#grim hate hour

[thechaoticfanartist]

“In case you have yet to notice, Master, the Jedi are dead!”

Hey Grim how about you kindly shut up

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @andorlorian @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @keoxus @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @it-was-rose @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon @shrinkthisviolet @thebrainofocto @forloveofcodywan @mandalorian-general

[aldisobey]

Get to know your moots!

I think I’ve done this one but answers change and there are new moots to know!! Thanks for the tag @holdingontojupiter Hello beloveds. share if you desire, rest easy if you require. I’m stealing all your last songs for the moot playlist. Consider this a blown kiss @emmg @caffeinatedmunchkin @mistressandry @jainydoe @victoriouscabaret @by-ilmater @ollypopwrites @lavenderprose

Last Song: Space Ghost Coast to Coast by Glass Animals. (I’ll share Foolproof playlist one day)

Favorite Color: Orange

Last Book: The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin literally finished it last night and want to read it again. Much love to recently finished The Left Hand of Darkness as well. I’m a slut for Ursula right now. Read The Dispossessed.

Last Movie: Hercules. The Disney one. It’s on repeat. My kid loves the titans, I think I got it memorized.

Last Game: Minecraft. Kid again, it’s his favorite and you gotta build a world together. You moots need a realm to chill in you just let me know.

Last Show: Catdog. Surprise surprise it’s the child’s choice again. I hate this one. His dad loves it. He loves it. I hope suffering builds character.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: SPICY. Sometimes savory. Never sweet. You can keep it. I’ve ruined my palate. Drink the hot sauce ruined. Blessed by a gut of the gods.

Relationship: Married! Just had our sixth anniversary. He is the sweetest most gentle man and I am thankful every day that he not only tolerates but loves the way this be.

Last Internet Search: Ursula K. Le Guin. I wanted to make sure I spelled her name right.

[violet-jessop]

if i could stop crying that'd be fuckin sick

[chunkofchange]

i think im gonna have to put them down ..

[clockwayswrites]

Distracting Birb! Part 28

*throws this and runs* Masterpost

“So what did you find out?” Tim asked as he spun around. He was at the computer, of course, and looked most of the way to villainy backlit by the large screens.

(Dick loved his little brother, but villainy really wouldn’t be the most surprising outcome for Tim.)

“What makes you think we found anything?” Jason answered, just to be impertinent.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t have called us all down to the Cave if you didn’t have anything.”

Jason scoffed. “You underestimate how willing I am to waste your time.”

“Boys,” Cass said calmly, ending the growing argument with just that word.

“Duke still out on patrol?” Dick asked as a distraction.

Tim glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “On his way back. He’ll be here in fifteenish.”

Best not to wait in case Danny woke, Dick decided. They’d be sure to fill him in. “Okay. Well, Danny was not lying, he has a lot of plants.”

“Dick managed to turn on the watering system. We’re all very proud of him,” Jason said flatly.

The siblings all golf clapped, which Dick took a dramatic bow to. “Thank you, thank you. Otherwise a pretty normal apartment. Comfortable, a little nerdy, and not fussy.”

Jason nodded. “There’s a hero—not sure if someone real or fictional—that we saw a few times. Someone called Phantom.”

Obliging, Dick sent the photo of the mug from the bathroom up onto one of the screens. Tim spun back to the computer and started searching.

“There were also a lot of medication in his cabinet; vitamins and several prescriptions also. Some of them had weird labels.”

“Damn, Dick, you couldn’t have gotten a clearer photo?” Tim asked as he squinted at the new set of images.

“As much as I hate to defend Dick,” Jason said as he added photos of his own to the screen, ‘that is a clear photo. Danny was writing in the same language along with English in a bedside notebook of his.”

“Are you in need of glasses, Drake?” Damian asked as he looked from the photos to Tim with a judgmental brow raised.

Tim flicked him off, which Dick considered telling Tim off for (Damian had enough bad habits), but was actually curious about this. “No. The text looks glitched out.’

“No,” Damian said slowly and with a scowl, “it is clear. Odd, but clear.”

“Cass?” Dick asked.

She moved a step closer to the television, head tilted. There was a long, quiet moment before she lifted her hand a gave a so-so motion.

Tim looked from her, to Damian, to the screens. “…Dick?”

“So that’s the thing, it looks wrong to me too. If I look at it too long it’s like it gives me a headache. Jason can read it though.”

Jason snorted. “That’s taking it a bit far. I feel like I should be able to read it. I can get a word here or there maybe.”

“Like it whispers,” Damian said, the quiet words oddly poetic for the youngest of them.

“…yeah, like it whispers,” Jason agreed, just as softly.

“Right, okay. Freaky language that only some of us can even see, much less read, and those who can have spent a lot of time in or around the league,” Tim said. “How concerned do we need to be able this? To we need to be concerned about this? I feel like we need to be concerned about this.”

None of them had an easy answer for Tim.

All of them were grateful for the roar of Duke’s bike interrupting the conversation as he pulled into the cave.

“What are you all looking some grim about?” Duke asked. He yanked his helmet off and took a deep breath, like he hadn’t been able to breath in hours.

It was a feeling they all got. Even a good patrol was draining and Duke had been actively on follow up over what had gone down today with the Mad Hatter. Dick tossed a towel Duke’s way and went to grab a drink for the other from the food safe fridge.

“Stuff from Danny’s place. Take a look at the screen,” Jason said.

“Danny? I thought that we liked the guy,” Duke said, accepting the drink with a grateful thank you. He drained half of it his the way to the screens. “Shit, that’s a lot of meds.”

“Take a closer look,” Jason said, though not unkindly.

Duke stepped closer to the screen.

And went alarmingly still.

Dick resisted the instinctual urge to reach out and grab him. “Duke?”

Duke gave an answering hum and turned his head, just slightly, towards Dick. His eyes never left the screen. Dick wasn’t sure if Duke had really heard him. It was Jason who ended up acting, ended up listening to that instinct. He stepped between Duke and the screen, blocking their newest brother’s view. Duke sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“What?”

“Hey, come on, have a seat,” Jason said and guided Duke backwards into one of the chairs at the table.

Tim swiftly cleared the photos from the screen.

Duke shook his head. “Sorry, man, I don’t know what… that, huh. What did those look like to you all?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with different levels of medication in them,” Tim replied calmly. “Dick and I can’t read what’s printed on them. Damian, Jason, and maybe Cass can a little which means it might be League writing of some sort.”

Dick leaned against the table. “What did you see, Duke?”

“Magenta tinted pill bottles with something in them. Like whatever it was my powers were weird about it. I’d have to see them in person to know anything about why, I guess, but they were… I don’t know. But whatever that stuff was I don’t think it’s League because I don’t think it’s human. I don’t think it’s earthly.”

“Well, fuck,” Dick said with a sigh.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

[himasgod]

Hello! I just found you off of that request you did with Malleus dissing the reader's taste in men and it has me cackling! Since you wanted more, could I ask for the Leech twins, Jamil, Idia, and maybe Rollo with the same prompt? There's... a lot to complain about with them lol

Thank you for considering my request and sharing your writing with us in general! Be well, be merry, and eat something tasty today!

Malleus and Reader

Where he complains about the boys you like

SECOND PART!

APPROVED ONES EDITION

FIRST PART HERE

How would Malleus complain when you told him about the boy you like?

With Floyd, Jade, Jamil, Rollo and Idia

“So… Floyd. Kinda into him.”

Malleus, blinking once—very slowly: “...The eel.”

“Yeah! He’s unpredictable, exciting, super intense—”

“He once threatened to throw you in a locker for saying his socks didn’t match.”

“But he didn’t, right? That’s growth!”

“He tried to bite Rosehearts last week.”

“That was honestly valid.”

“He refers to people as ‘fishes.’ You want to date a man who’d refer to you as his ‘favorite squeaky plaything.’”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“He carried you over his shoulder for fun and then forgot why he picked you up in the first place.”

“It was spontaneous!”

“It was concerning.”

“He would love you like a storm trapped in a bottle. Always one wrong shake away from chaos.”

"...Wow, Mal. That’s actually kinda poetic—”

“You would never know peace. You would get a ‘good morning’ text and then a ‘rawr I’m bored >:3’ five minutes later.”

"....huh"

"No. You're not dating Floyd. Not at all."

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“Okay, what about Jade?”

“The other eel.”

“He’s polite! Cultured! Knows about mushrooms!”

“He tried to feed you a mushroom from the mountains. It was glowing.”

“...It was pretty.”

“It tried to move. It was probably some kinda of drug.”

“He’s mysterious! Sophisticated! I love a man with secrets!”

“He speaks in riddles. Smiles like he knows how you die. Enjoys danger recreationally.”

“He’s elegant!”

“He once said he finds pufferfish adorable because they inflate in fear.”

“You’re just threatened because he’s more graceful than you.”

"He tried to make tea out of Grim."

“That was a joke!”

"He was boiling water."

Malleus slowly, very slowly, walks toward you.

“If you date Jade Leech, I will prepare a coffin in advance. No guarantee of survival”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I’m kind of into Idia.”

“I’m sorry—into what?”

“Idia Shroud. He’s cute! You know, in the nerd friki kind of way.”

“The one who clutches his tablet like a lifeline and refuses to make eye contact?”

“He’s shy!”

“He hissed at you.”

“He was nervous!”

“He hid behind a vending machine. For two hours.”

“But he’s clever! Passionate! He gets excited about things in this super intense way!”

“He spoke at length about his last game while your nose was bleeding from a cursed book and didn’t notice.”

“See?? He’s focused!”

“He would love you in all caps. Digitally. From a great distance. Through a monitor.”

“I mean yeah that’s kind of my thing.”

“You would receive three paragraphs of love poetry in code format and then not hear from him for a week.”

“That’s fine.”

“You would be second to his game launch schedule.”

“Honestly understandable.”

"I refuse. he'd put cameras in your room to watch you at night."

“Okay but Rollo is kind of… 👀”

Malleus turns his head so slowly it creaks. You have his full attention. And disappointment.

“Rollo Flamme. You have to be kidding me."

"OKAY BUT LISTEN-"

"The man who tried to purge all magic. Who referred to you—his guest—as ‘a necessary pawn in the cleansing.’ That one.”

“He was just going through it.”

“He unleashed cursed flowers. Nearly killed several of your friends. And, of course, he nearly killed me. And attempted to erase my very existence. Yours, too.”

“Okay but he’s hot.”

Malleus just closes his eyes. Visibly distressed.

“You… are in love with a magic-hating fanatical bishop with fire trauma and a weird haircut.”

“Yes.”

“A man who tried to outlaw joy.”

“Yes.”

“A man who speaks like a 19th-century villain in a gothic novella.”

“YES MALLEUS I LIKE THE DRAMA.”

“You would not be dating him. You would be his redemption arc. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

"And I’d look stunning doing it.”

“He would gift you a bouquet and then scold you for smiling too brightly or wearing something too revealing.”

“Hot.”

“Yuu. He would confess his love like he’s confessing a sin.”

“Yes.”

You're obviously out of your mind. Don't seek his love. Seek a psychologist. And another one for him. And if you continue like this, another one for me.

Malleus Draconia DEFINITELY does not approve!

“So… Jamil. I think he’s kind of hot.”

“You mean the one who tried to hypnotize Kalim and hundreds of people?”

"But Malleus you're not one to talk about-"

"He's literally a psychopath. Every time he smiles, poison oozes from his gums."

"Okay but like. Incredible cheekbones.”

“He was literally plotting regicide.”

“He was under a lot of pressure.”

