaning into one such pile; the action sent a cascade of ceramic tile and other debris crashing down toward them. Without thinking twice, he yanked his friend out of the way just in time. Varlais coughed as thousands of years worth of dust choked the air.

“Do try to be less of an idiot,” Ondolemar sighed.

#MareenaWrites #WIP Whenever #WIP Wednesday #Untitled Varlais and Ondolemar Nonsense #Varlais #Linare Varlais #Ondolemar #skyrim #skyrim fic #tes #tesblr #fanficblr #writblr #writeblr #The World on Our Shoulders #Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked

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untilteddocument · 5 months

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After-Action Archive Caves of Qud - Puff It Forward

Welcome again, one and all, to the After-Action Archive! My earlier post had me taking a detour to prepare for upcoming challenges, and while those preparations had little to do with this particular leg of the journey, there are connections.

I'm starting to make these regularly enough that I guess this could count as a semi-full LP outside of the beginning quests, so...whatever, highlight reel, LP, whatever it is, here it is. With that in mind, it's time to see with eyes only half-clouded by reality.

Barathrum's plan to answer the mysterious invitation to the top of the Spindle will require much, and he's made no secret of that. However, the preparations I took care of last time were useful, but irrelevant to those more immediate concerns. See, what was needed to advance Barathrum's aims wasn't force of arms, but discernment and exploration, because circumstances have moved him to rely on someone he would have preferred to leave be.

If Barathrum considers Pax Klanq to be brilliant, I have no doubt that they live up to that description. More relevant to me, though, is "reclusive". Those directions have precious little to go on, though I do have an idea about the first, at least.

The Rainbow Wood is a vast fungal forest bordered by the jungles on the west and Lake Hinnom in the east. I've never been there, but I imagine it would put all the fungal patches I've run into on my journeys thus far to shame. The information I gather from the other Barathrumites tell me little I truly absorb, but one tidbit piques my interest.

That...is interesting. On the plus side, at this point in time I'm actually on relatively good terms with oozes in general, so maybe these sludges won't be a problem, and fungual infections aren't a problem for me thanks to my Regeneration mutation. Ualraig and Indrix have it as well, so they'd be fine, but Esther does not. A large group might be cumbersome for this quest anyway, so I decided to go alone.

Travel from Kyakukya (closest town I have to the Rainbow Wood) wasn't too onerous. With what I've got, travel in the jungle is hardly dangerous, and my Wayfaring skills made getting there faster. Soon enough, I came in from the north, seeing that the shortest distance to the center would take advantage of the pinched-in sections to the north and south.

Despite my skills at travel, the thick fungal canopy and the vast stretches of mushrooms swallowed my sense of direction almost immediately.

The Rainbow Wood definitely earned its description as a fungus forest. They were so thick in places that getting around was far more involved than the jungle, even, and aside from the mushrooms, there were those lakes of primordial soup. They were safe to swim through, but that wasn't the wrinkle. Like Iseppa described, the primordial soup gives rise to special oozes, born where it and any other fluid intersect...and seeing as the Rainbow Wood is thick with giant weeps, fungi that secrete various liquids ranging from sap to lava, there's no shortage of these things around.

Speaking of Iseppa's warning, it got me to wonder. If it's "worse when they drink"...does that mean that they get stronger if they consume different fluids? That would make sense, and explain why this place would be dangerous to anyone on hostile terms with these things.

That gave me an idea, though. Through my travels, I'd gotten a hold of enough spare material that I could offer some freely to the Mechanimists in the Six Day Stilt.

Bit of an aside here: the main sect of the Mechanimists - there are at least three sects in total - believe that technology comes from the Argent Fathers shaping the Kasaphesence, a primal force/deity, into artifacts. Being divinely-crafted items, the church claims that mortals are unworthy of them and should give them up. This did raise my hackles a bit, but I looked at the reputation I would get from giving up various items. Most of them offer very little, and these include medical supplies, chairs, backpacks, and so on. The ones that they want people to give up are usually elaborate high-tech weaponry, and there's not even any compulsion to do so. No roving bands of Mechanimist enforcers, just a statement of their beliefs, and if people come by, they are welcome. I found this refreshing, and definitely puts them in contrast with the Putus Templar. Anyway, back to the story at hand.

By increasing my standing with the Mechanimists, I was able to trade some of that cachet in so that Eschelstadt II, High Priest of the Stilt himself, could give me some pointers on...persuasion.

Seeing as these sludges were rather new to things, it was easy to convince one that it should pal around with me.

After all, I had all these neat bags full of liquid in my pack and I was willing to share.

A monosludge is not exactly putting the fear into anything just by its lonesome, no. A triskaidecasludge, though, is a resilient ball of limbs that can easily flatten anything that gets too close. Each of those pseudopods inflicts a different effect, on top of being classified as cudgels and therefore able to stunlock enemies with points in the relevant skills. At this point, those masterwork fullerite mauls are mostly there to take up space; if all its "hands" are occupied with equipment, the sludge grows new pseudopods to suit whatever new liquid it drank up, and more limbs means more attacks.

With my new friend in tow, I made my way onward and inward. The heart (presumably the center) of the Rainbow Wood wouldn't be far, if I had my directions right enough. Thankfully, it seemed I did. It didn't look too different from other regions of the forest, except, of course, for the thing that made it important.

That's kind of a leading question, isn't it? In any case I'm just happy that this doesn't end in eating actual divine meat...unless that name isn't being poetic?

Whatever, down the hatch.

Aside from the apparently-fantastic taste, it was necessary due to a certain effect it had on our perception. Namely, it offered the Shimmering effect, which let me see half a dimension over, but the disorientation of this did reverse-favors for my quickness.

Thus impaired but empowered, I was able to see the next step, the so-called coral path. Bricks seemed to materialize from nothing, tracing a route back north. Fighting the drift of consciousness, my sludgy companion and I made our way among the towering mushrooms and I-am-doubly-grateful-that-they-are-neutral-to-me-now sludges, eventually coming to a stop at the room where Pax Klanq had secluded themself.

I hesitated before speaking up, afraid of interrupting the process of genius. Seeing them work as they did felt akin to being a neophyte again. Barathrum's esteem seemed well-placed.

After a few seconds that lasted way longer than that, I hailed them.

...Come again?

...Fair enough, they didn't stutter. Still, I came here for a reason.

Okay, I have to know.

...yeah, that'd do it. Back to business, then.

Honestly, this could go several ways, none of which strike me as appealing.

...Well, okay, maybe one, in the abstract, but I don't think Pax Klanq is my type. Kind of got a grown-up Jimmy Neutron vibe going on.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Ugh, fiiiiiiiine.

Friggin' asshole, got some friggin' laundry list...

...friggin' gotta puff spores all over the place, razzin' frazzin'...

...spore-puffing so-and-so, got me puffing spores like some friggin'...

"KlAnQ pUfF oN yOuUuUuUuUuUuUuUu" friggin' jackass...

...got me diving into the bowels of the friggin' earth fighting friggin' magma crabs, lost my friggin' shield to friggin' lava, almost died, but noooo, gotta puff, right? Razzin' frazzin'...

There. I did it. Friggin' jerk...

Sigh.

Well, I hope Barathrum appreciates that I took one for the team.

On the plus side, I got to see some sights, get some experience, even met some good merchants. I lost something of sentimental value (the shield, not my innocence. I don't give a shit about that), but in the end it was a thing that could be replaced. On to the next adventure.

#after-action archive #caves of qud #long post

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griefabyss69 · 8 months

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WIP Weekend

Tagged by @hbyrde36!!! Thank you so much, this will actually be really helpful, because I do want to do some writing this weekend but I won't have time to do a lot of it, so doing it in 3 sentence pieces would be great!!

The Rules

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

The Files

curious

rosebush

stimulation

heavy duty repair

familiarity

The Snippet

(Under the readmore, Steddie, rated: T) No pressure tags <3 @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @penny00dreadful @simplebtromance @vecnuthy @zombiethingy

(From "curious". It's a fairly common thing to write in fanfiction but I was just writing to write and this came out! Also nothing wrong with 94839543 cakes you know?)

"I'll be honest," Steve says, a blush unlike anything Eddie's ever seen on him blossoming over his cheeks. "I'm curious about you."

Eddie feels his eyebrows raise, his body halting right in the middle of the step he was trying to take, his hackles raising as his mind speeds through all of the possibilities of that that could mean.

"You're… curious," he says, frowning. "About me."

Steve's eyes see all the way down to his bones as he carefully sits down on the couch, awkwardly pulling the strings in his limbs to settle down in a way the he hopes looks natural at all.

"Yeah," he whispers, clearing his throat. "You never talk about like, dating. Or sex. And you don't have to, but you're so loud about everything else."

Right.

Steve's curious about Eddie's sex life because he's used to hanging around the type of people who won't shut up about that kind of thing.

"Well, what have you heard?" He asks, interested in what kind of information Steve's been chewing on this whole time. "Any rumors? Saucy little secrets through the grapevine? Slurs on the bathroom stall?"

Steve winces at that last one, and Eddie knows they'd both probably thinking of the same incident. There was a whole… kerfuffle over that one, though whoever wrote it never got caught.

"I've heard a lot of things," Steve says, sighing. "But I'm asking you because I want to know like, the truth. Or lie to me, I don't care. I just want to hear it from you."

He's got such a sweet little smile on now, actually seems like he's open to taking whatever Eddie says as fact no matter how farfetched it sounds, and he really really really wants to impress him, to make him think he's super good at all of this, or even give him a half truth that hides all of the incriminating details about himself.

But what he needs is to drop the heavy armor. He sighs, tired from bearing the weight of being himself.

"Alright," he says, picking at the edge of his sleeve, dizzy with how hard his heart is pounding. "I'm bisexual, not a virgin, I have like five pairs of handcuffs, though I had to stop using them for sex after the whole getting chased by the cops thing, and I'm in such a long dry spell that I think my dick might fall off if I don't use it soon."

Steve's pretty mouth drops open just enough to make Eddie imagine sticking his fingers in there, and then he's smiling around a breathy laugh.

"Wow, okay," he says, running a hand through his hair as he rearranges his legs in the armchair. "I'm bisexual and not a virgin too. And in a dry spell. But not the handcuff thing, I've never had a pair."

Eddie almost offers him a pair on reflex, it's not like he's using them properly anyway, but he catches on as he processes what he said. He sits up straight, his body moving on it's own as he points at him, an evil, radiant type of hope stinging underneath his skin.

"Since when are you bisexual?" He asks, not an accusation, but a little confused. "I feel like I would've heard that one before?"

Steve ducks his head, blessing his kneecaps with his smile before he looks back up at him. It's such a cute move that Eddie considers climbing on top of him just to watch him peer up through his eyelashes.

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear about it because I kept it a secret," he says, his blush deepening as he beams. "So… Have you uh, been with men?"

Eddie can only nod, whatever defense he used to have against the force of Steve's sincerity blasted away into smithereens, leaving him weak enough to follow him off a bridge if he asked.

"Cool, cool," Steve nods back at him, awkwardness peeking out around the edges of his movements as he taps his fingers on the arms of the chair. "I haven't had the chance, but… I guess I don't need to in order to know."

Eddie has a set of rules, set in stone - his personal doctrine. Some of them are shouted from the top of his lungs and some of them whispered, hard earned, adopted once the third time had not been the charm, and he finally learned that guys who are curious always end up being dickheads.

He breaks his rules for Steve all of the time though, and so he offers, friendship hanging precariously off of the cliff's edge, a sinking disappointment in himself for having no self preservation smothering his nerves.

"You wanna try it?" He asks, blunt, but friendly, not willing to mess up the communication about this, wants any "no" Steve gives him to be as real as any "yes".

"Yeah," Steve breathes, leaning forward in his seat. "I really do."

