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atsadi-shenanigans · 5 months ago

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Feeding Alligators 70 - Bad Blood

You and Astarion have nothing else to do but talk.

On AO3.

You lie on your side. Your sinuses burn and your mouth tastes of puke and blood. You try to spit as another gag hits you. You bring up less, this time, though you still can’t rise or reliably lift your head. Your chin feels itchy; it’s caked down the side of your mouth.

Limbs barely work as you inchworm and flop further away from this newer spill.

You are real careful not to look up beyond that, at the body lying nearby.

Your own body gives out before too long. Too shaky. Too weak. You’re probably in shock.

The clearing is still lit in dim, flickering torchlight, though the horse bolted a bit ago. Knocked the torch right off the saddle. Must’a been the screaming. It’s a small miracle the forest floor hasn’t caught fire.

Your face is wet. It ain’t just your earlier lunch and, and that red. You ain’t sure when the tears started but they sure haven’t stopped and there ain’t shit you can do about it.

A soft noise. A kinda guttural clicking.

Astarion lays where he got dropped, the big stake still sticking outta him. That ain’t the sort of thing nobody should ever see in a person; that one’s gonna come back in your dreams. But you don’t got any real control, much less the detailed hand movements you’re gonna need to free him of it.

But maybe it don’t have to be all the way out?

You wiggle over. It takes a fucking decade. You gotta flop yourself this way and that. Stop to huff and pant and gag—though your stomach is empty by now. Then you do reach him, and it’s a stupid display of rolling around to get your arms up, over him. Which is a nice distraction from thinking about how draped over somebody you are. He makes another sound, but you’re so busy with this job you cannot pay attention.

Your chin and cheek itch. Bits flake off. You don’t got to look to know they’re a rusty brown color. You seen dried blood before.

Every muscle in your body seizes as you try to lift an arm. You fall onto Astarion again and he reeks of blood and something sour. The gorge rises in your throat; you gotta close your eyes and take several, several moments to shove it down.

One job.

You get a trembling hand around that stake. Your fingers are cold sausages. Freshly dead fish still twitching. You jostle the damn thing and Astarion’s face goes dreadful.

“S-sorry. I-I d-don’t…”

One fucking job.

You fumble it. Try again. Fucker don’t budge. You risk a glance up to find Astarion’s mouth open in a silent scream that goes all blurry cause you eyes are fucking leaking again.

Get your goddamn, motherfucking shit together, Eleanor.

Fucking do it.

Another tug. You throw your body at it. Move the goddamn thing around and you can’t see through the tears. It twists, turns in your hands, slides less than an inch—

The body beneath you comes alive. He swats your face as he reaches for the thing. Wrenches it free in a fine spray of blood. Then he’s rolling, hacking, making horrible sounds—

You hit the ground as he surges away. He don’t even pause. And your strength is gone. You’re done. Can only lie there as he tries to stand. Then his legs give out and he barely clears you before he starts to puke.

Gandrel said that deer was poisoned. His body is apparently rejecting that blood.

You focus on breathing as it goes on and on. Much longer than he should. Brings up more than a stomach should be able to hold. You barely manage to shimmy a couple inches away from him as it slows. As it eventually stops, and he’s left crouching on all fours, head down like a sick dog.

Finally, he lifts a sleeve to wipe at his mouth. He’s near the torch; has the sense to pluck it off the forest floor.

And that seems to be the limit of his strength, too. He gives out entirely. Got just enough in him to drag himself the foot or so over to a tree and slump against it, legs sprawled out before him.

The giant hole in his chest is wet with blood. You’re pretty sure you’re looking past broken ribs and into oozing lung tissue.

Oh look, you got more to vomit up yourself. How nice.

As you lay on your side, panting and spitting, Astarion finds his weak, raspy voice. “Took you long enough.”

To chew open Gandrel’s throat. To kill him. To kill him bad and painful and horrifying. Cause he knew it was happening. Tried to push you off as your teeth finally broke his skin. But he landed on that rock and he couldn’t get his limbs to move right fast enough.

The irony ain’t lost on you.

He died knowing how. And you’ll have to live knowing the same.

“The f-fuck,” you say.

“I appreciate the dramatics,” the bitch says in the bitchiest tone. “But you waited entirely too long! Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”

Probably as bad as getting a neck chewed open.

“His f-fucking kids,” you spit out and almost scissor off the tip of your tongue. “W-what…his k-kids…”

“I have no idea.” He’s even sneering. You ain’t looking at him, but you can hear it. “Clearly he was making up some story so you’d let him take me, which you nearly did—”

Gandrel had been furious. Not shaking and throwing things; it was the quiet kind. Something somebody has to bury deep because showing it meant you were crazy and dangerous and one of those. But it burned like a coal seam fire in his eyes.

“Wasn’t-t a fucking l-lie! F-fuck was h-he talking ab-bout? A m-month a-a-ago? The fuck.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Bulls-shit! C-can’t move a-a-and neither can y-you. What’s he t-talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

You force your head to turn. Through shaking, shuddering eyes, he ain’t just pale; the man’s turned gray. Black bruises smear under his eyes, and they look…partially deflated. Like all the life and fluid in him got thrown up all over the ground and left him a moving husk.

And he looks mad. But…but under that is…scared. He starts to run a hand over his face, realizes it’s covered in bad blood, and stares at it. Then his hand flops limply into his lap.

“The thing about being tortured for two hundred years, my dear, is that it all starts to run together after some time. I brought back hundreds of victims to my master. Picking one or five or a dozen faces out of a sea of them would be like trying to remember which little bunny the wizard chopped up for your stew two tendays ago.”

And…oh. Oh god. There’s so much in that. So much fucked up shit you can only stare at him.

“A w-whole camp’s worth of k-kids?” You say and hate how your voice cracks and makes you sound like a stupid, little girl.

His face goes rigid with indifference. “There are decades I barely remember.”

He can’t just…you can’t believe he’d…

Except trauma does that, don’t it? Chews holes in your brain. That’s what all the forums and articles and even your own therapist said. Most times, you don’t think about the farmstead unless something reminds you of it—have to stomp that in the dirt before it can suck you in. When you do, when somebody asks or when you get stuck in your head about it, some parts of it are monstrous clear. But a lot of it…ain’t. It’s just gone. And you got no interest in unearthing it.

But a whole group of kids? How?

Two hundred years. Two hundred. You got fucked up from a decade and some change. Astarion ain’t human, ain’t even mortal no more. A living person can be hurt and fucked up for years, maybe decades. But two centuries? What does that even do to somebody?

What would that turn a person into?

Astarion sprawls there quietly. His eyes are glassy slits.

You twist around as best you can, thrashing around in the needles and dirt. “G-gonna find h-his p-people.”

You get to see the sneer this time. “Whatever for?”

Like that ain’t obvious. Like anybody but him would need it spelled out for him.

“Help them k-kill that fuckf-face.”

He looks at you a long moment, brow creased. Then a laugh bursts out of him. It’s an ugly sound, mean and condescending.