“He said ‘I deserve a palace’ and then tried to build it with hostages.”

“...Honestly? Based.”

“He is cunning. Ruthless. The most two-faced person I've ever seen. And you find this appealing.”

“Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent.”

“He is full of resentment. Rage. Bottled hatred ready to explode.”

“That’s just spice”

Malleus gives you a side eye and pinches de bridge of his nose.

“He walks like he’s calculating how many exits are in the room.”

“And yet he cooks sooo well. Husband material.”

“You want to fall in love with a man who would flip the table at your anniversary dinner because someone mentioned Kalim too many times.”

“I want to love the man who flipped the table.”

“He would kiss you with resentment. And probably knives.”

“And I’d thank him.”

“Very well. You wish to love a man who is one insult away from becoming a genocidal I will not stop you.”

He looks up at the sky like he’s asking the stars what they think of this.

“But if you disappear one day and he becomes even more emotionally unbalanced than usual, I will know it was your fault.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ forgotten

synopsis: the marauders were supposed to meet you for a date, but they never showed. now, you're done waiting around for them to prove you matter. but when you ignore them the next morning, they finally realize just how badly they messed up content warnings: angst, guilt-ridden marauders, remus struggling post-full moon series: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,209

The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual clamor of students, but at the Marauders’ table, an unusual silence hung over them like a storm cloud. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter sat in a tense huddle, their eyes flicking nervously toward the entrance every few seconds, waiting. Hoping. Dreading.

“We’ve really messed up this time,” James muttered, raking a hand through his messy hair. His usual confident smirk was nowhere to be found.

“Yeah, no shit,” Peter added quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he avoided eye contact with the others.

Remus sat slouched over, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pale and sickly. The last full moon had been brutal, and he was still nursing fresh wounds that ran deep, not just on his skin but in his heart. He felt the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him like a vice. He should’ve been there. They all should’ve been there. And now? Now, you probably hated them. He didn’t blame you.

“It’s my fault,” Remus whispered, his voice hoarse. “I should’ve—”

“Moony, no,” James interrupted firmly, though his voice was softer than usual. “It wasn’t your fault. We should’ve told her. We all agreed on that date, but we thought you’d be fine by then. No one expected the moon to be that bad.”

Peter nodded in agreement, but his expression remained grim. “But we couldn’t tell her, could we? Not about… y’know.”

Remus flinched at the unspoken word. His furry problem. His secret. The one they all kept from you. It wasn’t because they didn’t trust you—it was because they were scared. Scared of how you’d react. Scared you’d leave. Scared you’d see Remus as a monster.

“I just… I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Remus whispered, his hand unconsciously tracing the new scar on his cheek, the fresh reminder of what he became once a month. He looked down at the table, ashamed. “She doesn’t know. She wouldn't understand.”

Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, tried to lighten the mood. “She’ll come around,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’ll understand once we explain, right? I mean, it’s us. She knows we wouldn’t—”

But even Sirius couldn’t finish the sentence. His bravado faltered. The truth was, they had stood you up. They had left you waiting for hours, no explanation, no word. Even for them, this was unforgivable. And deep down, Sirius knew it. He knew they had hurt you, badly.

“We fucked up,” he admitted quietly, the words heavy with the weight of his own guilt.

The others didn’t argue. They knew it too.

The sound of the Great Hall doors opening made all four boys tense. You walked in with Lily and Mary, the two girls chatting lightly beside you. But you… you looked different. Your usual bright smile was gone, your eyes tired and distant. You carried yourself like someone trying desperately to hold it together, and the sight of you like that felt like a punch to the gut for all of them.

James sat up straighter, his eyes glued to you, willing you to look at them. Please sit with us, he thought, as if he could somehow send the message telepathically. But you didn’t. You didn’t even glance in their direction. You walked straight past their table, your shoulders stiff, as if you were physically forcing yourself not to look.

Remus’s heart dropped into his stomach as he watched you sit down between Lily and Mary. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, though. You looked so… hurt. And knowing that he was the reason for it made him feel like the monster he tried so hard to hide from you.

“She didn’t even look at us,” Peter whispered, his voice laced with panic. “What if they—what if she never talks to us again?”

James didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was too busy staring at you, silently begging for you to look over. He needed to see your eyes, needed to know if there was still a chance to fix this. But you didn’t.

And then, for the first time, Sirius’s forced optimism broke completely. “We really fucked up, didn’t we?” His voice was low, defeated, and filled with the kind of despair that none of them had ever heard from him before.

Remus closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the guilt that was clawing at his throat. He wanted to run over to you, to pull you aside and explain everything, to beg for forgiveness. But what would he even say? How could he explain all the times they had lied, all the times they had kept him away from you after full moons, how they had kept you in the dark? He couldn’t. Not yet.

And so, they sat there in silence, helpless, watching the person they loved more than anything in the world drift further and further away.

You tried to ignore their stares, you really did. But you could feel their eyes on you, especially Remus’s. There was a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything Lily or Mary were saying. Your heart was aching, twisting painfully in your chest, but you refused to give in to it. Not again. Not after last night.

But despite your best efforts, your eyes betrayed you. For just a moment, you glanced over at their table, and your heart clenched when you saw them.

Remus looked terrible. Pale, sick, with fresh scars on his face that you hadn’t noticed before. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, his shoulders slumped as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them. You felt a pang of guilt twist in your chest, the urge to rush over and hug him overwhelming for a split second. You loved him. You loved all of them.

But then the anger came rushing back, drowning out the guilt. If Remus had been sick, if something had happened, they could have told you. They should have told you. Instead, they had left you alone, waiting, wondering if you even mattered to them at all.

You noticed the fresh scar across Remus’s cheek, and your mind wandered back to the countless times you had questioned him about his scars before. He had always brushed it off, closed himself off from you. And the boys? They gave the most ridiculous, unbelievable excuses every single time. You weren’t stupid. You knew something was going on, something they weren’t telling you, and it hurt. It hurt so much more than you wanted to admit.

How could you be their girlfriend, but still feel so shut out? Why didn’t they trust you enough to tell you the truth? That thought hit you harder than anything. Maybe you weren’t as important to them as they were to you. Maybe you were just… an afterthought.

You clenched your jaw, determined not to let the tears fall this time. You weren’t going to let them see you cry again. You wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

But the truth was, no matter how angry or hurt you were, you still loved them. And that hurt most of all.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[moonstruckme]

maeee…maaaaaeeeee…….. can I pls request this dialogue prompt maybe with Spencer Reid? 🥺 I mean we KNOW how much I (we) love a good hospital fic & I just thought it’d be perfect for him……. 🥹 pretty pls with a 🍒 on top!

Thanks for requesting lovely Elle <3 I hate not to use the exactttt prompt but I changed it just a little bit because unfortunately (and yk it breaks my heart to say this) I don't see Spence as a heavy pet name user so I dole them out very sparingly. Hope you like it though!

cw: nonconsensual drug use aftermath, hospital, Mr. Scratch (eek!)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 920 words

You wake to the dawning realization that your throat hurts. It’s dry, scratchy, like you’ve shouted yourself hoarse for hours. You try to swallow, but your tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. 

“Hey,” says a gentle voice. You know it before you open your eyes, finding soft brown ones waiting. Spencer must have been watching you already. At the slow pull of your lids, he scans you over, a familiar notch appearing above the bridge of his nose as he assesses your face for signs of…you don’t know what. “How are you feeling?” 

You attempt to take an inventory of yourself. Sore in various places, exhausted in a bone-deep way that feels strange after just waking up, but nothing seems broken or torn. You rub your lips together. They’re dry, too. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” you say. It’s not a question, but you are asking for confirmation. 

Spencer gives it in the grim pinch of his mouth. “No,” he replies. “It wasn’t.” 

You look down at the thin sheets of your hospital bed. You don’t remember how you got here, but you can guess. The last thing you can recall with certainty is Mr. Scratch’s too-wide smile as he lowered a breathing mask over your face. Everything after is hazy and unreliable. 

“Can I have some water?” Your voice cracks. You hope you can pretend it’s from a dry throat. 

“Yeah. Of course, here.” Spencer reaches for a side table, passing you a small plastic cup. He keeps hold of it even when you have it in your hand; it’s a good thing, because as you lift the cup you can see your hand is trembling. You bring it to your mouth together. “What do you remember?” he asks gently. 

You swallow, the cool water a soothing burn down your throat. “I…we got in a crash, I think. Morgan was driving. Is he okay?” 

“He’s okay,” Spencer reassures you. “Everyone was fine, it just stunned you all.” 

“Scratch did it?” 

Again, that tightening around his mouth. Spencer’s eyes are big and sorrowful. “Yeah. It was either him, or he orchestrated it.” You lower the empty cup from your mouth, and he sets it back on the side table. “He took you from there. JJ said she thought she saw him, but she wasn’t sure.” 

You wet your lips. “Did you catch him?” 

“No,” says Spencer. Softly, like it’s his own private shame. 

You sit in silence for a little while. You’re sure the rest of your team is nearby, waiting for you to wake up, but Spencer doesn’t call for them. You appreciate it. After the confusion that took over your night, you think you need some time to get your bearings. 

Spencer holds your hand while you do. His fingers move over the grooves of your palm. You wonder if he’s memorized them sometimes, with the way he traces the lines so perfectly, even the ones too shallow to feel. He follows them until they disappear and then rubs his index finger over the bump of your pulse like you’re something to be handled with care. 

Finally, you work up the courage to ask, “What did he make me do?” 

Spencer’s expresion turns impossibly tender. “We don’t know.” Your eyes sting. He keeps talking while you turn them up to the ceiling, still holding your hand. “It doesn’t seem like he hurt you,” he says gently. “We don’t think you hurt anyone else, either. There was no blood in the warehouse where we found you. We think he may have just been trying to get information from you.” 

A tear escapes from the corner of your eye. You feel it arc down your cheek before Spencer catches it, cupping your face in the hand not holding yours. 

“It’s okay,” he nearly whispers, though he sounds agonized himself. “We have you. You’re safe.” 

“I don’t remember what I told him,” you choke out. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It could have been important.” 

“That’s not your fault, sweetheart.” 

“And he’s still out there.” 

“I know.” Spencer finally seems assured enough of your okay-ness to stop being cautious with you, dropping your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders. You put your face in his neck. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Spencer might look all long limbs and sharp angles, but he gives surprisingly good hugs. Your heart doesn’t flutter or thrum or any of the things you think it’s supposed to do when you’re in love; it’s almost like it sighs. Like even your most vulnerable organs know that with Spencer, it’s safe to relax. 

You give yourself a minute there before forcing yourself to return to reality, pulling back to knuckle the dampness from beneath your eyes. “It’s not your fault, either,” you say. 

“I know,” he says, in his sweetly candid way. “I just wish I’d been there.” 

“Well.” You shrug. “I’m glad you weren’t.” 

Spencer doesn’t reply to that. He takes your hand again like it’s a new reflex to always be touching you in some way or another. “The sevoflurane made you dehydrated,” he says, thumb sweeping over your knuckles. “You have to stay here until you’re back to normal, but I was supposed to get the team when you woke up.” 

Though you love them, you feel yourself pout. “Do you have to?” 

A smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. “Garcia’s been pacing in the hallway outside since six this morning.” 

You sigh. “Okay. Let them in.” 

Spencer squeezes your fingers as he gets up.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 10

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 14 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

SUKUNA'S POV

He doesn't know how he got into this mess.

Sukuna was never the type to develop feelings. All he ever knew was casual sex. Just a little meaningless fun with no strings attached. Hell, he always thought he was somehow the broken twin who wasn't even capable of falling in love!