Eddie's not prepared for it.

He asked, ready to be let down gently or even to be laughed off, but he didn't really think Steve would go for it, and now he has to figure out how to navigate this without fucking it up.

"Y-yeah?" He asks, licking his lips, the nerves breaking free from their blanket of disappointment. "What uh, what've you been wondering about?"

Steve looks tormented for a moment as he leans back into the chair, his head pressed against it. Even the knit of his eyebrows looks good, with his chin tilted up to show off the way his throat moves when he swallows.

He's like one of those paintings, with beautiful nude men in some kind of biblical anguish, and Eddie is simply a person lucky enough to be standing in front of it at a museum.

#griefabyss69 writing #fun things #chats from the abyss #curious tag

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trollprincess · 4 months

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Okay, everybody sit down, it’s small town drama time again.

So I stopped to talk to my mom again, and the meeting from the other night came up. Something I forgot to mention was that during the meeting my mom (who you’ll remember just quit the council on January 2nd) asked the presenters to ask any members of the council who were attending to stand up.

Two people stood up. There are seven members of council. That makes four who didn’t show up, not counting the guy who’s a snowbird down in Florida for the winter.

One of the members who showed up was my mom’s longtime friend. The other was my mom’s replacement. She’s pretty young, a Republican (my mom is a Democrat), an attendee of what passes for a megachurch in our area. She’s not someone who’s bound to make waves. She was the first person nominated to my mom’s position, so instead of considering others they just voted her in. That said, she showed up at an anti-discrimination meeting a day listened politely, and after my mom spoke about the threats she received from another council member, her replacement looked … maybe a little uncomfortable? Like, I don’t know what’s happening on council anymore, but I got the impression from her behavior that she’s at least willing to listen to us and also maybe they’re still behaving like jerks behind closed doors? I mean, that’s just my impression, but still.

Anyway, the woman sitting next to my mom at the meeting is the town’s accountant or something? A clerk? I can’t remember. Anyway, she organizes the packets for each town council meeting. She put a paper in each packet at the previous meeting inviting each member on the council to the “No Hate in Our State” meeting. The awful woman on the council and the council president who threatened my mom *very deliberately* left their invitations behind when they left the last meeting. (You’re supposed to take everything with you, so leaving it behind was NOT an accident.)

I just … I would call them fucking children, but children behave better than this.

Oh, and the accountant/clerk/whatever she is? She’s leaving her post next month. Which would be fine, except she needs to train her replacement. Have they even considered anyone at this point? Oh, no, of course not, that would be silly.

I mean, considering how I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them, I feel like they’re setting up the council to pull some unethical if not outright illegal shit. Obviously, that might just be because they’re behaving (specifically those two and that awful woman’s sidekick) in a way that’s making my hackles go up. They might not be doing a damn thing other than being assholes. That said, since the awful woman’s on the council at least until the end of the month (until we see if she actually has a fucking trial FINALLY), who the hell knows?

I don’t. But then again, I don’t really HAVE to worry about this stuff anymore because it’s not trying to kill my mom anymore. So there’s that.

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whimsicalmeerkat · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday Game

It's Wednesday! Time to make me write. Rules from @kedreeva's posts below.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

My Filenames:

a time to mourn and a time to hope - dead Stiles

Kaleb/Judd

Soulmates apparently?

Jukebox exchange fic

won't you take me from this valley - Regency time travel nonsense

My Snippet

From Kaleb/Judd

Judd jerks upright, staring at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? You can’t be here.”

A man Kaleb knows the be Hawke, the SnowDancer alpha, bursts into the room at the sound. His gaze follows Judd’s to Kaleb. It’s immediately obviour that if he was in his wolf form, his hackles would be raised.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Judd, why does a goddamn member of the Psy Council have a teleport lock on this cabin?”

Judd doesn’t break eye contact with Kaleb to look at the irate changeling. “I’m wondering that myself.”

#wip wednesday game #wip wednesday #fanfic #author:whimsicalmeerkat

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beautifulhigh · 2 years

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This chat between @fisidrosa and myself this morning is just too good not to be shared. (I did tell her I was doing this and she agreed!)

fisidrosa Next time we have a crossover of sorts those two need to meet and have a goooood long chat. (As do Eddie and Carlos) beautifulhigh Bobby sits Owen down and tells him to wind his neck in Carlos sits Eddie down and tells him it's OK to put himself out there fisidrosa I can see Owen trying to do the whole ‘my trauma is bigger than yours’ bull and Bobby just giving him that exasperated look Carlos just plonks himself down next to Eddie with a ‘you too huh’ and proceeds to, very kindly rip him a new one. beautifulhigh Eddie needs love and support Owen needs a very large boot up his proverbial fisidrosa He does. And Carlos can provide that, while also telling him he’s a GD idiot 😂😂 beautifulhigh "You remember TK? I'm gonna marry him one day. Anyway, he was like a feral cat when it came to relationships and I needed to be patient and kind but also firm" fisidrosa (Omg feral cat is the perfect description of early TK) beautifulhigh Carlos really did pssst pssst pssst him into a relationship Even started with some fish fisidrosa At least for Eddie’s sake Buck is a little less feral. More one of those cats that’s been back and forth to the shelter a few times and needs so comfort and love and a whole heap of reassurance that he won’t have to go back there. beautifulhigh Buck is the cat Eddie is feeding while trying to tell himself he doesn't have a cat This also explains the hissing and territory action between Buck and TK in the crossover fisidrosa While Christopher tells everyone they meet that they have this great cat. Oh god yes, I'm just imagining the interaction when Buck meets Carlos with TK there too. beautifulhigh Lots of prowling and wrapping around the legs of their person, keeping the other in their sight. Hackles raised, some hissing, while Carlos and Eddie pet and reassure them while also apologising "Sorry, he gets a bit protective" fisidrosa all while Hen is nearly crying laughing in the background beautifulhigh Gonna make this into a Tumblr post. This genius needs to be shared

Enjoy!

#911 #911 lone star #911ls #eddie diaz #evan buckley #tk strand #carlos reyes #is this crack?#it feels like a crack post #anyway TK is a feral cat #and Buck is Eddie's no matter how much he protests #tarlos #buddie

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

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Falling for you ( Falling from grace) Jungkook x OC

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

“Are you sure you want to head back to work today, Areum? Hoseok told me that he would give you the rest of the week off if you like... That bruise on your face is looking pretty nasty.” My sister commented mildly, her eyes worried as she watched me dab concealer on the mottled purpling skin on my jaw.

“I need to finish a couple of reports by the weekend. And Namjoon oppa told me he wanted me to be there when we viewed the CCTV footage later today. It’s going to help getting that bastard fired.” I flinched at how bad this side of my face looked.

The bastard.

“He’s not fired yet?” My sister made a noise of outrage.

“Of course he is. There’s a restraining order against him. But formally he needs to be terminated and Namjoon wants to do it in a way that it goes on his record permanently. Especially considering he’s already out on bond.” I wrinkled my nose.

There wasn’t much chance of Junho going to prison over this but I definitely did not want him within fifty feet of me, ever again.

“Jungkook’s busy with his practice is it? I haven’t heard from him...” My sister prompted and I nodded.

“His big match is coming up on Sunday. That's like four days away ...he’s probably cooped up in that gym of his.”

“I know... Seokjin works out there too... its a great place...how come you’re never there?”

I frowned .

“He actually has me blacklisted. I’m not allowed inside the establishment. ” I muttered.

My sister’s eyes widened.

“What? Why?”

I shrugged. The memory was a good one and worth reliving. In fact i relived it quite often when I was particularly horny with only my own hands for relief.

“I seduced him against his favorite punching bag once and he had to get rid of it because the cum stains wouldn’t come off. He’s a petty jerk.” I grinned at my sister enjoying the way her eyes went wide as saucers. .

She stared at me slack jawed. And then she shook her head in disbelief.

“You talk about him this way but you always look like you're half way in love with him. I don’t know what is going on in your head when it comes to Jungkook.”

I laughed.

“I love him. Of course I do.... I’m pretty sure he cares about me too, “ I remembered how warm and content I’d felt when he’d held me, how the police officer had immediately concluded he was my boyfriend, simply from the concern radiating off him, “ But, I’m not going to push for anything. I like how we are ...now.”

“Friends with benefits.?”

“I prefer the term enemies who fuck” I winked and she groaned.

“Whatever you say. But remember, you’re going to have to DTR at some point and I hope you don’t get a shock if he isn’t on the same page. “

“Unlikely. Now go distract mom so I can slip out of the back door.”

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

“That looks pretty fucking bad.” Hoseok winced when he saw me and I groaned.

“Don’t remind me. I ran into Namjoon on the way up and he swelled like a bullfrog. Is Jungkook in today?” I asked him brightly.

Hoseok frowned.

“you guys are awfully chummy these days ....Need I remind you about the clause on interpersonal relationships in the office?”

I flushed.

“We’re...not....I mean. We’re friends. “

“I thought the term was enemies who fuck.” Hoseok said thoughtfully and I jumped.

“What-?”

“Jungkook told me, you little brat. I asked him why he went over to the police station and broke Junho’s fucking jaw and he spilled...”

My own jaw came unhinged.

“ He what?!”

“He posted the bond money for the bastard himself to get him out and then apparently punched him hard enough to land him in the hospital.”

“Oh my God...is he in trouble?”

Hoseok sighed.

“Of course not... Mr. Jeon had it taken care off at once but I knew something was up . He’s too old to play knight in shining armor , unless there was something between you guys...”

I sighed.

“We’re in a purely physical relationship yes with of course a splattering of affection for each other. But nothing that deserves a label or close scrutiny from the HR dept. Please Hobi oppa, just let me be. “ I fluttered my lashes and he rolled his eyes.

“Just as long as you know that Jeon Jungkook is a chaebol. He’s not going to make a honest woman out of you.” Hoseok gave me a pointed look and I wondered if I really did wear my heart on my sleeve.

Apparently, everyone could sense that my feelings for Jungkook ran deeper than just lust and I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

“Anyway, yo answer you question, yes. He’s in his office right now.”

I made to turn away but Hoseok grabbed my wrist.

“You have thirty five memos to answer and seventeen appointments to schedule. Your desk is this way, I suggest you head in that direction.” His eyes glinted in a way that told me he was incredibly serious.

I pouted.

Fine... I’d wait for lunch to go meet Jungkook.

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

Jungkook had a secretary of his own , the smitten Miss Lee and she gave me an angelic smile, telling me that Jungkook was out to meet someone in the marketing department. If there was anything important, I could leave it with her.

Declining the offer and thanking her, I made my way to the fireescape and the back stairwell. One of the doors opened to the emergency exit in Jungkook’s office and it took me a little bit of running around but I managed to locate it easily enough.

Jungkook had left the door open and less than ten minutes later , I was in his office, staring around in mild awe.

Weirdly enough, I’d never been here. before, mostly because Jungkook himself wasn’t in here all that much. But there was no mistaking that he actually did take his work seriously . I peered around the expensive drawing Tablet and the three or so monitor screens , the stylus tossed about.

It was probably a huge breach of his privacy but I couldn’t help but click on the mouse, watching his monitor come alive.

I blinked in disbelief when I realized what I was staring at.

“Oh my fuck...” I

I felt my face flood with heat as I stared at the screen.

It was a drawing of me.

I was completely naked , reclining against what looked like a thick white fur rug , with countless plush cushions scattered all around me. The snow white fur set off the golden glow of my skin and I noticed the attention to detail, the tiny mole in the corner of my hip, the small half moon scar on the edge of my collar bone and of course an impressive collection of hickeys on my neck and my inner thighs.