“Oh, my sweet, you think it’s that easy? You think I…that someone would have succeeded by now if it were that simple? Why do you think the gur wanted me so badly?”

You idiot fucking child, he didn’t say. Barely. And he’s right. The way he talks about that motherfucker, the way Gandrel did. The way all the others at camp reacted to Astarion? That piece of shit has to be a fucking monster.

Still.

“We g-got a whole g-group of m-murder hobos,” you say.

“And you think that will do it? That a band of brain-addled do-gooders—and a murderous gith—can take down a vampire lord? You think someone else hasn’t tried? A dozen of them? You think far more powerful groups haven’t come seeking his head? And for what. A band of filthy children you’ve never met?”

“Yes. A-Astarion. F-for them-m kids. And f-for you s-s-sorry ass!”

Which seems to slap the smug off’a him. The man boggles at you, until his whole face sharpens with suspicion and what looks a lot like pissed off.

“Why,” he says.

“The f-fuck you m-mean ‘why? ‘S-s fucked up!”

He looks even more pissed off. And chooses to express that with a sneer and a melodramatic, “And I suppose you expect me to fall into your arms over your good deed? Your boundless charity?”

The fuckshit, samhain hell? Ain’t no reason for him to spit in your face over common fucking decency.

“I-I don’t exp-pect nothing from you.” Sounds harsh. You want it to. Let it cut his stupid, ungrateful jackass face.

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.”

You just can’t win with him. No matter what angle you play, he deflects it and then insults you. The man is fucking insufferable.

“W-what’s your goddamn p-problem?”

And for what you suspect is the first time ever, the man drops his mask in front of you. All of them. The smarm, the bitch, and what you realize was the fucking polite. Beneath is a man made of teeth and sharp angles.

“You. You are my problem, darling. No one in the world does anything without expecting repayment. You want something from all of us. From me. But you won’t say what it is, and so I’m included to think it will be something quite extravagant.”

That’s…huh. That’s what that looks like from the other direction.

The worm in your brain shivers. You try to push yourself up—showing weakness in an argument lying on your side; too exposed, too horrifically vulnerable.

You can’t just tell him the truth. You don’t wanna be left behind. You got to be valuable to these people because without their help, you’re fucked. It’s too mercenary. Your last therapist frowned when you brought that up, and she asked you what made you think that cause you also know not everybody thinks that way (Sasha). That it’s farmstead shit.

But you ain’t at home, don’t got therapy and meds and motherfucking friends. That shit is gone. And all you got are these scraps to cling to, charity and goodwill and oh, that’s called irony, ain’t it? But you shove that down too, because this is bullshit and you fucking murdered a man and now this fucker wants to yell at you about it?

The fucker squints at you. The fucker is focusing way too hard on you.

The fuck—

The worm shivers again. Something else reaching for it. Someone else.

“Astarion,” you manage.

Then the brainworm digs tendrils into your brain and wrenches and you—

On the beach and it’s too much and you should lay down. Lay down and say nothing and wait for something else to come along and finish—

The potion burns your sinuses and you can hear them. And like that, you know how fucking weak you are. How pathetically reliant. Can’t even talk—

You’ll fuck up. You’ll make a bad call. You curl on your bedroll in the tent, nausea swimming sick and cold in your gut. It’s just a matter of time and Lae’zel is already watching you too close—

Raised voices in the living room and you crawl under the table. Edoda don’t never shout. He don’t never cry—

You’re bad. You’re dirty and stupid and bad and that’s why Mother put you down here, in the dark with the bugs and the scorpions and the snakes and you’re so hungry—

Not again! Never again! Get the fuck outta my—

Too fast. You swat at this, kick at it and bite and it’s all sand through your fingers. You sense startle and a fear and monstrous hunger that ain’t your own. He’s trying to untangle himself, trying to back free but you’re both wigged out and getting worse and your brainworms know safety in numbers, in being one and it locks you together even tighter.

Astarion watching you with your wrist bloody. Leaning in to whisper something, his lips on your skin and…

And he asked. He asked, and it’s the smart move—

You don’t want him to see this. You try to channel the two of you somewhere else, anywhere else, but he’s pushing back, a sick curiosity niggling at you both.

You sit by the lake as fat tears roll down your cheeks. All the deep breathing in the world ain’t calming you down. You don’t got a choice. Not really. You can be smart, or you can wait around until everybody realizes how stupid and useless you are. It’ll be fine. He’ll probably be good at it. It feels nice with yourself and lots of people love it and you’re getting a better first than a lot of people, you suspect. The dread builds anyway.

You don’t want to see this next part. Please, please no. It’s private. It’s your stupid bullshit and nobody else’s business and your brainworm peels layers of your mind back to expose the tender parts, and he’s horrified but you’re both pulled in anyway.

The clearing. That fucking clearing. He’s on you. Lips on yours, tongue in your mouth and you don’t know what to do with your hands, with letting somebody so close to you. It can feel good. You’re getting that. But the more you try to lean into that, the further it pulls away. All while that churning ball of cold mud and broken-bone—shame shame SHAME—chews up your insides. Filthy, sinful slut whoring herself out. Then his fingers press between your legs and all thought stutters as the sin comes screaming up your throat—

“Fuck FUCK! Jesus fucking christ!”

The connection snaps. It should feel like falling, like reeling away, staggering, tripping. But you’re already on the ground and your vision swims so bad you can’t see as hot water pours over your cheeks. Your brain is flayed open. Tender flesh, jellied and quivering and you make some horrific, guttural sound and curl up, fingers clawing at your scalp, lips peeled so far back it hurts.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again!” you say. “I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll fucking find a way to fucking kill you!”

Nobody answers. Nobody moves. You rock as best you can with your horrifying body twitching like a dead thing. A fucking disgusting thing.

Those memories are yours. Yours alone. Your head is your space, your only one. The only place you can be, even when you barely knew what that was. Even when you knew the lord and the Pastor could see into it, listen to your secret thoughts. It was yours. Yours.

And now he’s seen.

You ain’t sure what, exactly. Probably the worst parts. Things you don’t tell nobody and that sonuvabitch went fucking snooping around your goddamn skull and he got no fucking right.

You blink enough to make out the pale form across from you.

He stares at you. Quiet. Wide eyes. Ain’t never seen him look like that. Won’t again, once you get hold of yourself and can get up and find a rock to smash into his goddamn, fucking face.

“You didn’t…want to,” he says, more breath than sound.

“T-that ain’t y-your fucking b-business.”

And down come them eyelids. His glare a blade hidden inside the halloween apple, waiting to slice soft, unsuspecting gums and tongue and cheeks.

But he pulls that sharpness back. You actually see him do it. Reigns himself in like a normal fucking person. Says instead, “Why. You’ve never been with anyone before, so why say yes when I asked?”

Your laugh is just as ugly as his. All rusted spikes and shattered glass. And once that loosens, the rest of the torrent pours out after it. All the shit you been bottling up. All the fear, the anger, the guilt and the shame and the goddamn helplessness and it bursts free like puss from a lanced boil. Sour and stinking and tinged with blood.