But look at him now. He is lying in his bed, wide awake in the middle of the night, staring restlessly at his ceiling because he can't stop thinking about a certain someone. You were here a few hours ago, and Sukuna's pillow still smells like your perfume, and it's driving him fucking insane! He wishes you were still here in his bed, in his arms, your naked skin pressed against his, your fingers tracing his tattoos while you joke around with him and occasionally steal a kiss.

Fuck, he wishes you stayed the whole night again, and he could wake up with you snuggled tightly against him as if his arms are your favorite place in the world.

Sukuna likes it when you spend the whole night and stay for breakfast. It's something he feels he wouldn't mind at all if it happened every night. It's a thought that is so ridiculous that it makes him laugh a low, humorless laugh.

Itadori Sukuna always had his rules. Never get attached. Never stay the night. Never let someone get too close.

But he broke all of those rules for you.

He wants to have you here. All the time. He wants to hold you every night, wants to roll onto his side behind you, and wrap your smaller body in his big, warm embrace. He wants to wake up to your soft, sleepy smile. He wants to have sleepy, lazy morning sex with you that ends in both of you laughing and joking around, making him feel alive even before he has his first cup of coffee and his morning run. He wants to make pancakes for you and walk to class with you, maybe hold your hand while doing so.

Sukuna groans and sits up in his bed, the ruffled sheets pooling around his hips as he runs a shaky hand through his messy hair.

"What did you do to me, princess?"

He asks the empty room, huffing as he rubs his face. It's so ironic what is happening to him. Sukuna has the reputation of being a fuckboy and a heartless asshole who ends things the moment his little fling tries to stake a claim on him. The campus bad boy who only does one-night stands and casual, meaningless sex. The guy who broke so many hearts that he knows there are whole hate groups dedicated to him on Instagram and Facebook.

And now he is the one losing his sleep over someone. Now, he is the one yearning. And his fucking reputation is making things even more complicated because, seriously, how can he expect you to give him your heart when he is known for being such an asshole?

A grim laugh escapes his lips. It's no use lying here and trying to fall asleep with all that on his mind. Sukuna gets up and walks over to his window only in his boxer briefs, not bothering to put on any other clothes, even as he yanks open the window and the chill night air hits his naked chest.

Sukuna hums softly as he sits on the window sill and lights a cigarette, shielding it from the wind in the palm of his large hand. He takes a deep drag, letting his head fall back as his eyes close and the nicotine fills his senses. He exhales slowly, opening his eyes to watch the cigarette smoke vanishing in the cold air blowing in from the street.

Sukuna's gaze lands on his desk and the stack of history books he borrowed from the library. He sighs and grabs the one on the top of the stack, flipping it open, his eyes scanning the page, hoping to distract himself with the descriptions of some Heian-era rituals. A topic that usually manages to keep Sukuna's undivided attention for hours.

But tonight, the words he reads don't register in his brain. Sukuna's mind strays to the smell of your perfume and your beautiful loud laugh, the way you looked at him earlier when he was on top of you and fucked you slowly, your eyes so full of something he couldn't put into words, but it made him feel all strange and almost flustered, and he had to look away, and instead lean down to kiss you with deep tongue kisses to make you stop looking at him like that as if you could see right into his soul.

"Shit."

Sukuna closes the book and stares at the dark street below his window.

He is such a fool.

The thing is, Sukuna really tried to suppress his feelings for you. He distracted himself with hockey, going to the gym even more often than usual, and lifting weights even more aggressively. Hell, he voluntarily agreed to binge-watch trashy horror movies with his brother just so his mind would shut up about you.

And when all of that didn't work, Sukuna told himself he would just fuck someone else to cure himself of those strange ideas that were filling his mind. He went to one of the many parties he always gets invited to, looking for a casual hookup. But he couldn't do it. Even just talking to another girl, one of many who wanted to join the long list of Sukuna's puck bunnies, felt wrong. Seeing her smile at him and flirt with him, so desperate for his dick, made the hairs on his arms stand up in alarm. And when she had the audacity to try sitting on Sukuna's lap, he had practically bolted from his seat and left the party in a hurry without looking back.

He had grabbed a bottle of vodka on his way out and drank way too much of it while he was sitting alone in his room, feeling like the world's biggest asshole (and for once, he wasn't proud of it) just for contemplating fucking someone else. It made him feel dirty. Like a cheater! Even though he wasn't even in a relationship with you, and nothing had happened between him and that random girl.

Sukuna had known right then that he was utterly and completely fucked.

Itadori Sukuna, fuckboy extraordinaire, was no longer interested in casual sex with various partners. He wanted to put his dick only into one person. He didn't want any one-night stands or casual flings anymore because fuck it, none of them were you. He didn't want to touch anyone else or let them touch him! It felt wrong even thinking about it!

And that's where he is now. In love for the first time in his life, scared out of his mind, and absolutely at a loss at what to do about it.

This is new territory to Sukuna. He knows sex, but he doesn't know this! Sure yeah, he wants to fuck you 24/7, wants to fuck you so good the only thing you remember is his name and nothing else, but it's not just that. Sukuna wants to spend time with you outside of having sex.

He wants to sit in the library with you on your little study dates as he has begun to refer to them in his mind. He wants you to visit him in his dorm not just to fuck, but to sit on his kitchen counter and chat with him while Sukuna cooks for you. He wants to meet up with you for coffee at midnight, tell you about hockey tactics, and listen to you tell him about the current story you are writing, hoping that when you write a love story, you think about him.

He wants to see you at all his games, dedicating his goals to you and getting his good luck kiss the night before each game. He wants to see the worry in your eyes when he gets slammed into the boards, wants you to kiss his bruises and dote on him afterward.

All those things make Sukuna feel so strangely warm, even in the most chilly hockey arena. Even lying in bed with you snuggled into his side and watching hockey videos with you on his phone is something that makes him feel happier than he ever remembered being.

It's a mess. He is a mess! Sukuna, who is usually so in control and smart about everything, suddenly feels like the biggest fool because this is something he is completely unfamiliar with. It's terrifying!

All his life, Sukuna was quite literally the King of the Ice. Unfeeling, cold-hearted, not interested. He didn't let anyone in. Always wore his cocky smirk and arrogant attitude like a shield. But then you came along.

And ever since you sneaked your way into his life, Sukuna catches himself, letting his mask slip when he is with you. He catches himself smiling at you instead of his typical smirk. He catches himself laughing genuinely with you, unrestrained and free. He lets you come to his room and stay there as if you belong there. And he hopes you want to belong there. In his room, in his bed, in his arms. He hopes you want to be his just as badly as he is yours.

He doesn't know what got into him when he told you about his past. That's another of Sukuna's rules: He never talks about his past! He doesn't think anyone deserves to know the real Sukuna. They can have this version of him he wants them to see. The rough, bad boy, the star athlete, the fuckboy the arrogant asshole.

But somehow, you make him spill things he has never said out loud before. Hell, Sukuna even catches himself telling you stuff he never even said to his twin brother! His own flesh and blood!

You changed him, and it makes him feel naked like never before. Stripped of his carefully applied mask. Vulnerable.

But as scary as that is, it also feels strangely good. Sukuna feels comfortable with you. It's such a new experience. He can just be himself, and you like him anyway. He suspects you could already see through his mask even before he got careless and let it slip. You seem to be able to read him like one of your books. Sukuna prides himself on his analyzing skills, but he thinks you are really good at those things, too. At least when it comes to him. You never let him push you away with all the stupid shit he says. You seem to find him funny, laughing loudly about his dry humor and arrogant remarks.

You are so close to him. You are his friend. And yes, that's a big fucking deal!

For as long as Sukuna can remember, he has never made friends. His grandpa always told him and Yuuji to go outside and play with the other kids. "It's important to make friends. Look at me. I am old and lonely, and when I die, I am sure only you two brats will be at my funeral. Don't end up like me!"

But Sukuna, who had always been smart, strong, charismatic, and good at anything he started, found that he had failed at that one thing. He didn't know how to make friends. He had just bullied the other kids and pushed them off the slide or threatened to beat them up if they didn't give him the soccer stickers he was collecting. He had always known how to make people fear him, admire him, or a mix of both. But he had never made a friend. His only friend has always been his brother.

But you? You are his friend, and it blows Sukuna's mind.

It blows his mind how you sneaked your way into his life and into his heart. And now everything feels different. He feels different.

Being Itadori Sukuna used to be lonely. Yes, he is the star player of the ice hockey team and, therefore, one of the most popular guys on campus. But those are just superficial connections. None of those people know him for real. But it's not like Sukuna ever cared. He didn't mind being alone. He didn't like most people anyway! He didn't need anyone besides his brother!

But now? He likes you. And he likes spending time with you. He wants you in his life. He feels so much lighter when you are with him. He misses you when he hasn't seen you for half a day! It scares him how much he needs you.

"Ah, fuck!"

Sukuna groans and throws the thick book across his room, not feeling better, though, when it hits the wall with a loud thud and falls to the floor, where it lands next to his hockey bag. Sukuna stares unseeingly at it as he takes another deep drag from his cigarette.

He is fucking scared. Sukuna, who is never scared of anything. Sukuna, who looks every rival fearlessly in the eyes before he takes them down. But this... this thing with you...these feelings he suddenly feels. This is scary.

Why do people act as if love is easy? It fucking isn't! It means someone has power over you. Power to hurt you. Power to utterly destroy you.

Fuck. Sukuna never thought it would come to this, but he is beginning to regret his life choices. Because Sukuna knows his reputation, and he knows you know it, too. And the whole fuckbuddies thing he asked you to do is just more proof of the kind of guy he is. Why would you be willing to give your heart to someone like him?

He is about to spiral more when the door suddenly gets pushed open, and Yuuji stands in the doorway,

"What the fuck was that noise? Did you throw something?"

Sukuna huffs, flicking the cigarette butt out of his window as he jerks his chin challengingly towards his brother,

"Why are you even still awake, brat?"

Yuuji shrugs,

"I was re-watching Human Earthworm. But this is not about me! What's up with you? Why are you throwing your precious history books?"

The way Yuuji says it is what gets to Sukuna. The worry in his twin brother's voice. His wide honey-colored eyes trail searchingly over Sukuna, trying to find out what bothers him, trying to help him.

And suddenly, Sukuna doesn't care about keeping up appearances anymore. Fuck it, this is his twin. This is the brat who has been attached to his hip since they were born three minutes apart. The only person who ever saw Sukuna cry, when they were seven, and Yuuji had chickenpox, and Sukuna was convinced he would die, and it scared him so much that he sobbed like an idiot at his brother's bedside.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking away from his twin and out over the nightly street as he murmurs,

"I like her."

Yuuji makes a "Ha!" sound that sounds way too triumphant and then adds,

"Yeah, I know."

Sukuna's head whirls around, and he stares at his twin incredulously. But Yuuji just rolls his eyes and shrugs,

"Come on! It's obvious! I see how much time you spend with her and how you smile when she is with you! You let her sleep in your bed and invite her over for dinner! It's so cute how you act around her!"

"Shut up, brat! It's not..."

Sukuna doesn't get any further because Yuuji interrupts him, grinning broadly at him,

"You are both so cute! To me, it's like you already are boyfriend and girlfriend!"

And Sukuna's half-hearted denial gets stuck in his throat. He stares wide-eyed at his twin. Just hearing his brother say those words sends a surge of adrenaline through Sukuna. The same feeling that fills his veins before every game. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Fuck. It should sound scary, but it doesn't. It sounds good. It sounds like everything he wants.