I looked the way I usually did when I was mouthing off at him, a little angry and rebellious, my eyes blazing with a challenge and my lips parted in annoyance . I had one hand resting right between my legs, two fingers pressed against the labia while the other two disappeared into me. The other hand lay on my breast, fingers tweaking one hard nipple .

I turned away quickly, breathing harshly as I realized that Jungkook had literally drawn an incredibly accurate drawing of me masturbating , purely from memory.

Not entirely sure if i should be angry at this or not, I tried to clear the hazy cloud of arousal that was beginning to settle all over me. I wasn’t angry.

I was just ridiculously turned on.

And incredibly curious if he had other pics of me.

I whirled back around to the computer and then nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that Jungkook was leaning against the doorway, watching me with an amused smile on his face.

“Oh, fuck...” I clutched at my heart which felt like it was going to give out.

“Pretty sure your desk isn’t here, Areum. Are you lost?” He drawled, stepping away from the door and stalking over to me.

I stepped back quickly, the action purely instinctive.

“Did you punch Junho?” I asked sharply.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“That is a very mild way to put it yes. He’s gonna be eating through a straw for a couple of months , yes.”

I glared at him.

“What if you got arrested.” I folded my arms.

He laughed.

“Baby, come on. fucker had it coming. Anyway enough about that loser. Why are you hovering near my desk. Corporate espionage is generally frowned upon baby... Am i gonna have to spank you, you naughty girl?” He waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes before walking up to his desk and turning the screen around to show the lewd artwork .

“how long have you been drawing me like that?” I pointed at the screen and Jungkook looked surprised.

Surprised but not particularly bothered.

“Ah... i love that one... Did you see the way I only drew four of your fingers between your legs baby, your thumb is supposed to be rubbing on your clit.... I was working on it when I got called away earlier....” He looked apologetic.

I felt like I had turned the exact shade of the marron carpet under my foot.

“Jungkook how long have you been drawing me naked...” I snapped.

“ Oh... probably the first time you let me see you naked.” He said nodding lightly and I stared at him.

“How come I’ve never heard of this?” I hissed and he gave me a grin.

“Because it’s for my own personal...use.” He grinned.

I glared at him.

“How many....?” I demanded.

Jungkook shrugged.

“50...? 60? Definitely at least fifty.” He said casually.

I stared at him.

“I wanna see them.” I said sharply. Jungkook sighed, like I was being a pain , which was so unfair it made me want to scream.

“Areum, I-”

“Jungkook?” A soft voice called from the outer office and I frowned when Jungkook startled.

“Oh, hey... Sana..... Come in.” His voice had shifted into something mild and pleasant and I felt my hackles rise.

“Oh..hello... Areum ssi...” The girl gave me a confused smile and I resisted the urge to fold my hands and demand what she was doing there. Instead , I moved away from behind Jungkook’s desk, grabbing a file.

“Good afternoon Sana ssi.” I smiled.

“I’m sorry, I missed lunch, Sana.... I wanted to give you this. “ Jungkook pulled out a small envelope from his jacket, smiling an absolutely angelic smile at her.

Sana looked suitably enthralled, her eyes trained greedily on his perfect face as she took the envelope.

“Oh.. are these--?”

“Tickets to my match on Sunday yes...” He smiled. “ I’m hoping you’ll be there.”

I felt my lungs expand as I took a deep breath to calm myself down. The urge to screech like a banshee was increasing by the second.

“Oh, I’ll be there for sure. I’ll be cheering you on from the front row, Jungkook !!” She all but bounced on her feet, looking positively giddy with excitement as she bowed to both of us and literally floated away.

I waited till she was fully gone before turning on him.

“There better be another envelope in there with my name on it.” I gritted out.

Jungkook grinned wide at that, eyes dancing with mirth.

“In my jacket? Not really. But there’s something much better in my pants with your name on it. Want me to whip it out for you baby?? “

He grabbed the edge of his belt buckle, tugging the leather out of the hoops and I glared at him.

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to be okay with you letting everyone watch you fight but me. That is just unfair and uncalled for.” I snapped.

Jungkook was still tugging on his belt, but he paused to give me a look.

“What’s in it for me?” He said softly.

I frowned.

“What?”

“I’m not going to enter a deal without an equitable pay off....Its obvious that you’re really turned on by the thought of watching me fight . So unless you give me something I’m thirsty for.... I’m not going to indulge you,” He said casually.

I laughed in disbelief.

“There is literally nothing I’ve denied you in bed , you're crazy to even suggest -”

“I haven’t fucked your ass yet.” He said casually.

I could feel myself turning red.

“No.” I hissed. “ Absolutely not.”

“Why the hell not?” He frowned.

“Because it fucking hurts. I’m not going through that again.” I snapped.

Jungkook groaned like he was in actual pain.

“Baby, its hardly my fault you’ve never slept with a real man before me, is it? Why should I deprived the pleasure of fucking your ass just because those buffoons didn’t know how to do it right?” Jungkook’s voice was dangerously close to a whine and I resisted the urge to throw something at him.

“I don’t fucking care...its a no. So drop it. ”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll drop it. For now.” He muttered and then made a big show of thinking, “ alright fine. How about you let me tie you up.”

I stared at him.

“You literally do that every time we have sex.” I pointed out.

“And I get to use my toy box.”

I blinked.

“Your toy box.” I said , confused. He grinned mischievously.

“You know the one...Big mahogany box underneath my bed. The first time I showed you, you kind of screamed and called me a monster?” He grinned wide.

i had a brief flashback of an assortment of whips, floggers and gags.

I shuddered.

Nope.

This wasn’t working.

“How about this.... Either you get me those tickets or you don’t get to fuck me. At all.” I smirked.

Jungkook hummed.

“Why would you punish yourself like that love?” He drawled. “ You can’t live without my dick, the sooner you accept that the easier life is going to get for you.”

The audacity of this bitch.

I walked right past him , ready to stalk out, but his hand shot out, gripping my elbow and pulling me into his embrace.

I struggled against his hold, but he brought both arms around my waist, flexing his muscles so I could feel just how futile it would be to try and break free.

“Come on baby, walking out in the middle of negotiations...that’s just really poor etiquette. Think of the poor hostage....” He pouted , doe eyes wide and I nearly caved. He had no fucking business being sexy and cute.

I laughed in disbelief.

“Hostage??....are you talking about your fucking ego....?” I stared right up at him , tilting my face when he moved to kiss me. His lips latched on to my jaw instead, tongue licking the skin there gently as he hummed .

“No...I’m talking about my dick.” He grabbed both my elbows, swinging me around like I weighed nothing, one arm holding me in place as he pressed up against my back, hips rolling so I could feel the hardness of his dick right against the swell of my ass. “ Dude’’s feeling pretty darn trapped right now. Poor thing just wants to get inside you and ruin you baby, why you making it so hard for him...?”

I elbowed him sharply, vindicated when the sharp edge of it caught something hard and fleshy. Jungkook grunted in discomfort but didn’t let go of me.

“My little hellcat. “ He bit down on the juncture between my neck and shoulder, “You know why my dick is hard?”

“To match your cold unfeeling heart?” I snapped and he moaned in mock hurt.

“Not fair baby...I have the kindest heart... Soft heart, hard dick....That’s literally my entire persona.” Jungkook nuzzled my neck .

I fought the urge to laugh .

“So why then? Because I’m within ten feet of you? Isn’t that all it takes usually?” I muttered, wincing a bit when his teeth sank in a little deeper.

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle.

“Normally I’d agree but today... I’m so fucking hard because you looked like you wanted to claw Sana’s face off when I gave her those tickets....”

I flushed.

“Well, I just don’t think I should be the only one not allowed to see you fight.”

“Or maybe you just hate the idea of any one else getting to touch my dick...because like I said...it’s got your name on it right baby?” Jungkook laughed against my ear and I blushed .

“I still think its rude that you don’t let me come to your matches.” I grumbled.

“And why do you think that is, baby? Why do you think I’m so adamant about you not being anywhere near me when I have something important to do...”

I didn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut when he suckled on the skin near my neck.

“Its because I’ll probably lose..” He growled into my ear, “ Don’t wanna get knocked out in the first round because I was too busy staring at your pretty, pretty face and delicious fucking body... My only distraction, my favorite distraction.”

I felt myself melt like an ice cream cone in the fucking sun.

“Oh, fuck you....you honey-tongued son of a bitch...” I choked out, unable to fight the wide grin that was taking over my face.

Jungkook chuckled in victory, hugging me tighter.

“So tell me.... Can I tie you up tonight? Get some of my favorite toys...Want to play in your sandbox....” He leered and I laughed despite myself. How could this man make the most innocent of phrases sound so fucking sexy....

“Only if you let me pick the toys.”

Jungkook let go of me and gently turned me around. He was frowning deeply.

“Babe you don’t even know what their called.” He complained.

“But I can gauge how much damage they’ll do and that’s more important to me.” I pointed out.

Jungkook gave me a thoughtful smile.

“Hmm....fine... But I get to offer the choices. “ He said softly.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Okay, in that case you need to let me see every single drawing you’ve made of me... right now.” I smiled.

Jungkook grinned, already grabbing my wrist and tugging me back to his desk.

“Deal...but I’m gonna need you to sit on my cock and keep it warm while I show them to you..... okay?”

I glared at him but he was already moving to the wide , comfortable chair behind the desk. He sat on the chair, manspreading and unbuckling himself before wriggling the slacks down past his waist and tugging his boxers down.

I watched him reach in to pull out his hard cock , pumping the hard length of it a couple of times before smiling at me expectantly.

“Horny bastard.” I muttered under my breath, before letting him maneuver me into his lap, fingers slipping up my skirt and tugging my panties aside , before lining himself up against my center.

“Ready baby?” He kissed my cheeks fondly and I nodded lowly. He pressed a couple of fingers against my slit, dipping in just enough to make sure I was wet enough. I wasn’t dry per se, but it still stung a bit when he drove himself in with one swift stroke.

“Oh, fuck...” I groaned when he entered me , the rock hard length of him cleaving my insides and making my tongue go dry. I clenched down on him, thighs beginning to tremble already. I gripped the edge of the table in front of me.

“Maybe I should call Sana in now.? Huh baby...that’ll show her who this dick belongs to, right , angel?” He whispered against my ear and I moaned, a gush of arousal staining my thighs at his words., Jungkook laughed knowingly, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me still before rolling his hips gently and settling inside me.

“So baby, which ones do we start with.... Solo shots? ones with me....? There’s one of me fucking your pretty pink hole, maybe that’ll change your mind about letting me take you in the back...”

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

Author’s Note : I’m stopping here because the next chapter is just like 5k of porn and I wanted it to be a standalone chapter.

Comments are love , Feedback is really appreciated. Send me your thoughts, ideas or even just scream about how hot Jungkook is....anything works.

taglist : @veronawrites @aamxxrii @brooky95

@apollukee

@ladyartemesia

@yoongisdragon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ if you guys wanna be on the taglist just lemme know...

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook au #bts au #bts enemies to lovers #jungkook fics #jungkook reactions #bts smut #bts fics

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cosmictulips · 2 years

Note

Hi tulips! Hope you’re doing good today!!! Do you still do the exchange reading thing? I cannot really see if your post is up to date because I’m on mobile and it’s a little glitchy. If you still do them, then my question would be: what do I have to do to change my life (for context, I have had a recurring dream for the past 3 days and I think the overall message of that dream is that I need to change… something but I’m not sure what exactly or how, so some clarification or advice would be helpful). Maybe that also connects to why I don’t see my spells working because my energy is all over the place or something like… ugh idk what to do, I know I have to be prudent because I can’t just run away or something because I have no money 🙃 but ummm yeah enough rambling … if you’re up for it let me know ❣️❣️❣️

I just copied it sorry lol also DUDE what’s up with men anyways?! It’s like something is in the air every woman around me right now has some guy issues going on and it’s literally always on the guy… is this a collective „we should do some introspection etc but not rn and we’ll just fuck up everyone around us instead“ energy or what???