Astarion sits there. Watches you like you’re the danger here.

You kinda lose it for a while. At some point, you ain’t laughing no more and your face is wet. It’s too much to keep the structure in you upright. All the scaffolding you built to hem yourself in, keep yourself standing, strong and confident, it all finally groans and shudders and collapses in on itself, before crumbling down into the pit inside you.

Why did you agree.

“You asked,” you say.

“Pardon?”

Of all the things he saw, everything that happened, that is what he fixes on. The goddamn sex. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn narcissistic.

“Why I a-agreed to sex. Y-you asked.”

Astarion blinks. “Surely others have done so.”

You know what? Fine. This is what he wants to talk about? That is the most important little nugget of wisdom he pulled out of your bruised and screaming brain meat? Sure! Why the fuck not.

“Only as a j-joke,” you say. And maybe it’s all the crying, or maybe you just been out here long enough for the motherfucking toxin to be wearing thin. “N-not a looker.”

He sits there. Like he’s waiting for a real answer.

You got blood in your mouth that ain’t even yours. That man has seen the worst moment of your life while digging his grubby fucking fingers through your memories. So fuck him. He wants answers, you’ll give him fucking answers.

“It s-seemed like a good id-dea,” you say. Deep breath. Only stutters once. “Fucking you.”

“What do you mean?”

You snort. “I ain’t from here. I don’t g-got no useful skills; can’t fight, can’t use m-magic, and I can’t even fucking talk without Gale’s potions. I got n-no friends or family.”

Aww, you thought all your tears was dried up. Surprise, bitch! The human body is good at one thing and one thing only: producing mucus and tears.

“I got no people here. No s-safety net and nobody to turn to. I should be dead in a ditch. I would be except for y’all. So you asked, and…and I knew you was p-probably just looking to get your dick wet and I’m…”

You swipe at your face and almost run a thumbnail over your eye.

“I’d be the most desperate. The weakest one. B-but I thought…” You hold your breath a second and do your best to force calm (until another tremor shoves the air outta your lungs). But you’ll be damned if you hyperventilate now, in front of him. “I thought it’d be the easiest way to make an alliance. I-I could do that. People been doing that for thousands of years. And it’s fucked up, and I know that. B-but I was a chicken shit and I couldn’t f-follow through.”

Getting too hard to talk. You’re a useless asshole. A hot, fucking mess. Astarion carries his own weight, but you? Made a couple of good calls and it worked out thanks to sheer luck more than not. But that shit is precarious. You got to pay attention to everything and everyone all the fucking time. Got to watch them and balance what they want and what they say and you gotta be engaged every fucking second you ain’t in your tent or unconscious, and you lived alone before this, for Christ’s sake. You don’t got the energy for this.

“You agreed to sleep with me to make an alliance,” Astarion says, voice completely flat and unreadable, every syllable precisely enunciated.

Your own voice is thick. Your face throbs as your sinuses try to burst through your forehead like an overinflated balloon. “Sounds shitty when you say it out l-loud.”

It’s a douchebag thing to say. You think you’re aiming for humor? A real fucked up version of humor? Mother and the Pastor were right—there’s something really messed up in you.

“You truly…truly didn’t want me?” Astarion says. At first, you think you hurt his feelings. Not getting staked, not you fumbling to wrench that stake outta his ribs, not even you telling him you’d kill him. It seems the part that really gets him is the implication that he ain’t fuckable.

Then you manage to squint at him, and that ain’t hurt he’s wearing. He just seems…baffled.

So now you get to explain the wonders of human sexuality. Peachy.

Maybe you should’a just inhaled the dirt and ended this whole travesty.

“Don’t see people like that,” you say. “It ain’t n-nothing against you or anybody. I just…I gotta know somebody first. You’re pretty and all, but it d-don’t mean nothing to me. Pretty is like a sunset or a painting. It don’t travel down south or a-activate any of the hardware. I don’t know why. I don’t even know when or why it does switch, neither. J-just, outta nowhere, I’ll notice somebody. Y’know, like that.”

Like Rachel Olmstead and her tits.

“But not me,” he says. His face is still so, so goddamn blank. If he didn’t blink, he’d look like a dead man.

“I k-known you like a week. So no.”

He stares. Then that mask cracks. He snorts, and has to cover his mouth with a hand as laughter spills out around his fingers.

Oh hey, you got enough energy to muster up being offended. “What’s funny?”

He drops his hand and his smile is a weird, twisted thing. “Nothing, darling. Just…this. All of this, and here you are. After all this. None of my very considerable charms will work on you, will they?”

“I got roofied by a sex g-god and halfway turned him into pizza. And you practice them ‘charms’ where Shadowheart can overhear you practicing.”

He waves that off. “The cleric seems much more interested in the gith for me to bother, my dear.”

Wait, what?

He must see that in your face. Lets out an honest to god guffaw. “Oh, you really don’t catch on at all! You poor thing.”

“They tried to k-kill each other.”

“Yes. But they didn’t, and that sort of passion tends to turn itself inside out, darling. You just wait. They’ll be flopping about on top of each other before long.”

Well that certainly is a visual.

You try not to grimace—that scientific curiosity (does Lae’zel even have humanoid-compatible genitalia, or like, a cloaca) takes a backseat when it’s regarding somebody you know and have to look at while eating breakfast.

You both lapse into silence. Wonder if Gale’s noticed your bathroom break is taking way longer than it should.

“Why did you let me feed on you?” Astarion says. “And why kill the gur? Don’t get me wrong, darling, I appreciate a good murder here and there, but that was all a bit gruesome.”

He is a vampire. He got to bite people. Maybe got that wired into his brain as instinct. But you?

You still ain’t looking at that body. You don’t intend to. You’ll avoid that until y’all can put the man into a respectable grave, if at all possible. And maybe that’s another chicken-shit thing to do—you chewed his fucking throat out; the least you could do is bear witness. But you also read that seeing dead faces makes it more likely to eat up a person’s brain, and you already got a worm doing that.

You don’t want to carry that image around forever. Even if you absolutely deserve it.

“I don’t know,” you say.

Cause it’s a whole mess inside you. This is all so fucked up. Nothing makes sense no more, and all the rules you ever knew and followed done flew out the window. You’re splashing and kicking around, just trying to keep your face above water. Can’t put no attention to the shit brushing up against your legs down there in the depths.

But that answer makes his face go flat again. So you try again.

“You know how I got pissed w-when you wanted to torture that guy?” you say.

His eyes narrow. “I recall.”

“You ever think that same thing m-might apply to you? I might not like anybody g-getting hurt for no damn reason if I can avoid it?”

The sneer is a bit more delicate, this time. “So it’s charity.”

“Returning a favor.”

He frowns. You close your eyes a moment. Can’t track where your memories went when your minds crashed together. Aside from y’all’s half-naked forest encounter, you ain’t sure what he saw.

“I…was in a bad spot,” you say, glazing over a metric ton of shit. “I got out cause s-somebody helped me.”