Sukuna sighs, hiding his face in his large hands and rubbing it desperately.

"I don't know what to do. I don't want to fuck this up."

"You won't fuck it up, man. She likes you too, I am sure! Just tell her how you feel."

Sukuna says nothing but just huffs softly and stares unseeingly at the wall behind his brother. Yuuji makes it sound so easy. As if it isn't a huge deal. As if this isn't the first time that Sukuna has felt anything like this. He clicks his tongue, and his hands automatically grab his cigarette pack again. Long fingers with black painted nails pull out another cigarette, which he brings to his lips with shaky hands.

Sukuna lights it and takes a deep drag, waiting for the nicotine to fill his veins before he sends his twin a glare and rolls his eyes in annoyance,

"Just tell her how I feel? Tsk. Do you have any other super smartass advice, brat?"

Yuuji makes an incredulous noise, about to complain, but Sukuna stops him by sighing and then adding softly, without looking at Yuuji,

"What if she doesn't want me like that? Or what if I fuck everything up? It's not like I am boyfriend material. The whole campus knows that. With my reputation, it would be no wonder if she runs."

"Oh, shut up, idiot."

Sukuna hears the shuffling of feet and then confident footsteps so very similar to his own before he feels his twin brother's body push against him, joining Sukuna on the windowsill. Yuuji bumps against Sukuna's leg and reaches out to ruffle Sukuna's hair, reversing their roles for once.

"Look at me, Kuna."

Sukuna makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, but he sighs and turns to look at his brother, the hand holding the cigarette pressed lightly against his forehead.

Yuuji looks at him with that infuriatingly compassionate look in his honey-colored eyes, always treating Sukuna with so much kindness and genuine affection, whether he deserves it or not. Even Yuuji's voice is soft and gentle, understanding, when he tells Sukuna,

"You won't fuck it up. I know you are scared you will break her heart because that's all you ever did to girls. But it won't happen this time, Kuna. I know it. I know you. She is too important to you. And as tough as you like to act, you have a soft spot for the ones you love. Even if we are very few people. But if someone manages to break through your defense and find a way into your heart when you would do anything for that person. And she definitely broke through your defense."

Yuuji laughs good-naturedly and pokes Sukuna's chest with his index finger while he adds,

"It doesn't matter what you did before she came into your life. It doesn't matter that you used to think you would never fall in love. You changed. You have found your person. And that's all that matters. Not your past or what you used to think about relationships. All that matters is what you'll do from now on. And come on, my big brother is always the best at everything he does! So I know you will be an amazing boyfriend if you let yourself walk that path."

There's a lump in Sukuna's throat all of a sudden, and he gulps hard, feeling lightheaded somehow at hearing Yuuji say all those things. Sukuna does the only thing he knows to do in that situation and pats Yuuji's finger away, acting annoyed, even though he feels like he is overflowing with gratefulness for having such a good little brother.

Yuuji chuckles softly, patting Sukuna's hand away, too. His lips lift in a mischievous grin, a grin that is far too similar to the one Sukuna sees in the mirror. Sukuna steels himself for trouble right when Yuuji opens his mouth and adds in a sly tone,

"And if everything I just said wasn't enough to convince you, ask yourself how would you feel if she graduated and moved away and lived a life without you? How would you feel about that? Or if she starts dating another guy right in front of your eyes because you never told her how you feel, and she thinks you don't like her that way? How would that make you feel?"

And suddenly, blood is rushing in Sukuna's ears, and a vein is throbbing in his temple as he stares at his twin. Now that was a fucking eye-opener!

When that Gojo brat tried to hit on you, Sukuna saw red like never before in his life. The thought of seeing you with Gojo or any other guy makes him feel sick to his stomach. He doesn't want to lose you. He could never get over it if you dated someone else because Sukuna was too much of a coward to tell you he likes you.

You're his girl, and Sukuna is your boy, and anything else sounds like a cruel joke! And he realizes right fucking now that it's in his hands! The only way to make you hopefully stay with him is to be honest with you.

And yeah, that is a fucking scary thought. Opening up about his feelings, baring his heart to you on a silver platter, sounds like the scariest thing Sukuna ever did. But the thought of seeing you walk away because Sukuna wasn't man enough to tell you how he feels is scarier than walking up to you and dropping his mask and confessing how he feels.

Sukuna reaches out to clap his brother's broad shoulder appreciatively, wordlessly thanking him for the much-needed pep talk and advice.

He knows what he has to do now. Fuck it! He is Sukuna! He is the fucking King of the Ice! He is someone who laughs fear in the face and wrestles it to the ground, and works his ass off to get what he wants, no matter how big the challenge is!

He won't act like a scared little boy anymore! He will tell you how he feels!

"Hey, princess."

Sukuna walks up to you, where you are grabbing some books from your locker, looking far too pretty and sexy in the leggings and oversized sweatshirt you are wearing. You jump slightly at hearing his voice behind you. It's so fucking cute.

You turn around as Sukuna stops in front of you, looking up at him with big eyes and a little grin as you greet him.

Sukuna smirks at you as he reaches out to ruffle your hair, a move that always earns him the cutest little squeal from you and a half-joking, half-annoyed roll of your pretty eyes as you pat his hand away. But as always, you cannot stop the happy smile from spreading over your face. The smile that always makes Sukuna's heart feel a lot warmer.

He is so smitten it's embarrassing. But judging by the way you giggle and wrap your small hand around Sukuna's biceps, leaning closer so your face and tits press lightly against his arm while you smile up at him, Sukuna can easily pretend that you feel the same way about him.

Well, he will find out if he is right soon, won't he?

He walks you to your creative writing classroom, carrying your books for you while inwardly giving himself a pep talk, the same one he gives himself before every hockey game. You can do it! You will get anything you want! You will reach your goal. You are the fucking King of the Ice, man!

Sukuna stops in front of your creative writing classroom handing you your stack of books, his lips lifted in a lopsided grin as he cocks his head, silently applauding himself for how casual he manages to act even while his pulse is fluttering nervously and his muscles are all tensed up from how scared he is to fuck this up. But his voice comes out in his usual lazy drawl when he tells you,

"We have to work on your ice skating skills. Meet me at the arena tonight at ten."

You hug the books to your chest, tilting your head and blinking up at Sukuna with a little confused frown on your pretty face that he would love to kiss away right this fucking second.

"At ten? But is it even still open that late?"

"Let that be my problem, princess. So, are you coming?"

Sukuna shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, one eyebrow raised expectantly as he grins at you. If you say no, he will literally start pouting and use every ounce of charm he has in himself until you say yes.

But he doesn't have to worry. You laugh softly and nod,

"Of course, I'll be there."

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 😭💗💗 I had the time of my life writing this chapter from Sukuna's POV!! It always hits me right in the feels when I do that because it makes me feel so close to him.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter and all the things that flow through Sukuna's mind. If you haven't already done it, please listen to "Novocaine" by The Band Camino because it describes Sukuna's turmoil perfectly. While working on this chapter, I listened to it on repeat, and also "Tequila" by Dan + Shay, because it also describes this YEARNING, I think. Oh god, I am so in love with him, it's not even funny anymore 😭😭

Sighhhhh, he really likes us, hm? 😵😍

In the next chapter, Reader will meet Sukuna at the ice hockey arena, but it's a bit more than just the private ice skating lesson that she expects.

Thank you so much for all the love you give this AU! It means the world to me and makes me so happy! I wish you all a Happy New Year! 💗💗

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet.

[thechaoticfanartist]

“The light has been defeated! The Jedi are dead! Who cares if there is more darkness? That’s all there is left for the galaxy!”

“Remains the light still does, blinded to it you are."

- Grim Kennet & Master Yoda

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @andorlorian @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @keoxus @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @it-was-rose @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon @shrinkthisviolet @thebrainofocto @forloveofcodywan @mandalorian-general

[tinyfantasminha]

OC introduction

[Thank you @haryuwu, @stestylius-arts and @ai-kan1 for the templates they look so clean and organized and I love them 😋]

Personality:

At first glance, Vic comes across as reserved and ordinary, maintaining cordial relationships without actively seeking friendships. However, once she grows close to someone, her brighter, more playful side shines through—she’s witty, bantering, and a bit tomboyish. She dislikes feeling restricted and tends to rebel against rules she finds unfair or unreasonable. While she firmly denies being a "mom friend," (she repulses the thought even) her actions often tell a different story. She’s fiercely loyal, quietly looking out for her friends and always stepping in to support them when they’re in need, even if she doesn’t admit it outright.

Though Vic sometimes comes across as naive or a bit of an airhead, it’s often by design—she purposefully plays the fool, keeping others guessing about her true thoughts and intentions. Why does she do this? Well… whatever the reason, there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Backstory:

Vic was once a naive, pure-hearted child, eager to please and willing to follow anyone’s whims. That all changed after a traumatic incident during a school trip to the woods. A classmate told her, “Wait right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.��� Obediently, she stayed put, unnoticed by her teachers or classmates. Hours passed as she waited, terrified and alone, until she was finally found by school staff after her mother reported her missing. This event left a deep scar on Vic, and the phrase “I’ll be right back” still triggers a wave of unease in her. Afterward, her submissive tendencies only worsened. She believed that by doing everything people asked, she’d be liked and accepted, avoiding the risk of being abandoned or badmouthed. Throughout middle school, this behavior made her an easy target for manipulation and psychological abuse. By her final years of high school, something within her snapped. The years of mistreatment awakened a rebellious, sharp-edged side. Vic stopped letting people walk all over her, becoming grumpier, colder, and more distrustful. She built a fortress around her true emotions, frequently lying or feigning indifference to protect herself. Though she hated the version of herself her pain had created, she learned to survive in her own way.

After graduating, Vic celebrated the end of that painful chapter in her life and vowed to reinvent herself. But just three days later, her plans were upended when she was hit by a mysterious carriage.

After the events of the prologue and her enrollment at NRC alongside Grim, Vic was struck by the mortifying realization that she’d have to relive high school all over again. Adding insult to injury, she remembered that, at the time she was hit by the mysterious carriage, she had been on her way to celebrate her graduation with an açaí smoothie—a treat she never got to enjoy. To this day, she can’t help but lament the smoothie that never was.

Notable relationships:

Jack Howl 🐺

At first, Vic was intimidated by Jack, fearing he’d be as condescending and judgmental as her classmates from middle school. However, once she got to know him, his caring and loyal nature quickly won her trust. Because of her magicless status and petite stature, Jack’s protective instincts naturally kick in around her. He often escorts her across campus, which leads to them spending more time together and growing closer.

Vic admires Jack’s honesty and strong sense of justice—qualities she found rare during her school days. His loyalty and protective behavior deeply touch her, even when he tries to hide it behind his tsundere demeanor (which she secretly finds adorable). Around Jack, Vic feels safe in a way she hasn’t before.

As their bond deepens, they begin to pine for each other, turning what should be simple interactions into painfully awkward moments. Jack’s straightforward and genuine nature makes Vic’s carefully constructed mask of aloofness crumble in his presence, leaving her vulnerable and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her feelings for him force her to confront her fears and insecurities, often leaving her shaken.

"If only there was someone like you by my side back then… maybe I wouldn’t have…!”

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Initially, Vic and Leona barely interacted. He seemed indifferent to her presence and quietly appreciated that she didn’t nag him or try to change his lazy ways. However, her frequent visits to Savanaclaw piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of thrill-seeker. Her seemingly fragile, harmless appearance contrasted sharply with the boldness it took to linger in a dorm full of beastmen, leading him to nickname her “little mouse.”