Helllooo frienndddddd

yeess yess, I spoke about the exchange reading thingy lol. so moving on from that lol. it's really, and I mean really funny that you send me that question. because I have been hackling with that question myself.

running away doesn't work haha. I did it three times and it only made me a mess financially. got to see some beautiful parts of the country though lol.

You know, the reading aside, the only advice I can really think to give is just ... discipline . ya know? if you see something you want to change, then change it. and it's HARD. cause we built those habits to suit the life we live. and not everything can be changed.

Like, I changed my major to suit the needs of the company I'm working for because not only will I make BANK getting the degree, but it's one hundred percent covered. and, eventually it will loop back around to what I was originally studying but it just sucks that now I have to change what I'm learning.

but this is my third chance at getting back to college and making something work for me. and I'm taking what I learned this time and I'm going to try to make different choices.

so yea.

also we're in the middle of a weird transition. between the eclipse, the scorpio moon, the retrograde... like the energy is just fucking messy to begin with.

let's get into the reading lol.

Death, the Chariot, 09 of Pentacles, King of Swords, 04 of Pentacles, 10 of Cups, page of Wands, King of Pentacles

the biggest and strongest messages that are coming through for me even before I got the tarot out are

I see you, I see you

go relentlessly into your dreams.

so that's really interesting. I don't know if there are people in your life that you trust right now. but I'm seeing a lot of people. these could just be energies that you have within you. I'm very specifically talking about the two kings and the page we have.

You are in the state of transformation. it's very evident here. I think the challenge is coming to understand what to do. and that really just comes down to what you want to do lol.

I was telling someone recently to write down a list.

5 things you want to do

5 things that need to change

5 things your grateful for.

and then start there. and keep going from there. it's easier when you can see them written out. it's like a task list. it doesn't have to be anything too large or grandeur but it's a stepping stone. and once you get that pathway started, it opens up to others.

I also want to highlight that 04 of pentacles. it's interesting because this not only talks about building good foundations but it can also talk about building walls and isolating yourself. so perhaps there's a need to branch out more. go to people who have learned and experienced what you're going through.

be more open in general with the people around you. I think there's a good balance here between what you want and how you'll go about doing it. granted it's two opposing energies -earth and air as represented by the kings- but there is also fire that is fueling this change.

the page of wands is about exploration. right so be open to trying new things. be open to learning even if it doesn't make sense now. it will all add up later. and we see that with the 10 of cups. there might be resistance to change or allowing yourself to break free from the habits that I spoke about earlier.

that is fine. recognize when that is happening and allow smaller steps. ya know? like if you want to change your diet for example. some people can quit cold turkey. others, like me, need to space it out more. go from eating it four times a week. to three, to two , and then to one and then not at all.

ya know? it's okay to treat yourself like a child. it's okay to ask yourself such basic questions like "Okay. I feel angry. that means a boundary is being crossed. what is that boundary?"

and that's where you'll start to see the changes happen. once you start to recognize more and more of the little things you body does -aka the unconscious becomes conscious- the more you can change that.

I've been reading quite a few self help books recently and they all really just point to these things.

small, but managable tasks. (for example me doing duolingo everyday for five minutes (really its like 2 minutes) to keep french fresh in my mind)

keep track of those habits in some way -journaling, a literal list, an app - and see that progress build up.

reward yourself and give yourself rest when you need it. this helps you learn your body's queues and helps you learn more about yourself.

discipline some days are harder than most. force yourself to do it anyway.

You have a lot coming to you. it's promised and guaranteed. you are not on the wrong path. it's just a little dark out. that's all c=

#ayyyeee this is long #but I wanted to answer this when I felt sure that I could actually help you outside of tarot #because tarot sometimes...#its a good guide but it doesn't give enough sometimes #and this is one of those times lol #but the cards are telling youuuu that you have some good shit coming #and that you're not on the wrong path or anything #just... be open to the changes

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caffeinated-cryptid · 4 years

Text

bishop to castle; check.

3.8k words | AO3 link | tags/warnings: suicidal behaviour, risk of falling from a height, talking someone down from a ledge, hurt/comfort, platonic roceit, positive ending.

“After weeks of moping post-POF, Janus goes into the imagination to find Roman. They end up having a much more intense conversation than he could have ever planned for.”

-------------------

Janus hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Roman since their last argument. It was fine, probably, he justified to himself, despite how Patton had returned from their talk with pursed lips and worriedly furrowed eyebrows. He likely just needed time to process everything that had happened, and Janus wasn’t going to push that.

(His reluctance to address the issue had nothing to do with the fact that he dreaded another confrontation. Totally not.)

After all, forcing his presence on Roman now could potentially only make things worse. So instead he would just have to wait for him to come around first-- to calm down enough to be willing to hear him out without resorting to name-calling.

Janus was plenty busy anyway, what with his new position in Thomas’ life. More than smoothing over one less-than-steller relationship with a side (which Janus was collecting like pokemon cards recently, it seemed), he elected to focus on ensuring Thomas held true to his promises of self-care, which meant working with Patton more often.

That wasn’t so terrible, at least it wasn’t as bad as the him from a year ago would have expected; the side was trying harder to welcome his contributions which he appreciated. Though inadvertantly through this new partnership, he found himself being dragged into more casual hang-outs, where they would do nothing but...chat. Sharing daily anecdotes and worries and secrets about themselves. It was strangely open and the sort of thing Janus had to adjust to, but with this new friendship he had found himself in, he did his best not to ruin it.

“I’m getting worried.” Patton admitted one day, setting down the tv remote after a finished screening of some Air Bud spinoff. How Janus had been wrangled into watching that ceaseless dog series was beyond him. “I think the others might be starting to come around to you, but Roman...”

Patton didn’t need to finish his sentence, because Janus already knew what he meant. With Virgil and Logan, he’d been making an effort to try to prove his worth as a member of the team (whether or not that was working was yet to be seen, despite Patton's generous assertions that it would all work out eventually), but he hadn’t even gotten the chance do to that with the creative side. As much as he had first assumed that time and space would do the trick, it seemed like that wasn’t the case after all.

“I suppose a confrontation is inevitable.” He grimaced, knowing that this had been put off for long enough.

“Would you do that?” Patton asked suddenly, looking to him with relief. It made Janus realize that it sounded like he had signed up to go talk to Roman himself.

“Uh...” Janus tensed, his previous concerns surfacing again. “I don’t think I would be the best suited to have this conversation-”

“Oh- Pleeease? You two need to talk most of all! Besides, when I went, he wouldn’t even...” Patton trailed off, biting his lip with a pout. “...Could you try, at least? Maybe you could get through to him.”

“...Alright. I’ll go before lunch.” Janus agreed begrudgingly, rewarded by Patton’s grateful smile. Stupid puppy face. That would have to stop working eventually.

-------------------

That was how Janus found himself in the lawless lands of The Imagination.

It had filled him with dread, knocking on the red and gold door and recieving no response. Even more so when he risked intruding anyway and seeing the wrecked state of the room, and then noticing the entrance to The Imagination wide open.

Unsurprisingly, that was where he found the side in question. More surprising was when he did, finding him sitting on the edge of the tallest turret of his castle, like he had decided to overlook his kingdom in the most dangerous way possible. Janus wasn’t so naive to assume that was all it was though.

Roman probably saw him approach as he ran the rest of the way to the castle, and that pushed him to go faster, dashing through the lonely walls of the old building until he was climbing up those spiralling stairs all the way to the top. When he finally made it, he stood there doubled over and completely out of breath as he adjusted to the high altitude winds that bit at his cheeks. He used the seconds he took to catch his bearings to figure out what to do-- his eyes never once leaving Roman’s back, who luckily hadn’t moved at all during his frantic dash. Perhaps his insticts had been wrong and there was nothing dangerous going on here. Every part of him screamed to stay and stop whatever this was though-- so he did.

“Roman.” He ended up saying once his breath had evened out, and nothing more. There was too much going on in his head to break whatever balance they currently had; too much to ask, too much to say, to explain, to defend, to try to understand.

Said side turned his head slightly to make eye-contact; not facing him, yet it was acknowledgement at least. “Deceit.” He said after a beat. His voice was cold, but not angry, and for some reason Janus would have prefered it if Roman were upset with him. Anything but this odd indifference that made him feel guilty for not summoning up the courage to check in sooner.

“Janus.” Janus corrected in an invitation to use his name. He intended it as a sign of goodwill, but Roman’s face twitched and he looked away again, this time his focus on the ground directly below.

“I came to talk.” Janus said in an attempt at a distraction. He was disheartened when Roman made no move to acknowledge him again, so he continued despite his uneasiness. "Would you please come down?”

“What? Scared, Deceit? I'm not doing anything. I'm not going to either, so you can go back to whoever sent you and tell them I’m fine.” Roman scoffed and the string of lies felt bitter in the fridgid air, enveloping him like an unwanted hug. If possible, Janus’ heart begun racing even quicker.

He wanted to protest and say that he had come of his own volition, but Janus knew that lying right now wouldn’t do either of them any good. “In that case, would you do it for my peace of mind?” He tried instead, and it earned him a wry smile, sent from over Roman’s shoulder.

“What ever gave you the impression I care about that?” Roman shot back, standing up only to turn on his heel to step down into the crenel next to him, then back up onto the the next merlon. He continued, going up and down and slowly circling around Janus like a predator would it's prey, but somehow he didn't feel like the one being hunted here. Actually, it was more like he was trying to convince a mouse that the cheese on a trap wasn't worth it. And being a snake himself, that simile was especially ironic.

“...That’s fair. We can talk like this, then. I wanted to apologize and hopefully make amends.”

Roman’s footing twisted haphazardly and Janus all but shot forward to steady him until he was given a deadly glare that froze him in his tracks.

“Stay back! You're not fooling me again. As far as I know, you'll just try to convince me to take a swan dive right of the side of this tower. No greater depth to plummet to than that, huh?"

“I- that's the complete opposite of what I want.” Janus stressfully replied, fighting against the urge to pull Roman off of the edge and end this whole thing himself, instead holding up his hands as a sign that he wouldn’t come closer. God, where had he gone so wrong go end up in this situation? He should have convinced Patton to come with him when he had the chance-- at least he probably would have had a better idea on how to get through to Roman when he was like this. Comparitively, Janus had no clue. He didn’t have the trustworthiness or the years of friendship.

“I believe you. You've already made it so clear just how much you care.” Roman replied sarcastically. Janus felt his hackles rising.

“I’m not lying! I didn't want any of this.” Janus gestured around. “There's so much I wish I could take back, but especially whatever I did to cause this.”

“Oh, Janus.” He felt a small dose of hope when Roman finally used his name, which was quickly dashed as he huffed out a laugh. “Always thinking you have a finger in every pie. Isn't it enough for me to come to this conclusion by myself?”

He continued bitterly, practically stomping his way around the edge of the tower now. “It's not like it was hard. Even an idiotic egomaniac prince like myself can tell when he's not wanted anymore. When the dream has died.”

Janus, despite the silver tongue he may possess, struggled for words in the face of Roman’s insecurity. He had wanted the anger because he had assumed it would be easier to prove that he wasn’t as evil as Roman was so keen to accuse him of being. He just hadn’t expected this issue to be so deeply sensitive. (Though perhaps he should have picked up on that hint when he saw the other side looking ready to jump to a temporary death). “Thats not true at all, you’re incredibly important and all of us need you. Perhaps we’re operating under new rules now, but that doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.”