“So you’ll swoop in to save me, now, will you?”

Since you can’t throttle him, you settle for, “I can’t even save myself here, let alone you or anybody. I can help you watch your own back, a-and try to support y’all. And part of that means not letting you go hungry, asshole. Ain’t nobody should go hungry.”

And he got a look to him. You know then, that he saw the root cellar. Or part of it.

“And what would you want in return for this generosity?” he says. His tone is way too light. It kicks off all kinds of alarms.

Your eyes are puffy, skin hot. The air stinks of blood and shit and vomit.

A friend. You wanted a friend. Thought you had one, too.

But you will not tell him that. Vulnerability ain’t your strong suite.

You’re being mostly honest with him. Truly honest. You wonder what it says about you that the first person you spill your guts to is a shithead vampire man. And maybe you been pushed too far for one night, or maybe (being honest with yourself) you still ain’t safe enough to go that far.

So you say, “How about an alliance? Not a sex o-one. But just…just a regular one. I watch your back, you w-watch mine? Let me know if Lae’zel is getting stab-happy in my direction?”

He tilts his head back to rest against the tree trunk. Looks at the sky through the canopy. He seems…softer, somehow. Then he looks to you again.

“Alright,” he says. “I can accept those terms.”

Goddamn, you’re tired. So tired your body feels a heartbeat away from sinking into the earth and becoming mulch. But that don’t stop you from saying, “Oh good. That was my last card to play.”

Y’all fall silent again. Something hard digs into your lower ribs but you can’t be fucked to try to move just yet.

Then Astarion makes a sound, and when did your eyes close? The man gives you a smile. Not even something smarmy. Just…a normal fucking smile, his eyes rounder than you ever knew they could be.

“You know,” he says. “We might be more alike than I originally thought.”

Well. That can have so many goddamn meanings. He might be stealth-bitching you. But something about the tone, about the look he fucking wears. You think there’s something there. Something under the surface, with a soft underbelly. And you can’t have that.

“That we’re both lying next to our own puke and can’t move?” you say.

Because you been way too exposed tonight. Too exposed for a comfortable lifetime. And if you kick enough sticks and leaves over that throbbing, open-to-the-air pit of vulnerability, maybe nobody else will notice it.

“I am rather stuck where I am, barring a healing potion or some blood. You?”

You lift your shaking arm as another spasm wrenches your fingers around like a cartoon character playing an invisible piano.

“So that’s a no,” he says. “Did no one see you leave?”

You been wondering that. If Gale tripped and fell into the fire. If he was just so tired he passed out on watch. Fuckers go on about security, yet here the two of you are, gone at least an hour, with no goddamn sign—

A shout echoes in the trees. Speak of the goddamn devil.

Astarion’s little sigh sounds as peeved as you feel.

“What timing,” he drawls.

“Fuckers couldn’t have shown up thirty minutes ago?”

A purple flare bursts like fireworks overhead.

“Over here,” Astarion calls pretty loud for a man with a hole in his fucking lungs. And then he starts to hack up one of them lungs, more blood burbling outta the corners of his mouth and you wince in sympathy.

Gale is the first to find you. His gaze skitters over Astarion—covered in blood—to Gandrel—clearly dead and covered in blood—before landing on you—twitching and covered in blood.

“Ah,” he says, all grimaces. “I suppose you’re not alright, then.”

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#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion x eleanor #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn #the disclosure part of the disclosure arc #a motherforking confession!#they're both a hot mess okay?

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helenazbmrskai · 3 years ago

Text

Can you look at the time for me? (M)

Pairing – Sub! Yoongi x Reader

Genre – smut, fluff (?), roommates to lovers

Warnings – sub/dom themes, sex talk, oral (fem receiving), mentions of pegging (but not on Yoongi), teasing, kisses, Yoongi is on his knees for you, shy and blushy Yoongless because it’s a legit warning, you’re pissed but our good boy knows how to make it up to you, short smut

Word Count – 3.5k

Summary – Yoongi is searching for something different in bed and as his roommate, you know just what he needs. Or. (Late night confessions before Yoongi puts his mouth to good use.)

Menu: Masterlist l Be part of my permanent taglist to recieve a notification when I upload a new fic or send an ask!

”Listen. I know you want to peg his cute little ass. I mean Jimin is cute and all but this is your first time meeting his parents and I don’t know, maybe you should try to keep it in your pants for their sake.” Yoongi is astonished at how disinterested your voice sounds. He’s been your roommate for quite some time and he knows you’re not one to get shy but the way you talk about sex so easily still surprises him to this day. The spoon in his hands almost landed inside his bowl if it weren’t for the firm grip he had on it. It would have been quite the show, there’s no way you wouldn’t have laughed at him with his face covered in milk droplets.

When your friend called you in the middle of your breakfast and said this is an emergency you didn’t think you’ll have to listen to her horny talk while drinking your morning coffee. Fortunately or not she likes to overshare the details about her sex life (a trait you two kinda share so you can’t really complain about) you don’t bat an eyelash, you’re already used to her bluntness. However, Yoongi almost choked on his cereal while listening to you two talk, you even got ready to demonstrate a lifesaving CPR on him but he recollected himself and shoot you a kind of weird look.

You think he’s cute you swear there’s a faint blush blooming across his cheeks, he’s not a virgin but sure act like it sometimes. Damn him and his cute little pouts it just makes you want to grab him from across the table and smash your lips together. To distract yourself from the very boy in front of you and to carefully watch his reaction to your words, you decide to help your bestie out for a change.

”I swear he’s been teasing me this whole day! Touching me here and there when he knows I can’t punish him with his parents around.” You hear her whine from the other side of the line, you catch a breathless sentence murmured under her nose that awfully sounds like ’that little brat’. Even though you didn’t turn on the speakers and were holding your phone with your shoulder blades to your right ear Yoongi could hear everything since it’s so quiet in the kitchen. Only your occasional chewing is heard as he stopped consuming his breakfast as soon as you picked up your phone. He ponders if he should bring his food back to his room but he can’t say he’s not intrigued by the conversation.

He knows that Jimin loves to be the submissive one in bed, after a few beers he spills his sexual adventures with juicy details and Yoongi knows that he’s one hell of a kinky motherforker. He’s not judging he has his own kinks of course but he’s still considered in their friend's group as a more vanilla kind of person.

Yoongi never strayed away from the traditional essence of sex. He likes missionary and be in charge but lately, he finds his one night stands a tad bit boring. This alone wouldn’t make him think about changing his ways but on their last get together Taehyung told the guys that he tried it out and he loved it so much. He said he had never cum so hard in his life.

Now he’s interested in the topic and Yoongi knows that you’re a dom in the bedroom just like your friend.

”It’s 9 in the morning. The whole day is still ahead of you Seulgi and who said you can’t punish him? Just tease him back baby, touch him under the table while you force him to talk to his parents and don’t let him cum until he apologises.” Your friend gasps and you hear the faint noise of her head hitting something probably a table. Yoongi is watching you carefully from under his fringe, he can’t help but imagine the scenario you presented but it’s you and him sitting around the dining table in his childhood home. He should feel shameful that he had a sudden sexual fantasy with his parents in the picture and knowing that he still got hard.