Vic usually treats Leona with sweetness, but he sees right through her doe-eyed facade. Her true motives remain a mystery to him, and that intrigue makes him determined to unravel her secrets. To that end, Leona enjoys teasing and flustering her, just to watch her carefully constructed mask crack.

Leona is also keenly aware of Vic and Jack’s feelings for each other, which he finds highly entertaining. He takes great pleasure in cockblocking taunting them about it, using his sharp wit to nudge them closer to confronting their emotions. His teasing is particularly merciless with Jack, often warning him with sly remarks like, “You’d better keep a close eye on your prey, or she might just wander into the lion’s den.” What exactly does he mean by that? Who knows…

Ace Trappola ❤️ and Deuce Spade ♠️:

Vic’s first friends at NRC, Ace and Deuce quickly became two of her closest companions. The trio spends much of their time hanging out and bantering, creating a dynamic full of playful teasing. Her provocations often escalate with Ace, leading to occasional spats, though they’re always quick to reconcile.

With Deuce, Vic adopts a softer, almost sisterly demeanor, though she doesn’t hold back from teasing him—just not as intensely as she does with Ace. Around them, Vic maintains her cool, tomboyish exterior but will sometimes show emotional vulnerability when she needs comfort or support. Ace, however, never misses a chance to mercilessly tease her about her crush on Jack, much to her frustration (and embarrassment).

Idia Shroud💀:

Vic and Idia became friends through the Board Game Club, bonding over their shared interests and similarities. During club activities, they often team up to gently? bully and bicker with Azul, much to their mutual amusement. While Vic enjoys their camaraderie, their interactions mostly happen through DMs, as Idia’s shut-in nature makes face-to-face meetings rare—despite her frequent insistence that they hang out more in person.

Idia has developed a crush on her, which makes him even more hesitant to meet up outside of the club. He’s painfully aware (and secretly salty) about her preference for the athletic types in Savanaclaw, which makes his hopes—if he had any—practically nonexistent. For now, he keeps his feelings to himself, hoping to drown them. Vic, ever the supportive friend, often encourages him and occasionally flirts or gets touchy to tease him, delighting in his flustered reactions. Is she aware of his feelings? Who can say...

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙:

Vic initially had a strong dislike for Azul, finding his sweet-talking, calculating nature, and tendency to demand repayment for even the smallest favors uncomfortably reminiscent of her old classmates. She was openly hostile toward him, often meeting his charm with sharp-tongued, vulgar retorts. Yet, Azul remained undeterred.

Over time, as they spent more moments together in the Board Game Club, their constant bickering and competitive banter began to grow on her, almost without her noticing. She realized Azul was more "relaxed" during club activities, which made him easier to talk to. Vic now views him as a sort of rival, someone who challenges her wit and strategies, though neither likes to show vulnerability or weakness around the other.

If asked whether they’re friends, Vic will promptly deny it with a firm “no,” while Azul confidently responds with a smug “yes.” Despite their clashing personalities and opposing morals, they quietly look out for each other in their own way—remembering birthdays, exchanging souvenirs, and occasionally offering subtle gestures of support. Deep down, Vic knows Azul is an important friend, but she’d rather swallow a rock than admit it. Tsuntsun

Jamil Viper 🐍:

Vic harbors a superficial, puppy-like crush on Jamil, idolizing him and finding everything he does impossibly cool or impressive. Jamil, however, doesn’t seem to return her affections—or trust her, for that matter. He usually cuts her off with polite but firm indifference, which only seems to intensify her fascination, much to his exasperation. To Jamil’s dismay, Vic sighs dreamily whenever he’s cold or sharp-tongued with her (masochist much??) but gets utterly confused and flustered when he shows any hint of worry or care for her.

While Jamil would never admit it, he doesn’t entirely dislike her attention. Her admiration strokes his ego, and perhaps—just perhaps—he’s considering how he might use it to his advantage... t this doesn't seem very healthy...

Rook Hunt 🏹:

Like most people, Vic initially felt uneasy around Rook’s overly flamboyant and romantic demeanor. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her or his flowery praise, often responding to his compliments with pragmatic retorts or modest deflections. However, as time passed and she recognized the sincerity behind his words of encouragement, her wariness faded, and she began to trust him more.

Knowing it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from Rook, Vic sometimes reluctantly vents her frustrations and insecurities to him. In turn, he offers thoughtful advice and unwavering emotional support. He nicknames her “Mademoiselle Fantôme” (ghost) and seems to see right through her composed exterior.

Like Leona, he’s aware there’s more to her than meets the eye and enjoys analyzing her hidden depths. Rook takes particular delight in evoking various reactions from Vic, describing her as a “kitten with hidden claws,” always intrigued by her blend of aloofness and fire.

Trivia:

While Vic appears tomboyish and sisterly with the first years, Jack is the exception. Around him, she’s notably sweeter and more bashful.

The more nervous or flustered she becomes, the higher-pitched (and more pathetic) her voice gets.

Vic used to be close with her older sister, a prosecutor. Her strong sense of justice and argumentative nature were heavily influenced by her sibling.

When heated, Vic becomes highly argumentative, delivering well-constructed, logical points to dismantle her opponent’s stance—a rare display of bold confidence.

Her dream is to become a detective/investigator.

Vic doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s described as a “cold, merciless ire with sharp words that could make a grown man cry” (Ace’s words).

Though she’s a bit of a coward and dislikes confrontation, her quick thinking and improvisation often help her slip out of sticky situations. (Both Leona and Rook take notes on her sharp survival instinct.)

Despite her unassuming appearance, Vic has surprising leg strength and flexibility from self-defense classes she took as a child. She claims she’s rusty and fell out of practice for the most part, but her kicks prove otherwise.

Her birthday (February 4) is the same as Cater’s, so their celebrations are often combined in Heartslabyul. Cater affectionately calls her his “twinsie” and refers to her as “cute lil sis.”

Floyd nicknames her “Axolotl” and teases her relentlessly about her height. He especially enjoys being overly touchy with her in Jack’s presence.

Vic occasionally treats herself to Mostro Lounge visits to gossip with Jade, often about Azul’s defeats in the board game club. Jade uses this intel to tease and blackmail Azul later.

The Light Music Club adores pampering her and repeatedly begs her to join as a singer, but she always flusteredly declines.

Like Ace, Vic can be mischievous and a bit greedy. She shamelessly accepts Kalim’s generous offers of money (though she hopes Jack doesn’t find out...)

Vil intimidates her to no end with his sharp gaze, but she secretly admires him and dreams of having him give her a makeover someday. Rook frequently (and gleefully) tries to push her to approach Vil, much to her horror.

Malleus believes they are closer friends than they actually are, often due to misinterpreting her words and actions. Vic, too kind or maybe scared to correct him, finds herself roped into his gargoyle monologues during their awkward little outings.

[twilightakiishi]

—NIGHT LIGHT ⋆.˚ ☾

hanma is a childish grumpy baby when he’s been woken up. 0.5k wc ﾉ fluff ﾉ a little suggestive.

cw: no pronouns used, hanma calls reader doll and baby, brief mentions of a previous blowjob & free use.

“doll…” his low grumble comes from beside you as he shakes your shoulder a bit.

you barely glance in his direction as you scroll on your phone. “yes, shuji?” 

“turn the damn light off.”

“huh? there aren’t any lights on.”

he lays there with his eyes still shut a few seconds before he cracks one open and points out the window with a childish grunt. 

you stifle a laugh, “…that’s a street lamp.”

“…huh? for what? why is it on?” he’s clearly half asleep, and a little incoherent. you know you’re safe to giggle as much as you want when he’s like this. 

“so people can see.”

he pouts, throwing an arm over his eyes, “ugh, it’s like, 3am, nobody needs to see anything right now.”

“actually shu, it’s only midnight. and, if i hadn’t sucked you comatose, I’m sure you would be one of the hooligans out and about at this hour.” 

“….close the curtain, doll.”

“no. it’s like a night light, and–

he scoffs, “what do ya need a night light for? dontcha trust me to protect you?”

he wants to bite back and tell you that he doesn’t need a night light, not because he isn’t a little afraid of the dark, but because he feels so safe next to you.

“–and it helps me wake up in the morning when the sun comes through,” you deadpan.

another thing he won’t tell you is how he doesn’t need the sun that streams in through the window every morning; the sight of your sleeping figure beside him is enough. 

but it’s midnight, apparently, and he’s not feeling the type of tired where he can be vulnerable tonight, so he keeps that to himself, even though he desperately wants to know if you feel the same way.

“excuses, excuses,” he tsks. he turns his head toward you and lifts his arm from his eyes, barely cracking them open, “if you hate me just say that.”

“shuji, my dearest. i had your cock down my throat 20 minutes ago.”

he full on glares at you, or at least he attempts to; his sleepy, half lidded eyes betray him. you don’t miss the way the corner of his lips twitched up for a moment, though.

in the dim lighting of your bedroom, he paws around in search of your arm, and grabs you tightly when he finds it, causing you to gasp and drop your phone. with a confused yelp, you’re suddenly manhandled on top of him as he buries his head in your neck, muttering a muffled, “relax, baby.”

you sigh, “shuji, you’re insatiable.”

you feel a deep chuckle resonate against your throat, “c’mon, you told me you like being used, yeah? so be my sleep mask for a lil while...” you roll your eyes at him for using your words against you, and at the way his voice trails off as if he’s already falling back asleep. you can’t help but giggle at your needy god of death who whines when you aren’t touching him for even five minutes.

your personal guard dog, the grim reaper of kabukicho— his world would fall apart without you. 

he’s never told you that, but you feel it through his actions; through the longing in his touch. 

in the morning before he leaves for work, he gives you a tighter hug than usual, and the sweetest, softest kiss. in bed when he grabs at your hands, no matter what position he’s tangled the two of you in, he gently brushes his palm against yours before he squeezes. and now, as his breaths even out and you slowly attempt to shift yourself off him, his arms tighten around your waist with an annoyed huff. 

he feels protected by…well, whatever it is about you; he doesn’t know. it’s less like the way he looms over any poor soul that dares to glance at you a second too long, and more like your soul is the solace that his needed all this time. your presence grounds him in a way he hasn’t experienced before; it warms up his heart and makes him soft. it’s the reason he can’t bear to let go of you in the night, and clings to you as long as he can before he goes out into a life that doesn’t treat him with nearly as much warmth.

despite the headache that he is sometimes, he makes you smile. so you settle in on top of him, because he’s given you no other option than to be his anchor in a world where he can only see the light in your presence. 

[narcjsistx]

— NOT ON TIME, BUT ON POINT

ও bunny iglesias x fem!reader

ও warnings: bunny was revealed literally today for the first time and NOTHING is known about his character so don't come back here angry saying i changed him once his character is finally explained </3 it's just a fic!!