But it seemed that wasn’t the best thing to say. Roman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable as he began shaking with fury or perhaps something else. “...If I’m ‘so important’, why does it never feel that way? Why am I the only one who has to change constantly for rules that can never stay the same? Why do I have to make sacrifices and tone down my voice?”

His controlled tone got louder and more stressed. “Why are my best efforts never good enough? Why are my doubts ignored? Why is it considered fair to disparage my work? To ignore the blood, sweat, and tears I put into everything?”

Janus stared in horror as Roman kept going, yelling over anything he could have possibly wanted to say.

“Why does it take this to be be fucking noticed?!”

Both of them paused when his rant reached a screaming crescendo and fat angry tears rolled down Roman's cheeks.

"...Forgive me if I'm having a little difficulty trusting what you say right now.” He sniffed, ducking his head away to wipe his eyes. The words were distant despite the soft way they were uttered.

Once again Janus was lost for what to say as he watched Roman compose himself. There was simply too much there to unpack, too many years of built-up stress and resentment. What in the absolute hell had these sides been doing all this time? “...I do wish to take some responsibility for that, though. Your hesitancy to trust again.” That seemed like a good place to start, if any.

Roman only snorted humourlessly at his efforts though, voice tired and unenthused. “I'm sure you would. It's a lot easier to sweep aside a broken vase rather than acknowledge its cracks when they’re forming, after all. That was the lesson you taught us, right?”

Janus winced at the callback to his first appearence to Thomas. He didn’t necessarily regret that day, but having it thrown back now made it feel like something to be ashamed of; seeing his lessons interpreted in such a way. “...Is that how you see yourself? Broken?” He asked instead, squashing down his indignation.

He only got silence in return. Janus swallowed, definitely regretting his hesitance to resolve this issue now.

“Roman, even though I doubt you’d trust my words, I promise that we're not trying to simply ‘sweep this aside’. If we're going with the vase metaphor, all of us want a chance to try to glue the pieces back together. Make right on all of the ways you’ve been wronged.” When that got no response, he tentatively asked, “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?"

“...Broken pottery fixed with gold, I'm aware. But trying to apply that right now is sloppy, even for you. People are never so beautiful after being so thoroughly broken, nor is it that easy." Slowly, Roman sat down on the edge, and even though his legs were dangling over the wrong side, Janus' heart finally felt some semblance of rest. He took a step forward.

"I disagree. Kinstugi is rarely an straight-forward process either, and yet it achieves such splendid results with just a little patience and care. Which is to say... while it may not be the easiest thing to do, there’s undeniably beauty and strenght in survival. Trying again even when it feels impossible.”

“Of course you'd think that, Mr. Kill or be killed. You have no choice in whether you get to continue forward. But I do.”

Janus paused at that, only four paces away from Roman now. The creative side startled when he peered backwards and saw him so close, and then he glared at Janus as he stood up again, this time facing him fully. His foot slid backwards until the worn-down structure crumbled under his heel, sending rocks tumbling down below. It was a warning, Janus realized as his blood frooze in his veins.

“Don’t look so shocked. I control everything here, or did you forget?” Roman smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile or even a smug one; it only looked like he was stretching his mouth unnaturally, all pretenses of putting on a convincing performance stripped away. “If I want, I could have a Pegasus fly by and save me at the right moment. Or I could expand the moat to catch me. Or..."

Roman looked frustrated for a second when he couldn't think of anything else, even more so when Janus patiently waited for him to think of another example. In the end, he gave up.

"The point is, I call the shots about what happens to me."

"But would you? Save yourself?" Janus questioned hesitantly. He knew he was treading on thin ice, so he left it there. Roman raised an eyebrow at him and he returned it, making it clear that he wanted an answer. He recieved it with a scoff.

“Of course I would. What kind of question is that?”

Lie.

Janus winced. “Roman... You are aware of my ability to detect lies, yes?”

The creative side blinked in surprise and then looked at him with wide eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to be called out. Like it had been so natural to brush aside the question that he didn’t even realize his own feelings. Fortunately, Janus’ ability was too keen to be fooled by one’s own self-deception. He could see below the surface like that; pull people’s hidden truths from them and keep them for himself, like a keeper of forbidden knowledge (Though in moments like these, sometimes he wished he couldn’t. Ignorance truly is bliss).

“Should I ask again?” He pressed. “Are you really planning on saving yourself?”

This time Roman’s face screwed up in confliction and he directed his gaze to the floor of the tower. It was an awfully clinical way to ask, but it felt necessary to stop dancing around what was important-- this casual show of self-destruction.

Eventually, the other cracked with a tired huff of laughter. Sadly genuine this time.

“...It's certainly nice to think that I could.” Roman admitted as he rubbed his face, apparently not mad at being called out this time. “Finally being a hero again, even if it's only to myself.”

Janus paused in shock. Was he still misinterpreting that moment?

“That wasn't a lie.” Janus blurted out, taking even himself by surprise by the thoughtless exclamation. “Thomas still thinks of you as his hero. There’s no need to do things like this to prove it.”

Romans eyes went watery and he avoided his gaze.

“At this point I don't think it matters, when I haven’t been acting like it at all lately.” He whispered coarsely, uncharacteristically quiet compared to the wind. “Frankly, I'm surprised you're even trying to stop me."

Janus eyes softened and he took another tentative step forward, then another when Roman didn't react badly. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m not just Deceit, you know. Part of my job is to help you.”

“...Because you hate me? At this point you have more reasons to than not.” Roman explained warily, looking at him like Janus were seconds away from snapping and shoving him over the edge. It hurt to have that sort of mistrust placed on him, but at the same time Janus understood it. He had often been in that sort of situation before; doubting the safety of opening up to other people. That was just part of his job, to be doubtful and wary in order to protect the self. Yet to see it so openly on somebody else felt like a punch to the gut, even though he should have been used to that feeling of being distrusted by now.

“Do you think me so sensitive that a schoolyard insult would make you my archenemy? Or being called evil? That is...sort of what I’ve been going for.” He cracked a joke, gesturing to his outfit. When Roman kept staring at him he sighed. “Of course I don’t hate you, Roman.”

Roman shifted doubtfully. “That doesn’t mean you like me, either. Maybe it doesn’t mean much to you, but you should know how- how being called that hurt me.”

"...Yes.” It was Janus’ turn to be uncomfortable. “Perhaps at first I felt attacked and wanted to make you feel the same hurt, but I would never have said that had I known just how deeply it would have impacted you. I’m sorry for that.”

Roman’s expression turned incredulous, like he couldn’t believe Janus had apologized. “...You know, I wanted to make you upset. I wanted you gone.”

“I figured.” Janus nodded.

“And that doesn’t change anything? Even though I acted so...” Roman bit his lip. “So unheroic?”

Janus stifled a sigh. By now, he really hated that word with a passion. It had caused so many high standards, so many instances of self-sacrifice, so many misguided attempts at selflessness and perfection. Perhaps later they could talk about it all and lay out why it had done so much harm, but for now he decided not to push it, not when he felt so close to getting a breakthrough.

“Believe it or not, but I think that you've been plenty heroic already. This whole time you've been fighting for something you thought was valient and noble, and that means something, even if it was for a misguided cause.”

That took Roman off-guard. He moved his foot away from the edge subtley, and had Janus not been focused on his face, he would have considered it a small victory.

“...What’s the point of all of this, really? Is this some... some dastardly plot?” Roman questioned skeptically. He was looking even more cornered now that he was letting Janus’ words sink in.

“All I'm here for is to offer the helping hand you need, if you’ll accept it.” Janus said softly as he extended his hand up to him. “Really, my only plot right now is to get you off that ledge before you give me a heart attack. Please?”

Roman stared at him, desperately trying to find some sort of mistruth in his eyes before his gaze lowered to the outsretched hand. It felt like time slowed in the seconds he was making his decision and Janus held his breath, waiting...wating... until finally the other side nodded and took his hand.

With Janus’ help, Roman stepped down, looking confused and lost now that he was away from the edge. The expression pained Janus’ heart, so he opened his arms half expecting rejection, only to be taken back by how quickly Roman latched onto him. Janus wasted no time clinging back, so relieved that he actually suceeded that he didn't want to risk ever letting go, like this moment could be torn away at any second. It was no surprise when he felt the other’s chest jerk with held-back sobs until there was a wetness on his shoulder, and he didn't say anything about it. He didn't need to either, because Roman spoke up first.

“It didn’t mean anything. Really!” He exclaimed through messy tears. “I was only thinking about it!”

Lie.

“...It's okay if it was more than that.” Janus soothed, patting his back. “It's okay to feel low and in need of help.”

That made him cry harder and Janus was relieved to see the excess of emotions finally pour out. While waiting for Roman to calm down, he had to fight for his own tears to not spill over. Inevitably, the stress of the situation finally caught up when the adrenaline wore off, and he sagged into the hug, sniffling quietly and trying not to fall over on his aching legs. He really just sprinted up multiple flights of stairs, didn’t he? Belatedly, he realized that he must have lost his hat at some point during the journey because he could feel the wind tousle his hair.

It would have been funny if it weren’t for the absolute rush of emotions he had just gone through.

The two of them stood there for what would normally be considered an awkward amount of time, except the act of simply hugging on solid ground was the biggest comfort in the world, too much to ruin the moment. They waited until they got through the worst of their tears before they dared speak again. Once again, Roman went first.

“Sorry for laughing at you back then.” He said, voice reflecting the yelling and crying he'd been doing. It felt genuine. “I actually really like your name...the mythology suits you. Very dramatic.”

Janus laughed wetly, finally a true statement. “Why, thank you. And I apologize for where I’ve wronged you.”

Finally, they straightened up. Roman took one look at him and summoned hankerchiefs for them both. Janus accepted it and wiped away his tears as gracefully as he could.

“Hopefully we can have a more in-depth discussion on this later, but for now Patton and I prepared lunch, if you’d be willing to have us.” Janus asked, hopes raised.

“...That sounds good.” Roman smiled.

Janus smiled back.

Together, the two of them descended down the steps of the tower, and the imagination was the slightest bit sunnier when they reached the outside.

#my writing #sanders sides #platonic roceit #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #roman angst #roman stans come get y'alls juice #(i wrote this in a Mood so if this is janky i'm sorry)

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

Text

The Chase

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Word Count: 4,982

Preview: Despite the fact that you're supposed to have the House of Lamentation all to yourself, Satan shows up in your room with an all-too-familiar charm.

He wants a chase, and you're willing to give it to him.

(This is a follow up to my other Satan fic, “Feline Charms”, so please go read that first if you haven’t!)

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter is also being posted on 6/25/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3

Satan walks into your room one quiet day—a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause from where you’re sitting on your bed, surprised to see him. Last you’d heard, Diavolo had invited the brothers to the castle for dinner. You hadn’t been included in the invitation (something about discussing sensitive Devildom politics over the meal), but it hadn’t bothered you.

For once, you’d have the entire house to yourself, and that thought was exciting. But…

Here Satan is, standing in your doorway, and looking suspiciously happy.

“Did you…not go with your brothers?” you ask, pushing yourself into a seated position, with your legs crossed under you. You stare at him innocently, head cocked to the side.

“I told them I needed to catch up on homework first,” he says, waving his hand uncaringly. “The first hour or so is just mingling anyway. Dinner doesn’t start until late.”

“Ah,” you respond, but you’re still confused. It’s obvious to you that Satan doesn’t have any real homework to do, considering he’s standing in your doorway all mischievous-like. There’s got to be a reason why he’d stayed behind, and come to visit you in particular…

Sighing, you press to your feet and pose with a hand on your hip—eyebrow raising as you stare at him.

“What can I do for you, Satan?”

At that, he grins. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Satan carefully tugs out what looks to be a small keychain. He only holds it only by the silken ribbon, and your eyes narrow in on the all too familiar golden charm dangling at the end.