Maybe he’s not that vanilla after all. Everyone reassures him that it’s fine to like the simple things in life, you don’t have to be kinky af to enjoy sex and you share that sentiment as well. While you never talk about sex with him openly you share the same friends so you know a few things about him just the same as he heard things about you.

”You’re a genius Y/N if you were here I would kiss you! You’re so mean fuck, I should ask for advice more often.” You giggle at her enthusiasm the sound is so in contrast with the not so innocent conversation. Your duality always causes Yoongi to get whiplash.

”Yeah, just don’t tell Jimin I suggested it later he’ll be mad at me.” She agrees and ends the call now that she knows what to do she promised to call and let you know later how it went. The kitchen gets silent again as you both eat your cereal and your eyes zero down on Yoongi again. He picks up his spoon the sleepiness entirely left his eyes after your conversation. He doesn’t know if you feel the same tension as he is but he doesn’t want to hang around long enough to find out.

”Do you plan to have a guest over tonight Yoongi?” Your question catches him off guard. He freezes mid-bite and just stares at you with his mouth slightly hanging open. It’s not the first time you ask as you two always make sure to inform each other if one of you plan to fuck in the apartment but Yoongi didn’t bring anyone home in a while now so he didn’t think you would ask. His eyebrow creases as he shakes his head.

”No… Why? Do you plan to have someone over?” Yoongi asks carefully choosing his words. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of hearing another boy toy moan your name through the thin walls while all he had fantasised about is you ordering him around the same way. He doesn’t want to say he’s jealous but that’s exactly what he’s thinking these past days even weeks. You didn’t bring anyone home after one of your one night stands disrespected your roommate in front of your eyes. It didn’t happen that long ago, maybe a couple of days. You kicked him out without fucking him of course.

No one can get away with calling your precious friend names. Yoongi would rather die than admit it but you were so hot while you defended him in front of the guy you were supposed to fuck but ditched him because of Yoongi. He was grateful but gratefully horny afterwards. He’s embarrassed that nowadays the only way he can cum is if he imagines your face or pictures your hands around his aching cock. You invaded his mind and lives rent-free there without his consent.

”No.” You answer him with a mischievous smile of yours. Yoongi gulps while he waits for you to continue because he knows you’re not done yet. These days he could tell you’ve been more flirty with him than usual. You keep teasing him with your hip sways and that one time he came home earlier and caught your silhouette through the open bathroom door while you were showering is burnt into his memories. ”Do you want to watch a movie with me? You’ve been busy with work that I rarely got to see you this week and I want you to pay attention to me too. We can watch your favourite movie. Can we, please?”

Fuck. Who he is to say no when you quite literally beg him like this? He tries to maintain his mask of indifference but it’s hard not to blush or smile around you when you’re being so cute.

He manages to say yes without making a fool of himself, now that his cereal is gone he washes the plate in the sink and retreat into his room to start working on his music. Nothing out of the ordinary because this how most of your mornings looks like. You watch him with hawk eyes until his door closes behind his form.

You know you should be more subtle about your staring but it’s been a while since you got laid and some little bird whispered into your ears a few nights ago that Yoongi developed a cute little crush on you so your scheming makes perfect sense to you. You bet Jimin doesn’t remember how his running mouth spilt literally everything about his friend one night with too many drinks in his system.

You enjoy the lifestyle you have but it’s getting old to wake up alone in your bed and while having a new man submit to you almost every week is exciting and sure inflates your ego, you want more than just a quick fuck. You want a man who you could rely on and tell him everything. Yoongi is a good friend and a good roommate.

You rarely get drunk if you party because you’re not keen on having one night stand mistakes, you like to be fully in control of your body and your choices so you can’t even blame it on the alcohol when you first realised you might feel something more for your roommate. You might not blush and stutter like Yoongi does sometimes but you could see the signs when he’s near you. Your heart beats a little bit faster and your palms get sweaty when he leans his head on your shoulder while watching tv. He knows your favourite take out order and eats the beans off your plate even though you know he’s not a fan of them himself.

***

You wait patiently for him to show up, sitting on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn that’s already cold in your hands. When you knocked on his door almost half an hour ago he said that he needs five more minutes to finish his track but then it turned to ten minutes then to fifteen minutes and now nearing half an hour that he promised he’ll be done. Fun fact, he’s still not here and your done waiting.

You’re incredibly frustrated when one of your precious baby boys sends you a juicy text about wanting you. You almost text him back but then you remember the boy that should be here watching a movie with you and you lock your screen instead. You slip your phone into your front pocket and decide to do what you have to do to earn his attention.

He’s still working, you hear the clicks of the mouse when you enter his room softly closing the door behind you to not alert him of your presence. Yoongi jumps in his leather chair once your hands snake down his torso he can feel your breath hitting the side of his face as you lean into him as much as the chair lets you.

”Yoongi can you look at the time for me?” Your voice is sweet but even he can feel the slight edge to it and when he looks at the time just like you asked he can see why you would be frustrated. It’s almost 10 pm. Yoongi gulps getting ready to apologise but you shush him before he could even start with the first syllable.

”Don’t want to hear it.” You shut him down sharply and he nods obediently he doesn’t want to anger you more. In an attempt to soothe you Yoongi places his hand on top of yours on his chest and rubs his thumb finger to your skin, relaxing into your touch as you place your chin on top of his head. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes before you detangle your limbs and turn him in his chair to face you.

”Let’s watch something some other time. Goodnight Yoongi.” You caress his hair gently before you sigh and start withdrawing from his body but Yoongi panics as soon as you try to leave and catches your wrist pulling you back without a second thought. You stabilise yourself by planting a knee in between his legs, the chair knocks into the table behind him but he doesn’t pay attention to it now that your faces are centimetres apart.

”Y/N, I’m…” Knowing that the apology is on the tip of his tongue you shut him up with a kiss. His eyes open bigger in surprise while yours are tightly shut, the tiny gasp he lets out due to the impact lets your tongue slip through his teeth and lick into his mouth. Yoongi moans when you explore him greedily letting his eyes close to enjoy the feel of your tongue dancing around his, his hands grip the chair’s handrest tightly while trying to match your enthusiasm but you don’t let him take the upper hand.

You grab a fistful of hair and pull, moving down his neck you leave your mark behind as Yoongi pants under you. Yoongi has a deep voice but he’s letting out high pitched moans. He bashfully looks away hearing himself makes a deep blush appear on his skin but you don’t let him think about his embarrassment for long as you palm him through his sweats. The material lets you see the prominent bulge growing as your hands keep up with massaging his length and kissing down his neck, marking up his collarbones as long as the shirt lets you reach.

You abruptly pull away and Yoongi lets out an embarrassingly loud whine while moving forward to chase your touch. He almost rolls off the chair but your knee doesn’t let him.