ও tags: @x3nafix ♡

ও 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me! | words: 0.8k

The heat of July is almost suffocating, but the coolness of the restaurant saves you a little from melting on the spot. Maybe talking to the three men about the last fight with your ex-friend wasn't the best idea since you're sweating with anger, but to deceive the wait and the idea of hatred that you're developing towards your boyfriend for being 2 hours late, talking is perhaps the only option. You don't even want to focus on the fact that Bunny hasn't replied to your messages for hours and that he hasn't even shown up at your usual restaurant, the same one that made you meet and fall in love 2 years ago. Talking for take away the hate and the idea that he left you hanging for the first time, well, that's the only option

"Did you understand what she did? what an extremely rude person, and i thought she was-" you say, speaking animatedly, miming the scene with your arms. the man in front of you snorts, while the others at the counter laugh "Come on, you always knew she was a shitty friend" says a man, the same one who has been listening to your stories for the two years that you have been frequenting this restaurant. you cross your arms over your chest "It wasn't that obvious! i mean, yes, but not-" you say, but the restaurant owner's laughter silences you "You're only doing this because you don't want to agree with Bunny!" he says laughing, and you curse him with just one look, grim enough to kill someone "I'm not doing this just because Bunny has spent the last two years telling me to kick her out of my life. I'm just telling the truth, guys!" you say, but the laughter of the three men in front of you only makes you want to run away and not pay for lunch, even though you never actually paid for it with your own money. You haven't done it for two years now, thanks to someone

"Bunny's been saying that for years and you've only just realized it. Stupid little girl, I don't know how that boy handles you..." one man says dejectedly, while another nods "I don't understand why she's bothered by agreeing with Bunny..." he says, and you slam your hand on the counter, furious "Who gave you this freedom to insult me so freely?" you say, looking at them badly, running a hand through your hair "And I thought I'd tell you this and find some comfort..." you say tiredly, but the owner shrugs "Bunny told us to keep an eye on you when you're here alone. We're doing what he would do" he says, and you snort "As if he's here..." you say defeated, but just at that moment an arm wraps around your arms, and before you can look up, a hat you know well blocks your view

"What if I were here?" says a voice that has been eating away at your life for years now, and you giggle, taking off your hat and squeezing it between your fingers, while you look at your boyfriend's face "It took you a long time. I had lunch alone" you say, and he kisses your head, letting you put his hat back on his head in the meantime "That's better. You didn't pay, did you?" he asks, and the owner takes the banknote from the boy's hands that he offers him "Two hours late for a simple lunch. I would tell you that if she had left you today, I wouldn't have blamed her" the man says, and the boy laughs, tightening his grip on your shoulders "I had paparazzi in front of the house, that's why I was late. You avoided her causing trouble, right?" he says jokingly, and you snort, even if amused "Nice, really nice. I wouldn't joke so much if I was 2 hours late for a date with my girlfriend, Bunny" you say, and he shrugs "I'm a star, in this case the only one in this relationship. Stars make you wait" he says, but you glare at him "The consider yourself single, if you're a star. Surely there's someone else you can share lunch with here, right?" you say, and the three men chuckle, now accustomed to your bickering

The boy kisses your cheek, cupping your cheeks with one hand "I could. But I’d rather share them with you" he says, and you roll your eyes, though you know his words are just silly "If anyone interrupts our lunch today, I swear to buy you flowers as soon as I finish lunch too. So forgive me, okay?" he says with his usual smiley tone, and you nod, although still a little annoyed by the hours of delay "I could think about it"

There's no way they're interrupting your lunch today, right? There's no way a random Japanese guy needs your boyfriend's help today... yes, you can definitely forgive him

[thatonegrimm]

The Shopping Chronicles

💄🛍️ "Off-Duty (But Make It Fashion)"

Part 2 Summary: No demons today. No summoning circles, no training drills, no blood. Just a mall, a mission for socks, and three girls who show love in the most unexpected (and sparkly) ways.

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

The mall is too bright.

Too loud. Too crowded. The overhead lights buzz like a swarm of bees, casting an unnatural glow over polished tile floors. There’s an announcement blaring about a “Flash Sale Event,” a toddler shrieking somewhere near the pretzel stand, and a haze of clashing perfumes so dense it could knock out a mid-tier demon with self-respect.

None of it matters.

Because today?

Huntrix is off-duty.

And this?

This is sacred ground.

No emergency texts. No cursed weapons. No possessed influencers. Just a full day dedicated to eyeliner testing, impulse earrings, café breaks, and the very specific kind of emotional healing that only comes from trying on something you absolutely cannot afford and saying:

“I’d slay in this though.”

This is combat of a different kind. Soul-deep rejuvenation in the form of overpriced skincare samples and three-hour conversations about lip tints. A retail exorcism.

The battlefield of demon-hunting is brutal. But mall therapy?

Mall therapy is spiritual.

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

Rumi leads like it’s a tactical mission.

“One café stop, two fitting rooms, and no more cursed accessories,” she says crisply, striding through the automatic doors like she’s infiltrating a government facility.

She’s got a mobile spreadsheet open in one hand and her bubble tea in the other, straw chewed just slightly—stress tells.

“We’re sticking to the plan.”

Zoey makes it exactly six steps before veering off with a gasp toward a wall of glitter-studded chokers that may or may not be made of sentient rhinestones.

“What plan?” she calls over her shoulder.

Mira exhales like she’s aged ten years and adjusts her jacket with the grim resignation of someone who knows they’ve already lost this battle.

Rumi doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t scold. She just glances at the ceiling like she’s consulting a higher power and mutters,

“We’ll regroup at Sephora.”

She’s the kind of leader who keeps everything from catching fire without looking like she’s doing anything at all. The one who reminds you to hydrate before you realize you’re dizzy. Who checks if Mira’s overheating in her leather jacket. Who gently steers Zoey away from the display of platform demon horns that probably are cursed.

And still—still—she slips a pastel dagger-shaped hair clip into her basket when no one’s looking. Tiny. Iridescent. Completely unnecessary.

Leader energy. Controlled chaos. With a hint of sparkle.

Later, when you’re in a boutique, hesitating between two outfits—one safe, one… not—Rumi steps up behind you. No rush. No pressure. Just a calm voice that cuts through the noise.

“The second one,” she says. “You lit up when you saw yourself in it.”

You don’t question her. You never do.

Because Rumi doesn’t give orders. She gives permission.

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

Mira insists she hates malls.

“You want me to walk into a building designed for light pollution, overpriced cotton, and sensory warfare?” she deadpanned that morning, arms crossed like you’d just asked her to commit treason.

And yet—ten minutes in—she’s elbow-deep in a rack of structured jackets, muttering under her breath like she’s personally offended.

“Why would they put fake pockets on this. Cowards.”

She doesn’t try anything on voluntarily. Not without at least three rounds of persuasion and Rumi physically herding her toward the dressing rooms like a sheepdog with a spreadsheet. You and Zoey stack her arms with “Mira-coded” items while she scowls at you like you’ve cursed her.

“This is bullying,” she mumbles. “This is fashion,” Zoey replies sweetly.

When she finally emerges from the dressing room—in high-waisted black slacks and a sleeveless slate-grey top—the effect is immediate.

Time stops.

Zoey gasps like she’s seen a divine vision.

“You look like a corporate assassin who writes poetry.”

Mira tilts her head.

“Not inaccurate.”

Then she turns on her heel and slips right back into the fitting room before anyone can say another word.

You peek in a moment later—just to check—and she’s not changing. She’s standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the seams of the top with a bobby pin, sleeves rolled and pinned like armor.

Her brows are furrowed in quiet concentration.

“If they made this with a side zip,” she murmurs, “it’d be perfect.”

“You’re… fixing it?” you ask.

She doesn’t look up.

“I fix things. It’s what I do.”

By the time she steps out again, the fit is flawless. Tailored. Seamless. Like it was made for her and no one else.

Of course it is.

She doesn’t just wear clothes. She refines them.

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

Zoey runs the day like it’s a Netflix coming-of-age movie and she’s the undisputed main character.

Every store becomes a music montage. Every mirror is a photo shoot. Every shiny object is speaking to her spiritually.

She spins through display racks with a new pair of sunglasses every ten minutes—heart-shaped, rhinestoned, tinted blue like a K-drama villain—and poses dramatically in each one like she’s about to drop her debut solo album.

“This hoodie says ‘emotional instability but make it fashion.’” “This bag says ‘yes I hexed your ex and looked good doing it.’” “This top? I’d wear this to seduce an incubus—or for brunch. Same vibe.”

No one can keep up. She disappears mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-squeal—only to reappear three minutes later with a tray of overpriced seasonal lattes and a hot pink bunny hoodie that she proudly declares is her “emotional armor.”

Rumi raises an eyebrow.

“It’s forty dollars, Zoey.”

Zoey gasps.

“I’ve had a bad week. Let me live.”

You don’t ask what happened. You just silently accept that the bunny hoodie is now part of the team.

Later, she pulls everyone into a photobooth without warning—grabbing Mira by the sleeve and Rumi by the shoulders and shouting,

“MEMORY-MAKING MOMENT, LET’S GO!”

She insists on sparkly filters. On bunny ears. On writing “HUNTRIX 💕” in glitter font across the bottom.

Rumi nearly blinks in one photo. Zoey screams like it’s a federal crime.

Mira threatens arson. Zoey threatens matching phone charms. The energy is balanced.

The resulting photo strip is pure chaos: Mira looks mildly murderous, Rumi is halfway smirking, Zoey is throwing up a peace sign so violently it’s a blur.

It’s ridiculous. It’s loud. It’s absolutely unhinged.

It’s also perfect.

So is she.

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

By the time you all collapse into the café near the food court, your legs are jelly and your arms are covered in swatches—lipsticks, eyeliners, mystery sparkles you don’t remember testing but definitely own now.

The table is overflowing. Shopping bags slouch against your knees like sleepy pets. Empty drink cups, crumpled receipts, and a singular stray eyelash curler litter the surface.

Rumi’s already pulled out her phone and is checking train times with a level of intensity reserved for battlefield logistics. Mira is unwrapping a protein bar like it's a life-saving ration in a survival sim. Zoey is... blowing whipped cream bubbles into her straw like she’s doing lab experiments for a dissertation titled “Maximizing Chaos: A Visual Study.”

“I forgot how heavy boots are,” Mira groans, stretching one leg out and rolling her ankle with military precision.

“I forgot how broke I am,” Zoey sighs, flopping dramatically over the armrest of her chair like a fainting starlet.

“I forgot what self-control feels like,” you add, staring into your overpriced seasonal drink like it has answers.

Rumi glances up from her screen to survey the table—bags stacked like towers, half-open boxes of accessories, and the ruins of an impulsive macaron purchase.

“We came here for socks,” she says.

Everyone stops.

Turns.

Stares.

A beat of silence passes. Then you lift your arm, jangle your wrist, and hold up the dagger-heart earrings that Zoey peer-pressured everyone into buying.

They glint under the café lights. Absolutely unhinged. Absolutely matching.

“...And now we match,” you say, deadpan.

Zoey beams like she just won a crown.

“Group identity secured,” she announces proudly. “We’re unstoppable now. Coordinated. Dangerous. Fashion-forward.”

Mira groans but doesn’t take hers off. Rumi mutters something about uniformity and shared symbolism like she’s trying to logic her way into justifying it.

And you? You just lean back, drink in hand, surrounded by glitter bags, caffeine, and the loudest soft girls you’ve ever met.

It's not just mall therapy. It's team healing. With whipped cream.

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

The last shop is a boutique none of you remember walking into.

It’s tucked away at the end of a side hallway—half-hidden, half-forgotten. No bright sale signs. No loud music. Just soft light, warm air, and the faint scent of something herbal and calming. Everything inside is neutrals and deep tones and clothes that feel like they were made for lives just a little more put-together than yours.

It’s quiet.

Peaceful.

A soft exhale after the day-long inhale of chaos.

Zoey finds a mustard-colored trench coat near the back and pulls it off the rack with a gasp. She shrugs it on over her bunny hoodie and steps in front of the mirror, turning in a slow, almost theatrical circle.

She does a full slow-mo spin, hair swishing, coat flaring like a movie scene.

Mira glances up from a display of structured bags.

“You look older.”

Zoey freezes mid-twirl.

“Like… grandma old?”