Immediately, your body goes stiff—explicit memories flashing through your head.

Satan chuckles as he notices your obvious shift in demeanor.

This shouldn’t be a complete surprise to you. After all, you and Satan had spoken on the possibility of once again using the charm to make things a bit more…interesting.

It wasn’t like your normal sex wasn’t fun, or fulfilling, but…you and Satan both had admittedly gotten immense pleasure out of your first (albeit accidental) use of the charm, so why not try once again?

“I managed to adjust the spell so you won’t turn fully into a cat, like last time,” Satan speaks, his foot inching forward. His pace is slow as he approaches you, and you feel your breathing pick up—your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You know that this time, you’re both looking for that bit of resistance you’d shown before—when Satan had been forced to wrestle you into the shower. Except, today, you won’t be running due to a fear of water—you’ll be running to feel the thrill of the chase.

Satan had expressed to you some while ago that he’d admittedly always loved being able to let go and indulge in his Wrath-born tenancies from time to time. And…part of those tendencies typically involved games of cat and mouse.

For as composed as Satan appears to be, he gets twisted pleasure out of stalking his prey—chasing them, letting them work themselves into a frenzy, until finally Satan puts them out of their misery.

…of course, Satan has no intention of killing you.

No, for you, a much more…pleasurable ending awaits.

“Of course, we don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not up for it.”

He lifts his free hand and cups your cheek, dragging you into a soft kiss. That mischievous glint in his eye is gone, replaced with a look of understanding and affection.

You and Satan have only grown closer over the last few weeks, and there’s no way he’ll jeopardize your relationship by forcing you into a scenario when you’re not on board.

A quiet moan builds in your throat, and you raise your hands—cradling his face between your palms. You steal another kiss from him, and your heart begins to race.

You love him so much that sometimes you think you may drown in your affections for him. How can one man make you want to melt, but manage to get you so sexually aroused in the same beat?

Lowering one of your hands from his cheek, you trail your fingers down his chest, and onto his arm. Within moments, your fingers skim against his own. You feel the soft silken fabric holding the charm, and without second thought, reach down to touch the spell-laden metal.

Immediately, your body tingles—and you can sense the magic changing your form. The sensation stops only after a few seconds, and true to his word, this time around you have not turned into a house cat. Instead, you remain human, but with feline characteristics—your ears twitching on your skull, and your tail waving behind you—showing the excitement you’ve been attempting to hide.

“Do I at least get a head start?” you whisper against his lips—smile overtaking you. The Avatar of Wrath chuckles, pressing one final kiss against your mouth.

“10 seconds,” he says.

In a flash, you’ve disappeared—your shoulders brushing together as you dart past him and exit your bedroom. He can hear your footsteps echoing down the hall as you run, and Satan grins to himself. It’s clear you don’t intend to make this easy for him.

As adrenaline begins to flood his veins, his power begins to seep. Horns appear on Satan’s head—his clothes transforming into his demonic outfit, and a green and black tail snakes around his leg.

“3,” he mumbles to himself, turning to face the open door to your room. He rolls his neck side to side—loosening his muscles.

“2.”

Satan takes a deep breath, his ears straining to hear you. You’ve traveled quite far in just a few seconds…perhaps the spell had granted you a tiny boost in speed, as well.

“1.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Satan rushes after you.

You’ve already made it down the staircase and into the dining room by the time Satan is done counting.

While a part of you had admittedly debated slowing your pace so that Satan could find you more easily, that idea had quickly been chucked aside. Satan wants a chase, and, well…to be quite honest, the Avatar of Wrath is a bit scary. At least when he’s like this. (Although you know he would never actually hurt you.)

A wave of power extends throughout the house, and you feel your hair stand on end. Briefly pausing, your cat ears—with heightened senses—swerve around on your head. Somewhere behind you, a stair creaks.

You suck in a sharp breath, gaze quickly darting over your shoulder. How is he already this close??

Hurrying forward, you do your best to tread lightly as you round into the kitchen. You stay low behind the counter tops, a tiny smile tugging at your lips when you suddenly feel foolish for the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. You’re excited, and anxious, and aroused, and—

“Neko-chan~”

The voice is drawn-out—playful—but it still makes your hackles rise.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the demon lurking behind you. You don’t even dare look—simply leap forward and out of Satan’s reach. He grins mirthfully as you turn your head to stare at him--shocked. It’s seriously unfair that he can move so silently.

“I found you,” he says, taking a step forward. In response, you take a step back. The doorway to the hall is still a few feet behind you, and Satan is blocking the entrance back into the dining room. Your best bet would be to stun him, and then run further into the house and hide.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an apple sitting on the counter.

You swipe at it without warning, effectively sending it flying towards Satan’s head. The demon, luckily, is thrown off by the action.

He lifts an arm to save his face from being struck by the fruit, and by the time the apple has bounced off his arm and clattered to the floor, Satan’s eyes only manage to catch the sight of your tail disappearing from the doorframe.

A grin tugs at his lips, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You’re cute when you’re desperate. Too bad your efforts are in vain.

You only make it half way up the hall before a hand wraps around your tail. With a shriek, you tumble off your feet—landing ungracefully on your ass. There’s an amused snort behind you.

“And that’s why I keep my tail close to me.”

You scramble to your hands and knees—knowing that Satan is behind you—but he doesn’t allow you to get away again.

“It’s adorable when the prey doesn’t realize it’s time to give up.”

Satan’s warmth and weight are suddenly on your back. You feel his prominent hard-on against your ass, and pointedly rut back against it—hoping to loosen his hold. However, the action in turn causes him to grip you tighter—his sharp nails digging into one of your breasts through your shirt.

You whimper, but the sound quickly escalates into a pained gasp as Satan’s other hand roots in your hair. He tugs your head back—his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck as punishment for that last, pathetic escape attempt.

“Satan,” you breathe hotly, your tone pleading. Your ass wiggles against his crotch. Despite the small amount of distress you feel towards your current situation, it is vastly outweighed by the arousal pooling your gut. The Avatar of Wrath catching you and pinning you down like this is a huge turn-on.

“Wasn’t much of a chase, in the end,” he mumbles against your ear, and you blink in shock as the world spins. He easily flips you onto your back, and suddenly you’re staring at his devilishly handsome face—his lips pulled into a wide smile, and his blond hair disheveled.

“You should have just told me if you wanted my cock that badly, Y/N.”

You flush red, hand lifting to press against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You prick—I ran with all I had! Maybe if you wanted more of a chase, you should have given me a bigger head s—”

Your words are cut off as his palm presses against your neck—his fingers squeezing tightly around your throat. You’re very much reminded of the first time he’d fucked you--the same ears and tail adorning your body.

“I would watch your mouth, kitty.” You start to go light-headed, and Satan feels you become more pliable beneath him. He drags his knee between your thighs--grinding up against your pelvis, and you whine. “Is that any way for a pet to talk to their master?”

“I-I’m not--,” you attempt to deny his words, but you’re aware that this is a battle you won’t win. You’d said once before that you were the “Avatar of Wrath’s personal little pet”, and he’s taking that very seriously. Especially now that you’re pinned beneath him--cute, fuzzy ears flattened against your hair.

Satan leans in so your faces are mere centimeters apart, and his eyes flick to look at your lips.

“Want to try that again?”

Your body heats up with embarrassment. You will yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m your pet, Satan.”

He smiles at that, and you feel his grip on your neck loosen as he leans down to kiss you. You moan quietly into the kiss—your arms lifting to wrap around him—but the soft moment is over as soon as it begins. The Avatar of Wrath nips his canines against your bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, and his fingers tighten against your throat once more.

“And as my pet, I can do whatever I please, yes?”

His knee is still rubbing up against your pussy, and even though the friction is lessened by your clothing, you’re so riled up at the moment that you swear if he keeps going, you’ll cum soon.

You nod weakly.

“Say it.”

“You can use me however you want.”

Your voice is frantic, and breathless. Satan can see the way your face has started to color from lack of blood flow, so he removes his hand from your neck. Instead, he places a finger at the collar of your shirt—his green nail extending into a point on command. The sharp nail catches the fabric of your shirt and tears it clean up the middle.

Because you’d been expecting to have the house to yourself tonight, you aren’t wearing a bra.

As your tits spill into the open air, Satan’s dick throbs. Immediately, his hand descends upon the soft mounds, giving them a rough squeeze. You whimper--your eyes straying to look at the crotch of Satan’s pants, and the pitched tent is quite obvious.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. Satan notices, his eyes narrowing. He removes his hand from your chest, and instead replaces it with his mouth. As he sucks your tit between his lips—his teeth gently nipping at your hardened nipple—his free hand sneaks beneath the hem of your pants.

His fingers slide between your wet folds, two digits curling into your pussy with little resistance. You writhe beneath him, your hips grinding down against his hand, and he sinks his teeth into your breast as a warning. You’re quick to cease your movements.

“Good girl.”

Satan laps his tongue against your tit—soothing over the indentation of his teeth. Acknowledgement of your good behavior.

You whine, unable to help the miniscule twitching of your body as Satan begins finger fucking you. His pace is frustratingly slow—serving only to rile you up—but you know that if you beg for more, you’ll be punished. Good pets learn to wait, and so shall you.

“Mmm--!” you mewl—your chest arching into Satan’s mouth. He’s taken to biting and sucking against your breasts—leaving you with a pretty pattern of soon-to-be hickies.

“You like it when you have marks, don’t you?” he speaks, voice deep. His emerald eyes flit up to you, and a grin pulls at his lips when he fucks his fingers into you particularly hard—making you gasp.

“That way, whenever you see them, you’ll be reminded of this—,” Satan drags his mouth upward to rest against your throat. His words are hot against your skin as he continues, and you shiver.

“—me, fucking you in the middle of the hallway after a pathetic game of cat and mouse. You’re quite literally the cat out of the two of us, and yet you were caught…”

“Not exactly a fair game when you’re running from a demon,” you shoot back. Satan breathes a laugh, and a moment later, you feel his canines against the column of your throat. He bites down—a cry falling from your lips—and Satan enjoys the way your pussy tightly grips his fingers. Despite the pain laced in your voice, he can feel your walls getting wetter.

“You’re quite mouthy for a pet,” he comments, sitting back a little. There’s a clear impression of his teeth against your neck. Your chest rises and falls quickly—eyes blown wide as you stare at him. Looks like your bratty remarks have finally given way to needy submission.

“How about…,” Satan pulls his fingers from inside of you, watching the way your bottom lip quivers in disappointment. “…you meow for me?”

His two digits—slick with your own arousal—press against your clit and begin rubbing slow, gentle circles. Your skull angles back into the carpet, lips parting in a silent moan, and after a moment your wanton gaze resettles on the demon.

You hesitate, your cheeks getting redder, and Satan grins. He rubs against your clit a bit harder, leaning down to press open mouth kisses to your sternum.

“If you be a good girl and meow, I’ll quit teasing and give you what you want. How’s that sound?”

He mumbles the words against your skin, smiling when he feels your thighs tighten around his hand. It takes a few seconds for you to work up to it, but eventually Satan hears you sigh—giving into your fate.

“N-nyaaa~,” you manage quietly, pitching your voice high, and attempting to come off cute. Your heart is racing against your ribs, embarrassment and arousal clashing as your body continues to heat up.

Satan’s fingers pause against your clit—the blond-haired demon leaning back, and giving you a curious look. It seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Despite his inner amusement at making you meow; his dick is throbbing.

He wants to fuck you into the floor.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he remarks, resting back on his knees as his hands fumble to undo his belt. You watch him with wide eyes, surprised at the desperation that is oozing off of him. A part of you wants to tease him for getting so turned-on from making you meow of all things, but you don’t want to jeopardize your chance at finally having his cock inside of you.