He avoids your eyes and waits for you to do something, anything. His cuteness almost makes you coo but you think Yoongi wouldn’t like you giggling and you don’t want him to get the wrong idea because you want him. You want him so much that you would even let him fuck you for once. You would let him take control but you have a hunch that he doesn’t want that. If he wanted to take control he would have tried already. This piece of information excites you. He’s being such a good boy so far, you didn’t think he would be such an obedient pretty boy just for you.

”If you’re sorry then get on your knees.” You tell him your first order with an arched eyebrow challenging him to dare and disobey. His next move will determine what happens next and you can’t wait to find out. Yoongi observes you while his eyelashes flutter prettily. He’s hesitant at first but gets on his knees.

Yoongi watches you take his place sitting on the chair. You guide him to sit between your outstretched legs, he lets his eyes wander around your body as you card your fingers through his hair. You’re wearing his shirt, it’s a little bit too big for you, enough that it can conceal your underwear from his hungry eyes but he only needs to pull the fabric up a little to have a nice view of the silky black material.

”Do you want this Yoongi?” You place a finger under his chin to make him look into your eyes. Your roommate in front of you can only nod wantonly, too far gone to feel any form of embarrassment as his eyes zero down on the apex of your thighs next, your cunt is so close to his mouth but still, too far away, he needs to get closer. Yoongi wants to have a taste, bury his nose into you until it’s coated in your thick arousal. He rests his warm palm on your knees scooting closer to your centre, waiting for you to give him the green light. You like good boys and he’s planning to be the best boy ever. This time you let out a chuckle at his eagerness.

Even though you’re dying to have him between your legs you need to get something out of the way. You don’t want to screw things over with Yoongi because you were thinking about his dick. You want so much more than just a dick to suck and a man to dominate.

”Look at me Yoongi. I need you to know something before we start.” He immediately looks up, your clear tone makes some of the fog disappear from his brain.

”Let’s go on a date tomorrow. I don’t plan just fucking you if we’re doing this I need to know that you’re serious about this because… I am. Serious about you.”

”Really?” You take the gleam in his eyes as a good sign that maybe Yoongi does feel something for you just like Jimin said. You want it to be true because you want to hold his hand and kiss him whenever you feel the need, you want to go on double dates and fuck his brains out. You want to wake up next to him and share your dreams and built something wonderful together as a couple.

After the initial shock wears off his face contorts into a frown that crushes your hopes but you wait. Maybe you’re just overthinking it and he’s not about to reject you. Does he not want that? Are you making a fool out of yourself to see something more in him when all he wants is just sex? Yoongi was never good with his words and as he sees your lips curve downwards he’s quick to straighten his mistakes.

”Yes! Let’s go on a date I mean. I just…” He tries to hide his heated cheeks by burying his face into your thighs but you hear his next words crystal clear and the butterflies in your stomach regain their vigour. ”It’s supposed to be me asking you out on a date.”

”I don’t care about any of that bullshit if I can have you and I don’t mean it that I only want your body either. I want us to be more than just friends. I like you and I think I can even fall in love with you.” You pet his hair just like before, your words put a smile on his face you can feel it against your thigh and you smile back. He surprises you with a kiss to your knees before he goes further up kissing your inner thighs until he reaches your underwear.

”I like you too.” You feel the words murmured against your underwear and your hands tighten in his hair the anticipation is almost too thick in the air to bear it any longer. He licks the dampness, the silk material makes a poor job at hiding your arousal as it easily seeps through the thin fabric. You can feel his ragged breath against your core as he keeps kissing you through your underwear further darkening the fabric with his saliva.

”You can take it off.” You sigh contently when he puts more pressure behind the swipe of his tongue. He nods against your cunt pulling away slightly to comply with your wishes.

”I’m so wet for you Yoongi.” You pull the outer lips apart to show him the glistening of your arousal gently dripping from your core tainting the leather seat. Enchanted by the sight Yoongi leans closer enjoying the weight of your leg when you wrap it around his shoulder to keep yourself open for him to devour.

Yoongi hums confirming your words, he can smell you in the air as he gets closer to your inviting heat. He wants to record your moan when he licks your bare pussy. He’s not only addicted to your taste but your moans drive him crazy. The tip of his tongue easily finding your entrance, he slowly pushes it in slurping your essence down his throat, his jaw is set when he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth earning a tug of your fingers. He eats you out at a leisure pace slowly licking up everything you produce for him. He gets you wet and slippery all around to aid his tongue’s movements. Going faster as your core throbs harder against his lips.

Once he was done with you, you already forgot why you were so pissed at him in the first place.

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magic5ball · 3 years ago

Text

Nature Trail to Hell Arc V: Back into Hell (XI)

Chapter 11: The Super Awesome Epic Final Battle Of ULTIMATE DESTINY VS. Against Bob-Sardoth!

Take a moment to imagine an episode of Spongebob. No not one of the crappy modern episodes- an old one, the sort where you only ever saw half the episode you were so busy laughing your lungs out. Went by pretty fast, didn’t it? Now imagine a single still frame of that cartoon, flying past your screen.

It took Bob-Sardoth less than half that time to bury us five feet into a wall.

(Seriously, how well did you expect kids to do against a millennia old elder god? Well, one that isn’t an evil clown, at least.)

Anyways, Bob was laughing maniacally, surrounded by darkness as we were lodged in a wall like some crappy Egyptian hieroglyphics. Still, like my Mom always says, no matter how rough things get, there’s no reason you can’t end on a high note. So that’s exactly what I planned to do.

“Hilda, I’m sorry I ditched you at this camp with your evil Mom so I could play video games.”

And do you know what Hilda said?

She told me “Wonky Watt, I have a confession: as a space fart, I can see all things at once. Basically, I saw everything you went through, just to get back to camp. And you’re… alright, as far as boys go.”

It was the single nicest thing anyone outside of Mom had ever said to me!

Slowly, I tried to put my hand in hers. She withdrew like it was made of maggots.

“Sorry, but I can also see it’s been over a week since you last washed your hands. No way that’s happening.”

And that’s how it would have ended, with us being crushed to death by Bob Sardoth’s tendrils of darkness…

If a certain someone hadn’t chosen that particular moment to crash the archdemon’s apocalyptic party.

Light poured into the room from the massive crater that had formed in the roof. Plumes of sawdust blocked our vision. When it finally cleared, Bob lay beneath a pile of rubble. And who would be on top of this pile but

Shel. MOTHERFORKING. Silverstein!

“That’s right, Motherforkers!” Shel cried, flexing atop the rubble so hard his puffy magical girl sleeves exploded, leaving the lingering scent of smoke on his biceps.

Then he pointed a big, fat middle finger at me.

“And YOU, Watterson Tostig, are going back to Hell, and you are going to forking like it!”

I rolled my eyes. The guy was starting to sound like my Dad! (At least, what my Dad would have sounded like if he actually paid attention to me. Though little me assumed if he ever did, he would be like the ones on TV.)

And to put the moldy cherry on top of this crappy camp sundae, I couldn’t even move proper! Every time I commanded a limb, it would just shrug and go back to sleep, or whatever it is limbs do.