Mira shakes her head.

“No. Like you know who you are.”

Zoey blinks. Then quiets.

For a moment, something flickers behind her eyes—a rare, soft kind of stillness. And then she smiles. Just a little. Just for herself.

Rumi appears beside you like a stylish ghost, holding two pairs of earrings with the practiced precision of someone comparing battle options.

“These match your jacket,” she says. “But these match your vibe.”

You take the second pair.

Mira reappears with a leather crossbody bag that’s got way more hidden compartments than any bag should. You can feel how pleased she is just from the way she unzips one with surgical precision and raises an eyebrow.

“Knife slot,” she says simply.

In the corner, Zoey snorts with laughter and lifts a novelty tee from the sale bin.

Big letters. Iridescent print.

“Feral But Fabulous.”

“You need this,” she says, holding it up like it’s treasure.

You blink.

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late.”

She’s already halfway to the counter, whipping out a glittery coin pouch like a gremlin with a mission.

You sigh. But it feels like a hug.

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

Before you leave, before the soft golden light of the boutique fades behind you and the noise of the mall rushes back in, each of them hands you something.

No ceremony. No big speeches. Just quiet gestures. And meaning folded into objects like notes you’re meant to read later.

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

Rumi comes first.

She says nothing at first—just reaches into one of her many carefully packed bags and pulls out a small box. Inside is a bracelet: a simple chain, delicate but sturdy, with a tiny sword charm that catches the light when it moves.

She clasps it around your wrist like she’s done it a hundred times before.

“You don’t always show it,” she says quietly, eyes steady on yours, “but you carry more than anyone sees.”

Then she squeezes your hand once. Firm. Steady.

And walks off like she didn’t just wreck you.

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

Mira appears behind you like a shadow. You jump slightly when something soft lands over your shoulders—black fabric, structured but broken-in. A cropped hoodie, heavier than it looks. Lined with fleece. Balanced.

“There,” she mutters. “Now it fits like it’s supposed to.”

You look down at it, fingers brushing the hem. It’s practical. Sleek. Warm in that way Mira rarely says out loud.

You glance up at her. She doesn’t look at you.

“It reminded me of you,” she says, barely audible. “Quiet sharpness. That good kind.”

Then—after a beat—

“Also it has thumb holes. Which is objectively superior.”

She disappears before you can say thank you. But your hands are already in the thumb holes.

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

Zoey is last, of course.

She bounces up to you with a grin that’s a little too wide, like she’s trying to distract you from something—and presses something into your palm.

It’s a phone charm. Handmade. The beads are mismatched but intentional—colorful, sparkly, bright. One’s shaped like a star. Another glows faintly when it catches the light.

“You’re our glue,” she says, poking your cheek. “So I made you a tether.”

You look down at the charm. Then back at her. Her eyes are shiny, but she’s pretending they’re not. So are yours.

You swallow.

“I’m not crying.”

“Obviously,” she says, smile wobbling. “You’re just… hydrated. With feelings.”

You laugh. And sniff. And maybe hold the charm a little too tight.

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

Because none of them say I love you out loud.

They don’t need to.

They just hand you things. Warm things. Real things. Things they chose with you in mind.

And that?

That says it all.

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

You’re all slouched together on a cold metal bench, tucked into the corner of the platform where the lights buzz faintly and the vending machine blinks like it’s seen too much.

Shopping bags pile around your feet like trophies from a victorious raid. Your makeup is slightly smudged. Your legs ache. Mira’s boots creak when she shifts.

But your spirits?

Full.

Overflowing.

Rumi cradles a warm paper cup between her hands—lavender tea, gently steaming in the night air. Her eyes are half-lidded, calm. Mira’s scrolling silently through the photobooth pictures, expression unreadable except for the slight twitch of her lips every time Zoey’s blur of movement takes up an entire frame.

Zoey is humming something off-key and vaguely recognizable. Her head is on your shoulder, bunny hoodie ears flopping sideways, and every so often she mutters something like “sparkle squad forever” before drifting into silence again.

No demons. No exorcisms. No ancient scrolls, cursed daggers, or interdimensional breakdowns.

Just glitter gloss. Quiet smiles. And the kind of exhaustion that only comes after a day you’ll remember forever.

You glance down at your wrist—Rumi’s sword charm catching the station lights like a promise. Your hand brushes the edge of Mira’s hoodie, still warm where she dropped it over your shoulders. Your phone buzzes once with a Zoey selfie you didn’t realize she took—your new charm dangling in the corner of the shot like a signature.

You’ve never felt more protected.

You’ve never felt more loved.

And for once?

That’s enough.

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

M-List

Taglist: @honey-and-sweetdreams @lyunsafebubble

[elikajinnie]

not necessarily a request but i think a dbd killer jungwon would be soooo fun to read omfg. especially since you write horror so well and your other jw fic was PHENOMENAL

just wanted to leave my little brainworm here 🙈🙈

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Obsession, Psychological Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Violence, Dark Themes, Mental Torture, Slight Mind Break, Blood, Mentioned Cult Activites, Humiliation, Bondage (Chains)

Synopsis: A new killer, a new map, and terrifying new powers. When you first learned the Entity had unleashed another killer, you were annoyed. But as you face him now, those feelings shift. His control.. his ability to manipulate your every move… it’s worse than you could have imagined.

a/n: Well originally the dbd series was only for the hyungline.. but anon.. you did this.. i love dbd, even more with Springtrap (OG fnaf fan.)

now playing: in the dark of the night (jonathan young)

Time was irrelevant in the Entity’s realm. From the moment you are captured, you could forget asking what time it was. There was no rhythm to the days, no routine, no sense of passing hours. "Good night" and "Good morning" had become meaningless. Darkness was constant here, shadows stretching, pressing in from every corner. The sun? Gone. Warmth? Never existed in this place. Only a numbing, all-encompassing cold that seeped into your bones.

There was nothing to do but wait, trapped in this perpetual limbo until you were inevitably called in. And when you were, it was always the same. Pain. Panic. The ever-present fear of what came next. It was a cycle—endlessly repeating. The only constant was the hum of the generators. Only one thought ever echoed in your mind: Where’s the next one?

It was a race for survival. One that you had grown accustomed to, even if you hated every second of it. You'd learned to adapt—staying low, staying quiet, and always moving with purpose. Always searching for the next generator, the next chance to escape. When you were called in for a match, you didn’t expect anything different. Another trap. Another game. Another nightmare.

So when you were called in for a match, you weren’t surprised to find yourself in a dark room, the familiar heaviness of the air wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. You instinctively started moving, but as you took in your surroundings, something felt... off.

This wasn’t a map you recognized.

You pressed your back to the wall, narrowing your eyes, and began to cautiously explore. The layout was foreign, with jagged architecture that seemed almost ceremonial. The walls weren’t just cracked or broken like the usual maps, they were covered in strange, arcane symbols that seemed to pulse in the low light. Each step you took only deepened the unsettling feeling in your chest. This place wasn’t just unfamiliar; it felt wrong.

A chill ran down your spine, and the implications hit you like a cold slap. A new map.

A new map meant a new killer, and right now, that was the last thing you needed. The Entity had dragged you back into its twisted game, and you knew the rules: survival, at any cost. But with a fresh killer on the loose, you could already feel your grip on sanity slipping.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out the setup for the map, it was an old military fortress, abandoned and decaying, with walls that seemed to whisper the memories of battles long forgotten. The architecture was a grim reminder of something that had been built for control. It was a cold, imposing structure, with crumbling stone and rusted metal fixtures that still managed to hold a terrifying, menacing presence.

There was no light, not even the faintest glow. Not inside the fortress, not out in the sprawling dark forest that surrounded it. You couldn’t see a single star in the sky. Only the moon, hanging high above in a deep, unsettling red hue. It bathed everything in a faint but eerie tint, as if the very land was soaked in blood. The forest itself felt like an extension of the fortress—claustrophobic, suffocating, and full of hidden threats, where every tree and shadow could be hiding something that was waiting for the right moment to strike.

And you had the feeling of a million eyes watching you, eyes that you couldn’t see, but could feel burrowing into your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you paused mid-step, breath hitching. Then you heard it.

Giggling.

Faint at first, like wind through leaves. But it grew louder—layered, distorted, like a chorus of laughter echoing from every direction at once. High-pitched and wrong. Mocking. It wasn’t just one person. It was like a crowd—a million voices laughing, whispering, enjoying something you weren’t a part of. Something you were the center of.

Your fingers curled into fists. No one was around, not visibly, but the laughter remained, somewhere just beneath the surface of the world around you. It didn’t stop. It was like the map itself was alive—like something about this killer didn’t just stalk you… it played with you.

You forced yourself to move, to breathe again. And as you crept through the shadows, you finally spotted others—Meg, Jill, and Nancy huddled near a generator about twenty yards away. Relief tugged at your chest, but it was fleeting. Something wasn’t right.

They all looked… off.

Nancy was crouched off to the side, healing herself with trembling hands, her movements clumsy and disoriented, like she was struggling to focus. Blood stained her jeans and hands, and her face was pale.

Jill and Meg were at the gen, but even from this distance, you could see the way their heads occasionally snapped to the side, as if reacting to a sound that wasn’t there. Their hands moved across the generator with mechanical repetition, but their expressions were empty—hollow, like the act of fixing it was just muscle memory now.

You decided to walk up to them, the tension in your chest tightening with every step you took. As you approached, their heads turned toward you, and for a brief moment, the hollow expressions on their faces softened. There was something almost relieved in their eyes as they noticed you.

Meg’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes darted between you, Nancy, and the surrounding forest, her hands still mechanically twisting the generator. Jill, on the other hand, met your gaze with a shaky exhale, her face pale as she wiped her forehead, as though the pressure was finally beginning to crack her composure. And Nancy, already nursing her own wounds, managed a small nod when you approached, but it was clear she was struggling to stay alert.

You moved toward Nancy, offering to help with the healing. Your hands worked quickly, but you couldn’t ignore the strange, nagging feeling creeping at the back of your mind, the shadows in the corners, the whispers on the wind, the eyes you couldn't see. The world around you felt too still. Too controlled.

Once you were done, you asked quietly, “What happened to you guys? What did you see?”

The moment the question left your lips, they all seemed to speak at once. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper, as if sharing the details of their encounter with the killer might somehow make it worse.

“I… I don’t know exactly,” Meg began, her voice shaky, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “He—he has these… shadow figures. Little humanoid things. They’re not real, but they feel real. They just appear out of nowhere.” She swallowed hard. “It was like he was controlling them.”

Jill interrupted her with a sharp intake of breath. “He doesn’t just control them. He controls everything.” Her voice trembled. “I—I swear, it felt like he was in my head, messing with my mind. Everything around me went black for a second, and I couldn’t move. It was like I wasn’t even in control of my own body.”

Nancy added quietly, her eyes darting around nervously. “He made me feel... trapped, like i couldn’t breathe.” She paused, wincing as she adjusted her bandages.

The three of them fell silent for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances as if the memories were fresh and raw. The weight of their words hung in the air, leaving you with the oppressive feeling that the killer wasn’t just a physical threat, but a mental one, too. His power wasn’t just about stalking or hurting; it was about breaking you down from the inside out. Control.

A mental killer wasn’t something common in the Entity’s realm. Most of the killers you’d encountered were brutal, physical creatures, ruthless in their pursuit, they were straightforward in their violence. You could fight against them, try to outrun them. But this? The idea that this killer could break you down mentally, control your every thought, every move, was enough to make your stomach churn.