And you need this.

A gasp falls from your mouth as Satan grabs you—his fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants. Since you’re fairly desperate yourself, you lift your rear off the floor, making it easier for him to shuck the clothing off of you.

Now, with your lower half revealed to him, Satan wastes no time in settling between your legs. His pants are already shoved down his thighs—cock weeping and hard.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands a little breathily as his hands find your hips—guiding you against him. The head of his length rubs between your wet folds, flicking against your clit, before finally dragging down to your sopping hole.

You groan pleasantly as he seats himself between your walls—your legs curling around him as his cock stretches you open--filling you so deliciously. Despite the wrath in his nature telling him to be mean, a hint of fondness tugs at his heart--happy to see your satisfaction.

Leaning down, Satan cups your face. He kisses you hotly—his tongue dragging against your own as he swallows each and every pleasurable sound that threatens to escape you.

With his cock sheathed within your heat, he kisses you until your breath is completely stolen away.Then, he leans back--his eyes roaming you from head to toe. Hickies litter your chest, your lips are wet and swollen, and the bite mark on your neck is sure to be there for days. He grins with satisfaction at his work.

“What a good pet,” he comments. His hands find your hips once more, and the soft intimacy of the moment has ended. You’re once again his prey.

“Oh--!” you choke in surprise as Satan suddenly thrusts himself into you—his pace fast and rough right from the get-go. Your fingers tear into the carpet beneath you—desperate for something to hold onto. If it weren’t for the remnants of your torn shirt protecting your back, you’re sure you’d have carpet burn in minutes.

“Ah,” Satan bites out, his heart thundering in his chest as he continues fucking into you. With your legs tightly wrapped around him, it makes it so easy for him to grind your pussy onto his dick—his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your hips as he forces you to meet him in the middle.

Uncalled upon, little whines and pleas begin to drip off your tongue. The chase combined with all of Satan’s teasing has gotten you so worked up that you can already feel arousal pooling heavily in your gut. Each drag of the demon’s cock between your walls inches you closer to your release, and at this rate, you won’t last very long.

“S-Satan, I--,” you open your mouth to warn him, but that’s all you can manage. You can barely form a coherent thought, your eyes glazed over as you stare at him. And Satan loves seeing you like this—falling apart beneath him. All it would take is one final push, and he’s sure that you’d unravel.

“Oh? Are you close already?” he teases, despite full well knowing he’s nearing his breaking point as well. Sweat has started to bead on his brow—the ends of his messy blond hair sticking against his forehead. As much as he could poke fun at you for being so close already, he doesn’t have the right. At this rate, he’ll be pumping you full of his seed within the next few minutes.

You bite your lip at his question and manage to nod your head. Your pussy is throbbing around his length—gripping him tighter with each passing second. You’re drowning in your own arousal.

Whining a little, you lift your arms towards the demon—craving to feel him. He’s already fucked any remaining disobedience out of you, and now all you want is to keep him close as he drills you into the floor.

Luckily, Satan is feeling nice enough to give in. He wraps his arms behind you, hugging you tightly against him as he continues fucking his hips into yours. Wet slapping sounds echo down the hallway, and you moan--your fingers digging into his shoulder blades as you wrap yourself around him.

Satan’s breathing is heavy against your ear, quiet pants and curses puffing against your skin as the two of you rocket towards your climaxes. However—

Brrrring Brrrring~

Satan’s rhythm stutters as he feels his DDD begin vibrating against his lower thigh. He growls.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your head thumps back against the floor in disappointment as Satan untangles himself from around you and wrestles his phone out of his pocket. The screen reads Mammon, and Satan momentarily debates ignoring the call. However, knowing that he’s supposed to be at an important meeting with his brothers and Diavolo currently, he can’t justify doing so.

“What?” he bites in annoyance, connecting the line. Despite also being peeved at the interruption, you find yourself smiling—Mammon’s offended voice reaching your ears as he complains about the rude greeting.

As Satan seethes, you become aware of the fact that his cock is still inside of you. Even though he had picked up the call, he has made a point of keeping himself seated between your warm walls, and the realization has you feeling a little…devious.

“Lucifer is wonderin’ where the hell ya are,” Mammon states after airing his complaints at Satan’s cold greeting. The Avatar of Wrath sighs.

“I’ll be there soon, I’m nearly fin-ished--,” his voice wavers, pitching high in response to your pussy clenching around him.

“You okay, Satan?” Mammon asks curiously as Satan’s narrowed emerald eyes shift down to you. There’s a look of disbelief on his face—had you really just done something so ballsy?—but the anger in his eyes quickly melts into something much more devious.

He leans back a little more—his free hand moving between your legs. Before you can beg him not to, the Avatar of Wrath is quickly rubbing two of his fingers against your aching clit. His motions are swift and damning—a side to side motion that has your eyes rolling back, and your lips parting. A moan threatens to tear out of you, and you hurry to lift your hands and cover your mouth.

A grin tugs at Satan’s lips even as your pussy tightens around his cock once more.

“I’m fine,” he responds after a brief pause, his voice even and put together. It’s a stark contrast to you, who is quite literally writhing beneath him. You cry into your hands—your thighs pressing tightly against Satan’s hips as you attempt to close your legs, but it’s no use.

“…okay then,” Mammon relinquishes, still sounding a little suspicious. “Dinner starts in 30 minutes. Get here by then, alright?”

“I’m sure I’ll finish in time,” Satan replies, now full-out grinning as he watches you squirm. He can feel your pussy pulsating around his length. If he keeps going, there’s no doubt you’ll cum.

“Ya better, or Lucifer will have your ass. Get here soon.”

With that, Mammon ends the call, and Satan doesn’t hesitate in chucking his phone across the floor. It skids to a stop on the carpet a few feet away just as the demon reaches up and tears your hands away from your mouth.

“You bas--,” you start breathlessly, but Satan cuts you off. His mouth crashes against yours—his arms once more wrapping tightly around your torso as he picks up where you’d left off. And all you can do is moan around his tongue—a thick layer of need blotting out your anger and embarrassment.

Once again, the two of you are thrown into the depths of your pleasure. The world disappears from around you. All you know is Satan, and the way he’s making you feel.

“Please,” you beg, fingernails pressing crescents into the skin of his shoulders. You’re so, so close. You could snap at any second.

Satan notes the way your walls grip him—squeezing tighter with every thrust of his cock, and he bites out a curse. He can feel your breasts pressing against his chest—hear each of your breathless pleas and whines. You’re quite literally falling apart in his fingers, and he has never experienced anything more beautiful.

“Cum.”

Permission.

With a strained cry, you hug yourself to him as tight as you can, and cum. Your body convulses beneath him, your pussy milking around his cock, and you feel his muscles tense. He pants harshly—a near whine caught in his throat—and his rhythm finally falters.

Seating himself inside of you, Satan paints your walls with his seed. His chest heaves as he slumps against you—holding you near as your pussy forces every last drop of cum from his length. Taking a deep breath, you reach a hand up to pet through his blond hair.

“Good?” you question tiredly, turning your head to press a kiss to his ear. Satan hums in affirmation, and you shiver as he drags his hips backwards—his length disappearing from inside of you.

“Very,” he assures you, moving to kiss you.

You smile, happy to hear him say so, and then laugh a little. He cocks an eyebrow, leaning back onto his knees so he can fully look at you.

“What?”

“I think you just have a cat fetish,” you tell him, your ears twitching atop your head. “I mean…we could have sex like this without using the charm, you know?”

Satan turns a little red at that, sheepishly tugging a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

“I just…think you look really cute like this, okay?”

It’s clear that now that the Avatar of Wrath has gotten his fill, he’s not feeling so mean anymore.

“Then I’ll be your kitty whenever you want,” you tell him, pressing your palms to the floor as you sit yourself up. Satan immediately reaches forward and cups your cheeks—a fond look in his eyes as he guides you into another kiss.

“That’s a dangerous offer,” he tells you, smiling against your lips. You laugh again, and Satan is sure to pepper you with a few more soft kisses before he grabs your hand and helps you to your feet. The two of you put yourselves back together best you can—Satan reassuring you that he’ll buy you a new shirt when he sees you motion to the now destroyed garment on your top half.

“Have fun at dinner,” you tell him as he bends down to retrieve his discarded phone. The demon rolls his eyes, his horns and tail disappearing into thin air.

“Of course.”

Pausing to hug you and kiss you one last time, Satan then makes his way up the hall and disappears from sight. Once he’s gone, you stretch your arms above your head and turn back towards your room. You could really use a shower.

Later than night—just past 1AM—you’re pulled from your sleep by a dip in your bed. An arm wraps around your waist—a nose nuzzling against your neck—and you murmur quietly.

“Satan?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he shoots back, clearly tired himself. You shake your head “no”, and settle back against the pillow. You feel his fingers lift to pet against the furry ears still lingering atop your scalp, but you can’t be bothered to say anything. The sensation is nice, and it quickly lulls you back to sleep.

“Night,” you mumble, drifting off, and you hear him chuckle.

“Good night.”

In the morning, you wake up safely tucked into Satan’s embrace, and the two of you end up lounging in bed talking for a fair while. You only decide to start the day once your stomach growls, in need of some breakfast.

Exiting your room together (Satan being sure to remind you to cover the bite marks on your neck) the two of you make your way towards the kitchen, but are stopped by a frowning Leviathan.

“What’s up?” you ask, and the otaku motions over his shoulder down the hall.

“Lucifer found some weird stain on the carpet this morning. He’s currently patrolling and is trying to find the culprit.”

At his words, you and Satan freeze. You turn to look at each other—realization shining in your eyes.

You’d both left the scene of your love making without bothering to check if you’d…left a mess.

Well shit.

“Thanks for letting us know, Levi!” you say, grabbing Satan’s wrist and tugging him up the hall.

You need to clean up now.

After all, the last thing you need is Lucifer to start asking about how the stain happened.

#om!#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #satan smut #satan #obey me satan

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titularkilljoy · 4 years

Text

Black Coffee

Summary: Spencer had changed since prison. And no one seems to be able to help.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Strong language, mental health struggles, angst

Author’s note: Inspired by this post. Also, this is my first time writing for a fandom. So, don’t be gentle. Be brutally honest.

Spencer was different these days. On that much, everyone could agree.

Everyone on the team walked on eggshells around him now, myself included. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to be there for our friend who had just gotten out of a three-month stint in prison; it was quite the opposite. All of us were waiting with bated breath for an opportunity to help. None of us wanted him to bottle up all his frustration and end up throwing books at the bureau walls again. As it was, he refused to acknowledge it or talk about it, and as a result, we all talked around it, trying to profile him without making it too obvious; trying to help him without him catching on to the fact that we were trying to help him. All in all, it was a Herculean feat. Every time he detected the slightest ounce of what he deemed to be pity, you could see his hackles raise, and an impenetrable barrier would form around him. That was incredibly unpleasant for everyone involved.

Spencer and I had been close, once. Extremely close. We had confided in each other about everything. I think he had always appreciated the fact that I never treated him like an all-knowing alien or a socially awkward little brother. It probably helped that my feelings for him were far from brotherly. But he didn’t need to know that.

Regardless, our close bond seemed to be a thing of the past. I had been there to welcome him back to the outside world on the day he was released. My heart was fuller than it had ever been, with love and relief and grief, and I had thrown my arms around him without a word. He had been stiff in my embrace for a few seconds before I felt the familiar warmth of his arms clutching me tightly. I had sighed deeply. I had missed his touch.

Since then, however, he had shut himself off. I had tried to give him space, to let him resolve those issues , which he clearly did not want to speak to me about, on his own. When that didn’t seem to work, I decided on a more hands-on approach.