All I could do was wait as Shel walked over my dying body…

And pull me right out of the wall!

Next thing I knew there was only a Watt shaped hole in the wall where I’d been, my head now under Shel’s boot. It took him a bit of time to make heads or tails of why I was alive, but when he did, boy did he have a fit!

“Great! Just forking great! I track you all the way here, have you right where I want you, but now you suddenly decide to become alive again?! Now how am I supposed to get promoted back to archangel?!”

The old poet looked to his left, then to his right. He started rubbing his magical little hands together like he had an evil plan. Or was just cold.

I tried to run, only to find my malnourished, body couldn’t even do that right!

Now Shel was grinning, an ugly half-moon that could have put the devil himself to shame. “Of course, I could just kill you now, and nobody would know the difference!”

“No you can’t! In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got a friend now. And if she watches you kill me, she’ll tell all of heaven of wherever you Angelinos come from!” I bluffed.

“Nice try, Watterson Tostig, but you know adults never trust a goth girl! Especially angel adults. Which is all of them!”

“Actually, I didn’t know that.”

“Too bad, you f*cking loser. Now prepare to-“

“WAIT!”

Both of us turned to see Hilda, now dislodged from the wall, coughing up sawdust.

“Mr. Silverstein, this might surprise you, but right beneath us is none other than the notorious arch demon BOB-SARDOTH! One of the most wanted hellspawn on the planet!”

Shel spat right into my mouth. I learned a valuable lesson that moment: no matter how famous you are or how many kids books you’ve written, no matter how many planes of existence you’ve ascended or how many great battles you’ve fought, your spit will always taste like the spit of a weenie, and nothing will ever change that.

“As if that will distract me from the call of justice!” he laughed the way my Mom does after she’s pulled five all-nighters in a row.

Hilda got real stern after that. “Mr. Silverstein, I’m a big fan of yours. Read every single book you’ve written. So I know that despite your stupid pious veneer, you crave fame, just like everyone else. And imagine how famous you’ll get after everyone discovers you’ve captured the notorious BOB-SARDOTH! So don’t beat around the bush and start helping me dig!”

Shel tried to stab me, but in the end the lure of notoriety was too great for him. He flung rubble like it was Styrofoam, reaching Ms. Hoebag’s body in record time.

With one mighty fist he pushed his entire fist down the helpless counselor’s throat, yanking out what could only be described as an unholy mix of Furby and Donald Trump’s hair. Thankfully, Shel used his magical staff to exorcise the demon before its’ sheer ugliness drove me insane.

Then that same staff was lodged into my chest again.

“Now, prepare to DIE!”

“But we got BOB!” screamed Hilda, “What more do you want with him?!”

“Silence, fool! This little forking turd has been a pin up my butt all summer, and now, he’s gonna get his comeuppance! Karma’s a b!tch, a$$holes!”

Unfortunately for Shel, he was right on the money.

Because at that moment, a hideous pink mass from outer space referred to simply as ‘Salisbury Steak’ burst in, drawn by the scent of immortal poet flesh. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t have time to warn Shel as the ooze absorbed him, and in a scene that will be scarred into my retinas until the day I die, consumed his soul! The only reason I was spared I think, is because my bony was just too bony for anybody to find appetizing, not even that slimy abomination.

Hilda stood stock still right next to me, just as mind blown as I was.

But before I could do anymore internal introspection on the whole incident, there was a thunderclap of hands. A large, meaty palm gripped my shoulder.

“SALISBURY STEAK! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

I didn’t even need to turn around to see who it was.

“I can’t believe it! Eating without saying grace! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

First time I’d ever heard her angry. I mean, I always figured she had some pent up frustration, but thinking it in your head and seeing it in the flesh were totally different things. Somehow, the Steak took it worse. It morphed its’ gelatinous flesh into a hand, index finger pointed at yours truly!

“Why, thank you for pointing out the problem, Mr. Cuddles! I’ll have some special scented cinnamon roll stickers for you as soon as you clean up this mess.”

Before she finished, the Steak (Mr. Cuddles, apparently) was already dissolving rubble in his gelatinous body.

“As for YOU TWO, I’ll be seeing you in my office!”

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #salisbury steak #shel silverstein #summer camp

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ketzwrites · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! For those writing prompts, can you please do 71? Thanks!

Of course! I was struggling to find a context for this that inspired me and then I remembered I have a The Good Place AU drabble that I left unfinished. Since I’m obsessed with the show, I just had to keep writing it.

So, here it is. Part II of my The Good Place AU verse, kind of. Available on AO3.

71. “You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Heaven was driving Magnus crazy. Well, not Heaven. The Good Place, or whatever it was called. Afterlife was supposed to be simple, pleasant even. Jonathan had created the perfect utopia, a place where people who did good while alive could enjoy unending happiness. And, instead, there Magnus was, suffering a minor panic attack.

Nothing major, of course. He was sure he could just summon Luke and the man- no, not a man. Robot? Whatever. Luke would find him a drink to wash all that down. All that abundance of unused muscle should serve for something besides eye-candy for when Magnus was having a bad day in paradise.

Honestly, Magnus blamed Alec.

His soulmate was just too perfect. Sure, whenever poor Simon was around, Alec would go back into his earthly bad habits. But if Alec was rude, inconsiderate, or possibly downright mean, it was Simon’s own fault for annoying him so much.

Because that was definitely not how Alec acted around Magnus. Oh, no. Magnus wished Alec would show even an ounce of anything less than kindness, patience, and just unwavering lovingness. That way, Magnus didn’t have to feel so guilty for lying to him every single day.

Fork that very first day when Magnus pretended to be a good person to Alec. He shouldn’t have. The moment that Alec expressed concern over his own adequacy to being in the Good Place, Magnus should’ve just been honest and told Alec the truth. If someone didn’t deserve to be there, it was him. Magnus should have never pretended to belong. Or worse, offered to help Alec to become deserving of his spot in the neighborhood.

Because, months later, the truth was impossible to deny. Especially as Alec looked into Magnus’ eyes, his handsome face deprived of doubts or shame. “You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me,” Alec said, voice smooth but firm.

If Magnus wasn’t already dead, he would kill himself. Alec didn’t deserve this. Jonathan was wrong, he couldn’t be Alec’s soulmate. Whatever good Magnus had done in his time on Earth had been a sham, just a way to stick it to his horrible father. Magnus had taken all the praise, all the glory. But he had never truly deserved it. Just as he didn’t deserve Alec.

“Oh, darling,” Magnus said with a hint of sadness in his voice. He couldn’t keep doing this. Magnus could see the love in Alec’s eyes, the earnest of it. If Alec only knew the truth about him… “You flatter me.”

“It’s true, though,” Alec insisted, facing Magnus completely now. They were sitting in Magnus’ living room, sharing one of the uncomfortable wooden sofas. At least they had gotten rid of the shiny pillows, though Magnus still found glitter in the house from time to time, no matter how many times he vacuumed it. “I know we have eternity now,” Alec sighed, “but I can’t help but wish we had met on Earth. Because I… Magnus, I lo-”

Eternity. Magnus couldn’t do that to Alec. He had to confess, to make Alec see him as Magnus truly was. Selfish, petty, weak. Even cruel. “Alexander, I need to tell you something,” Magnus said before he backed out again, deliberately interrupting Alec. They almost had that conversation too many times. No more. “Something about who I was on Earth.”

Alec frowned. “What is it?” He smirked, a hint of amusement coloring his face. “Another great chapter of the amazing life of Magnus Bane?”

Magnus smiled fondly but shook his head. “Not quite. I know I’ve told you of my inventions and travels around the world. It all sounds very glamorous and adventurous. Meeting new people, creating new technology, partying to my heart’s content. Alexander, you might see me as this incredible person, but the truth is… The truth is I’m not a goo-”

“Hey, guys!” a voice came from the door, startling both Magnus and Alec. Magnus didn’t even need Alec’s whispered ‘motherforker’ to know he would find Simon at the door.

Sure enough, there was Simon, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Oh.” He swallowed hard. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes,” Alec answered before Magnus could. “Go away.”

“Sorry, it’s just- Hm.” Simon had a weird habit of not being able to focus his eyes when he grew nervous. Magnus was getting dizzy just from watching Simon’s gaze go from one point in the house to the other. “So, hm, Jonathan sent me. He fixed the sinkhole that destroyed all musical instruments in the universe and he wanted me to ask Magnus if Magnus wanted to throw a party to celebrate. This one shouldn’t end up with anyone falling to their non-death.” Simon blinked. “But, hm, I could come back another time. When you guys aren’t, you know, busy.”

Magnus could physically feel Alec’s anger forming at his side. That wasn’t good, so Magnus spoke up. “Sure, Simon. Tell Jonathan I’ll do it. Bye for now.”

“Oh, cool.” Simon perked up but didn’t go away. “He was kind of thinking of planning it for tonight, so-”

That was about what Alec had of patience. “Look, nerd,” he said, voice low, “just because your soulmate doesn’t want to see your face, it doesn’t mean the rest of us has to suffer your presence. Either get over your stupid crush on a girl who is still alive on Earth or leave Maia alone. Regardless, do it elsewhere.”

Ouch. Simon’s face went pale. “What? I don’t- I don’t have a crush on Clary. Not anymore, I-”

“So you did have a crush on her?” Maia’s voice came from behind Simon and Magnus audibly groaned. This could not be happening at a more inconvenient time. “And then you lied to me and said you only saw her as a friend. Luke!” Maia called and Luke, the hottest vassal of knowledge in the universe showed up.

“Yes?” he said pleasantly, somehow sounding like a caring father.

Maia didn’t hesitate. “Take the guitar I was going to give Simon as an apology gift and destroy it!”

“Luke, no! Please!” Simon’s jaw dropped to the ground and he turned to Maia, deeply touched. “I thought instruments were banished from the Good Place but you found me a guitar! Maia, that’s amazing!”

“Too bad you’ll never get it.”

As the two of them argued, Jonathan stepped into the house and waved to Magnus and Alec. “Bad timing?”

“The worst,” Alec mumbled, making Magnus snort. His amusement didn’t last long, though. Soon Simon was babbling apology after apology while Maia only looked like she was choosing between punching or slapping him. Jonathan stood there looking confused, occasionally trying to calm the nerves. Unfortunately, everything he said only made things worse. To top it up, Alec stood up to try and shoo everyone out of the house, which made Luke pop on and off as a result.

The absolute chaos was too much of a familiar scene. Magnus truly was on the verge of a breakdown. Alec had almost told him that he loved him and finally – finally! – Magnus was brave enough to come clean. He knew that would mean losing Alec’s affections, but he couldn’t keep stringing Alec along. He had to confess. Not because a little part of Magnus held on to the hope that Alec would still love him despite his flaws, but because it was the right thing to do.

But just like every other time that they were about to have this conversation, something interrupted them. Either Jonathan would show up, or Simon would get in trouble, or Maia would pick a fight with someone. It was a vicious cycle of torture and –

Magnus blinked, stunned. “Oh, wow.” He shook his head a couple of times, everything finally making sense. “This is the Bad Place!”

Suddenly, all the voices quieted down. Alec frowned but realization dawned on him quickly enough. Simon just looked confused while Maia stared at Magnus like she couldn’t believe what he had just said. For once, not even Luke seemed calm.

However, Magnus focused only on Jonathan. “It is, isn’t it? This is an elaborate psychological torture chamber. And this is all your doing. You’ve been making us torture each other, almost giving us enough to make up but then ripping it away at the last second. You’re not some celestial being looking after us. You’re a Demon.”

For a second, Jonathan didn’t react. Then, underwhelmingly, he sighed. “Fuck you, Magnus. Why do you always have to figure it out?”

“Excuse you?” Alec said, protectively.

“Shut it, Lover Boy.” Jonathan rolled his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned audibly. “This attempt was going so well… But, no, Magnus Bane had to ruin it like he always does.”

It was distressing to hear such disgust in Jonathan’s voice, but he wasn’t done. “You know what, Magnus? Whatever. You’re oh so smart, but you still can’t figure out that no matter how monstrous you were on Earth, this idiot,” he pointed at Alec, “will still wholeheartedly adore you. So, who is the real genius here, hm? You, who keeps stopping you two from boning or me, who designed this entire place? Answer: me.”

Magnus was taken aback. That was too much information being thrown at him and his heart wouldn’t stop racing. He forced himself to focus on something else besides the fact that Alec didn’t care about his flaws. “Wait. What do you mean by ‘this attempt’? There were others? How long have we been here?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Who cares how long? You are all dead and I’m immortal. The point is, you keep ruining my torture. Can’t you just play along? For once? I’m tired of you coming clean to Alec, by the way. We’re not here to get you two together, so just- Just stop. That got old the first thirty times it happened.”

“Thirty times?” Alec asked and there was so much hope in his face that Magnus couldn’t help but smile.

“Urg, yes. It doesn’t matter how I set you four up, you two always find a way back to each other.” Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Alec and then at looked at Magnus. “You always protect Alec when he tells you he doesn’t belong here. Then you two fall in love and you start to forgive yourself for acting up to get your father’s approval and becomes a more wholesome person. It’s really annoying, guys.”

Maia blinked, looking from Simon to Luke to Jonathan. “What happens now?”

But Jonathan just shrugged. “Same as before. I’m just going to reset everything. Hopefully, this time someone,” he stared straight at Magnus, “will listen to his own crippling self-doubt and continue to hate himself. Maybe I’ll force Alec to have a female soulmate. Maybe I’ll put some sort of mark on Simon that stops him from touching people.” Jonathan brought a hand up, as if ready to snap his fingers. “I’ll just wing it.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “You know what? It doesn’t matter what you throw at us, Demon. You can’t win.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jonathan arched an eyebrow.

Snap.

#magnus bane #malec fic #the good place au #drabble #a nonny speaks up

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