For a week, I had been trying to muster the courage to follow through on that decision. But every time I tried to broach the matter, the emptiness of his gaze and the rigid set of his shoulders would stop the words in my throat. I felt like I was trying to speak to a stranger. Worse than that– I knew how to deal with traumatized victims and witnesses. Spencer was neither of those and both of those at once. Besides that, he was the ghost of my best friend. Every conversation felt like trying to breathe new life into a relationship long gone dead and cold.

Right now, he was alone in the break room. On the surface, he seemed to be going about his routine like a normal person. But to the trained eye, it was horrifying. Because he was pouring himself some coffee. A black coffee. With one sugar. Knowing him like I did, the sight was bleak, and it spurred me into action.

I set my shoulders and walked into the room. He lifted his head and nodded at me in greeting. I sidled over to the counter and set my gaze firmly on the pot of coffee as it if contained all the secrets of the universe. He leaned against the counter, staring at the opposite wall while blowing on his coffee. I cleared my throat. There was a palpable tension in the air. Maybe it was just me. He certainly didn’t seem bothered. I, however, was choking on it.

“Spencer,” I tentatively began, “I was thinking, maybe we should talk?”

I cringed at my own words even as I said them. I’d spent a week working on this and the best I could do was some sitcom staple dialogue?

Spencer’s eyes darted over to me, brow furrowing in curiosity. “About what? Is this about the case?”

“No. No, it’s not about the case.”

That seemed to be the wrong answer. He heaved a frustrated sigh and rubbed a hand over his face.

“(Y/N), we really don’t have time for–-“

Another deflection. Except this time, I was expecting it, and wouldn’t accept it.

“Yes, we have time, Spencer. We’ve apprehended the suspect. We saved a victim. Today we’re doing paperwork”, I pointed out, “and this is definitely more important than paperwork.”

“If this is a personal matter then we shouldn’t be talking about it here anyway,” he said in a clipped tone. He was getting defensive.

“You’re right, Spencer.” That took him by surprise, and I was rewarded with his grudging attention.

“You’re right. This conversation shouldn’t be happening here. Except, you’ve been dodging my calls for a month. You pretend you’re not home when I show up at your apartment. You won’t even say a word to me that isn’t about work.” I let the frustration I felt bleed into my words; he needed to know this wasn’t a profiler’s attempt to poke and prod at his psyche. It was just me, and I wanted my best friend back.

“I’ve been busy,” he hedged, but there was a trace of guilt in his eyes. He had never liked seeing me hurt, after all.

“Don’t lie to me, Spencer,” I practically begged, “You’re shutting me out. I know you’re struggling. It’s so damn obvious that you’re struggling. I just want to help you. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m not asking you to! And I don’t need your help,” he spat with a scowl. “I’m not struggling. I can do this job just as well as you or anyone else on the team can, if not better.”

The sting from those words was overshadowed by my incredulity. “Are you serious? Spencer, this isn’t about the fucking job!” I cried in frustration. “This is about you. I care about you. You’re in pain, and I don’t understand why you won’t let me help. You used to tell me everything.”

He let out a dark chuckle, placing the mug back on the counter and standing up straight. For the first time in what felt like forever, he stared right into my eyes. Except I would have given anything not to be on the receiving end of that stare. It was so full of malice and bitterness; it was so unlike my Spencer.

“You’re so fucking transparent,” he began in a low tone, and my eyebrows shot up in surprise. Spencer wasn’t usually one for expletives, especially not at work.

“You claim to be worried about me, but you’re really only worried about yourself. You’re lonely, and you can’t form a real connection with anyone. Now that you don’t have me as your emotional crutch, you’re projecting those issues onto me. Typical.”

My jaw dropped against my will. “Spencer, that’s not fair,” I managed to whisper around the lump in my throat. But he wasn’t done yet. Nostrils flaring, he towered over me menacingly.

“Oh, it’s not fair. What isn’t fair is you trying to jeopardize my already precarious position at the FBI by bringing this kind of petty drama into my life. Not everything is about you.”

“I never said it was!” I practically yelled, shocked into anger.

“Yes, but you clearly think it is. You’re not actually worried about me. You just want things to go back to normal. You want me to be the old Spencer again. Sweet, naïve Spencer who would have gladly let you string him along for his entire life. Admit it.”

“String you along? What the fuck are you talking about? How about the other way around? And it’s fucking rich that you’re accusing me of not being able to form a meaningful connection when you’re the one who’s so scared that we’re going to reject you that you’ve completely shut us out. Your fucking family who went through hell and back to get you out. We don’t care that you’re not the same Spencer. No one expects you to be! But I’m sick of all of us talking around the big fat elephant in the room and I’m scared I’m going to find you drugged up and dead on the floor of your apartment one day!”

We were right in each other’s faces at this point, and I was breathing heavily. Surrounding us was a pregnant silence. Spencer’s face had settled into an unreadable mask that I desperately tried to decipher anyway.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was cold as he delivered the killing blow.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it. So, I’m not going to talk about it. That’s my decision. You’re not entitled to my confidence, (Y/N). Not anymore. Just leave me alone.”

Every word was well enunciated, and I knew he meant them. He was done with me. When he stormed out of the room, I collapsed back against the counter, trying to call out his name but my vocal cords refusing to cooperate.

I didn’t know how I felt. When your body suffers a massive injury, it numbs you for a while, to protect you. You often don’t even realize you’ve been hurt. But after the numbness fades, your entire body feels like it’s on fire. I supposed that was as good a way as any to explain what was happening to me at that moment. Something so monumental and world-shattering had just occurred that I was being given a few moments of numbness as a reprieve, before the pain would inevitably consume me.

I remained rooted to my position for uncomfortably long time before I realized several pairs of eyes were focused on me, trying and failing to be subtle at it. Overcome with a sudden wave of nausea, I rushed to the restroom. Splashing some cold water in my face, I stared at myself in the mirror.

Well, I thought, that backfired pretty spectacularly.

I closed my eyes and came to the grim realization that prison had left some indelible scars on Spencer. We had all been turning a blind eye to it–- we’d been hoping against all odds that Spencer’s endlessly resilient innocence would be preserved, even in the face of solitary confinement and selective memory loss. After all, the man had literally died and been resurrected, once. He had fought a drug addiction all on his own. He had been parenting his schizophrenic mother since he was a child. He was strong. If anyone could come out of this intact, we had reasoned, it would be Dr Spencer Reid. Being faced with clear evidence to the contrary was a bitter reminder that life always managed to snuff out light and goodness wherever it was found.

I kept my head down on my way to my desk. I made it halfway before I heard Hotch call my name. Garcia was at Morgan’s desk and she offered me an anxious, pitying smile. I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I turned and met his sympathetic yet firm gaze squarely, summoning a confidence I did not feel as I took the detour into his office. What other choice did I have? Life had to go on.

___________________

The next two weeks were tense, to say the least. Spencer and I could barely stand to be on opposite ends of the briefing room with each other. Hotch, perceptive as always, was gracious enough not to pair us up on either of the two cases we worked in that time. I threw myself into the gory details of case files and victimology, refusing to address the fact that I felt like I had lost a limb. I couldn’t succumb to that. Not quite yet, at least. Spencer, for his part, remained inscrutable, although I noticed Morgan and Emily trying to talk to him on more than one occasion. I appreciated their support, but Spencer had made himself very clear. There was nothing anyone could do.

I was dead on my feet when we finally wrapped up the case in Seattle. Derek Morgan needed to learn the meaning of the word “no”, because he still dragged me to some pub I can barely remember the name of. The memory loss could probably be attributed to the blackout drinking I embarked on that night. I drank, downing whiskey shot after whiskey shot until I lost my inhibitions and started giggling and singing along tunelessly to the music, then I drank some more until I felt comfortable enough to dance, and then I kept drinking until I hit the stage where I started sobbing. I usually knew to cut myself off before then. That night, though, my senses seemed to have left me entirely. To curb the sobbing, I drank some more, and that was about the point where I blacked out.

I woke up the next morning in a hotel room, ruing the day I was born, but there was an unopened bottle of water and some aspirin on the table, next to a note from Emily saying she was downstairs with the others. I gingerly caressed my forehead, groaning, before forcing myself out of bed and into the day.

The dark sunglasses I wore did little to make me feel better, and the teasing from Morgan about my alleged shenanigans the previous night did even less to that end. I boarded the jet with a grateful sigh, relieved that I could just curl up and go to sleep.

Alas, that wasn’t what the universe had planned for me, it seemed, because moments after I had nodded off, a hand on my shoulder gently shook me awake. I opened my mouth, ready to yell at whoever it was, but what came out instead was an embarrassing squeak.

Because standing in front of me, clutching a Starbucks cup, was none other than Spencer Reid.

He looked different. Different, and familiar. There was no tightly wound coil. There was no steel in his eyes. There was only warmth.

I eyed the cup in his hands curiously. Had he taken to tempting diabetes with his coffee once again? Had this mess all just been one long sugar crash?

He looked immensely sheepish as he murmured, apparently mindful of my piercing headache, “Can I sit?”

I nodded dumbly, enraptured by the sight of him sinking into the seat across from me, his knees almost knocking into mine. Was I just having a really good dream? Was I still drunk?

“(Y/N),” he whispered, and it felt like I’d travelled back in time. To back before our fight, before prison, before Mr Scratch, before Cat.

“I owe you an apology. Several, actually. I– you have to know that I didn’t mean any of the things I said. I was just lashing out. Textbook defensive behaviour.” He paused, watching me. I just stared back at him. I could only imagine what he saw on my face that made him continue even more gently, if that was even possible.

“You’re my best friend. You always have been. And you were absolutely right when you accused me of being worried about rejection. I- I’m not the same, anymore. I’ve never been particularly fond of myself, but now, I don’t even recognize myself.” He sounded miserable, and all I wanted to do was hug him. I stayed put, though. He looked like he really needed to finish what he had to say.

“I feel…darker, somehow. And I didn’t want to infect you with that. I didn’t want to hurt you. And instead, I hurt you more than I possibly could have if I’d just let you help me. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I–“

“Spencer,” I finally interjected, and slowly, deliberately, reached out and took one of his hands in both of mine. “Yes, you’re an idiot,” I conceded, trying to hold back the relief that was flooding my entire body, “but I’ll forgive you. If you promise you’re not going to pull that shit again. I’m serious, Spencer. You’re hurting yourself, you’re hurting me, you’re hurting the team. We need you. I need you”, I said vehemently, and that was as close to a confession as I would get. At least, for the foreseeable future.

His face told me he heard the unsaid, and the dark guilt clouded his face once again. He was remembering what he’d said to me. String me along, he’d thrown out. Steady determination chased the guilt, and he opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

“No. Not now. You need help. You know how I feel about you. But we can’t right now. It’s not fair to either of us.”

He looked like he was going to protest, but I tried to convey as much sincerity through my eyes as I could. We’ll have our chance, I tried to tell him. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t give up on me, I implored.

Slowly, he nodded. For the first time in half a year, my heart felt light. I knew there would be plenty of hurdles to navigate, but for now, the promise of his company in doing so was enough.

“Besides,” I said seriously, “we need to talk about this bad habit of ours.”

The bafflement on his face was familiar, and I grinned, biting my lip.

“Having these intense conversations in front of everyone in the FBI absolutely has to stop,” I clarified, staring at each of the other people on the jet pointedly. They were doing a very good job of looking busy. Morgan had a smirk on his face. I caught his eye for a second, and we shared a smile.

My comment made Spencer chuckle. “I’ll, uh- I’ll let you get back to your nap then.”

“Oh, thank God,” I groaned dramatically, pulling the blanket over my head to block out the dim light. It served another purpose; as I listened to the soft cadence of his retreating footsteps, it obscured the smile which threatened to rip my face in two. Morgan would never let me live that down.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #angst #post prison spencer

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