You were barely able to process that thought when suddenly, the giggling—the maddening, distorted sound—grew louder. The laughter bounced off the walls of the fortress, seeping into your ears and clawing at your mind.

Before you could even react, the shadows around you shifted, and in the blink of an eye, three humanoid figures emerged from the darkness. Their forms were barely solid, shifting and flickering like smoke or mist.

The moment they appeared, the cackling began rising, high-pitched and mocking, like the laughter of a thousand twisted souls trapped inside these shadowy figures. They didn���t have faces—just hollow, shifting silhouettes, but you could feel the malice radiating off of them. It was as if they were laughing at you, at your fear, feeding off it.

Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Without thinking, your body reacted. You spun on your heel, heart hammering in your chest, and before you knew it, you were running.

Behind you, you could hear the others scattering, all of them running in different directions, driven by instinct, their own terror feeding off the sinister presence of the shadowy figures. The giggles seemed to follow, echoing off the map as if they were everywhere at once.

You had to keep moving. You had to survive. The shadowy figures hadn’t followed you. No, they were flying off, following the others as if they were being drawn to their fear, choosing their prey with a twisted, malevolent intent.

For a fleeting moment, you wanted to stop, to look back, but the sudden pressure in your chest made it impossible. Something was wrong. Your heartbeat picked up, pounding in your ears, as if trying to warn you.

You forced yourself to turn forward again, desperate to put distance between yourself and the shadows, but that’s when it happened.

A sharp pain ripped through your side, sudden and brutal, as if something had slashed across your skin with precision. You screamed in pain, the noise ripped from your throat as your body staggered forward, caught off guard.

The blood dripped from the wound, staining your clothes, and your legs faltered as you tried to stay on your feet. But before you could fully comprehend what had just happened, you lifted your head—and there he was.

The killer.

He stood there, an imposing figure cloaked in darkness. His black, high-collared coat clung to his body, sleek and dark, moving almost unnaturally as if it were alive, responding to his every movement. The fabric shifted, undulating with an almost hypnotic rhythm, as if it were part of him, an extension of his being. Chains twisted and coiled around his form like a prisoner to his own power.

His hands were covered in long, sharp gloves, the fingertips tapering to sharp points. He gripped a long sword, its blade unnervingly smooth, and its surface etched with ancient, cryptic symbols that seemed to shift when you looked at them too long.

He was dressed in all black—from head to toe. Even his face was obscured by the shadows cast by the high collar of his coat, leaving only the glow of his eyes to pierce through the darkness. His expression was stoic, and emotionless. The very air around him seemed to tremble, like the world was bending to his will. There was no warmth, no humanity in him. Just cold, unrelenting control.

He took a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his footsteps was barely audible, but each one sent a shiver through your spine, vibrating the ground beneath you.

You couldn’t move. Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, your legs barely holding you upright. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to fight, to do something but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like you were already caught, trapped in his web without even realizing it.

His eyes—dark, almost hypnotic seemed to be studying you. Assessing. The chains around him moved slightly, like they were waiting for his command, and you could almost feel the power radiating off of him.

Before you could react, he moved. Slowly, deliberately. His long, gloved hand reached out, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. With one smooth motion, he placed the cold, sharp edge under your chin, lifting it slightly, forcing your head to tilt upward so that your eyes met his. The pressure was light, but the sharpness of the blade made your skin prickle.

His eyes never left yours. They were intense, almost too intense, like they were piercing into your very soul, reading every hidden fear, every thought.

“Adorable.”

The single word hung in the air, and you didn’t know whether to be insulted or terrified. His voice was low and almost affectionate, as if he were speaking to something fragile, something delicate.

“You know, I can already see it. How sweet you'd look… under my control. Docile. Obedient.” He tilted his head, a faint smile curling at the edge of his lips. “It’s almost too easy to imagine you like that… so perfectly pliant, so ready to fall in line.”

Your heart skipped, the combination of fear and confusion making your mind race. Was he toying with you? Or was he serious? The way he spoke was both enticing and terrifying, like he was trying to lure you into something dark, something twisted, something you didn’t want to admit you were even considering.

The sword remained under your chin, the pressure just enough to remind you of how easily he could push you past the point of no return. But still, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. There was something about the way he looked at you—so assured, so in control that made you feel like you were drowning, like the world around you was fading away, leaving only him.

“Imagine it,” he whispered. “You, belonging to me. No fear. No pain. Just... you and me. All under my command.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your pulse quicken. Was he asking you to surrender? Was he waiting for you to break? But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even fathom the idea of giving in, of becoming another pawn in his twisted game. You could only shake your head, your breath shaky, a barely audible sound escaping your lips. “No…” you whispered, but the word felt weak, like a futile protest against something far too overwhelming.

It was the only thing you could manage in that moment, shaking your head in disbelie. But the look in his eyes… that cold, unreadable gaze that pierced through you, it hardened.

And then, that smile—the one that had previously seemed almost teasing faded into something darker, something sharper. "What? You deny me?"

His words stung, more than they should have. They echoed in your mind, pulling at something deep inside of you. The anger in his voice wasn’t just the kind you felt when you were challenged, it was disappointment, like you had failed to meet some expectation he had for you.

He stepped closer, leaning in just enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, could smell the faint scent of something dark on him. His lips almost brushed against your ear as he spoke again, his tone colder now, laced with menace.

"You think you can defy me?" he whispered. "You think you have any control in this game? In this world?"

A chill ran through you, but you stood your ground, even if only on the outside. Deep down, though, you were terrified. Terrified of what he could do. Terrified of what he was. You swallowed, trying to summon some semblance of defiance, of strength. But your voice came out in a whisper, shaky and uncertain. “I won’t... give in... to you.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours. The air between you felt thick with tension, with a simmering, unspoken promise of what could come next. Then, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle, the sound deep and unsettling. "Such a brave little thing," he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. "But you’ll come to understand soon enough… everyone submits eventually."

You barely had a moment to process his words before the blade sliced through the air again, and before you could even brace yourself, the sword slashed across your side, cutting deep. The pain was instantaneous, blinding. You screamed, the cry of anguish tearing from your throat as you staggered, your body giving way beneath the weight of the injury.

Your legs failed you, and you crumpled to the ground, breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun, and your vision blurred with tears from the searing pain. You could feel the blood dripping steadily from your wound, pooling beneath you.

But just as you started to crawl away, a shadowed hand shot out from the air, wrapping around your waist like iron. A sudden yank and you were hoisted up off the ground, your body flailing helplessly in the air. You didn’t even have the strength to fight back, cause before you knew it, you were tossed over his shoulder like a ragdoll. The movement was swift, effortless, and you were too dazed to do anything but feel the world tilt as you dangled helplessly in his grasp.

You could hear his footsteps as they echoed through the desolate, shadow-filled landscape. He moved with purpose, a slow and calculated pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings as though choosing the perfect hook.

When he found one, he didn’t hesitate. With a cold precision, the rusty hook was driven into your shoulder. The pain was instantaneous, a searing, bone-deep agony that made you scream, the sound echoing through the silent night, raw and desperate.

The world spun as you hung there, your body suspended from the hook by sheer force, your blood dripping slowly down your side, staining the ground beneath you.

And as you hung there, helpless and exposed, you watched him turn away. He didn’t look back, not even once. He dragged the sword behind him with a casual ease, the blade scraping the ground lightly, making a dull, metallic sound that sent a chill down your spine. It was like Pyramid Head's relentless, methodical walk as he dragged his own axe through the dirt.

You hung there for what felt like an eternity, the pain in your shoulder intensifying with every passing second. The Entity’s claws slowly began to emerge from the sky around the hook, creeping up from like nightmarish tendrils, their sharp, jagged tips glistening with a hunger that sent a cold shiver through you. They were coming closer, inching toward you, ready to finish the job and drag you into the void.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the claws that drove you to the edge. It was the voices. The giggling. The laughter that echoed from the shadows like a haunting symphony. It was everywhere, all around you, like the world itself had become a twisted echo chamber, filled with distorted sounds of joy and mockery. It was as if the very air itself was alive, alive with voices that jeered at you, taunted you, fed off your fear.

You could usually hang on a hook for a long time, enduring the pain, the waiting. It was a part of the game, a part of the cycle. But this?The laughter, the maddening giggles, the whispers that fluttered in and out of your consciousness, made your mind feel like it was slowly cracking apart. The voices didn’t just sound like they were taunting you—they were delighting in your suffering, savoring each moment, each second of your agony.

The giggles grew louder, more intense, like they were crawling beneath your skin, worming their way into your mind, threatening to break you from the inside out. You could feel your thoughts slipping away, as if the laughter was trying to take over, drowning out your ability to think clearly. Was this it? Was this what it felt like to lose yourself?

The urge to scream again rose in your chest, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your voice felt useless, lost in the chaos. Instead, the only thing you could do was hang there, helpless, and wish for it to shut up—the voices, the giggling, the madness that was crawling through your brain.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

You clenched your fists, trying to hold onto your sanity, your control, anything that could keep you grounded. But every breath, every heartbeat, seemed to only make the sound grow louder, more intrusive, until you wanted to tear at your hair, rip your skin, anything to make the noise stop.

But all you could do was hang there, waiting for the inevitable.

Finally, after what felt like ages, just as you were starting to lose all hope, you felt a sudden shift. The pain in your shoulder became less sharp, almost bearable, and a figure appeared out of the darkness.

It was another survivor, limping, clearly injured—blood staining their clothes, face pale from exhaustion. They reached you quickly, their movements frantic but efficient. Without a word, they unhooked you, their hands trembling as they carefully lowered you down. You almost collapsed in their arms, your legs buckling beneath you, but they caught you before you could fall completely.

"You need to move," they whispered urgently, barely able to keep themselves steady. The moment they freed you, they were already backing away, looking over their shoulder. They didn’t even hesitate, they just turned and ran, leaving you there, breathless and confused.

As they disappeared into the shadows, you were left wobbly, weak, and disoriented. You could still hear the distant sounds of the killer's footsteps somewhere in the distance, but the laughter had subsided for the moment. The Entity's claws had retreated back into the sky, as though they were biding their time. You were no longer tethered to the hook, but your body still felt broken.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling through the darkness, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and your vision swam with the pain, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t allow yourself to collapse just yet. The only thought in your mind was finding a safe place, somewhere to heal.

You eventually found a small corner of the map, tucked away between crumbling walls and thick trees, barely visible through the shadows. There was no sign of the killer. No sign of the minions. You collapsed against the rough stone of a building, your body trembling as you began to fumble through your supplies, trying to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding.

Just as you finished bandaging your shoulder, breathing heavily in the dim light of your makeshift refuge, the sound of maddening laughter hit you again. You stiffened, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You turned quickly, your breath catching in your throat.

And there it was. A shadowy figure—a dark, twisted shape lurking beside you, its form flickering in and out like it didn’t quite belong in this world. Its giggle was sharp, distorted, and it echoed in the hollow space between you and the walls, making your chest tighten with dread. You froze, staring at it in horror, unable to move.

Before you could react, it made a sudden shrill noise—louder than before, like nails scraping against glass and with no warning, it leapt onto your back. The weight of it felt like being struck by a wave of darkness, its form clinging to you like it had no intention of letting go.

The tendrils, dark and writhing shot out from its body, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them painfully against your back, pinning you in place. The creature was fast, too fast for you to think, and now it was like you were bound by invisible strings. Every movement you made was sluggish, like your body didn’t want to obey.

You tried to scream, but the creature’s presence choked the air around you, leaving you gasping for breath. It giggled again, right next to your ear, the sound grating against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Good… good… so obedient,” it hummed, its voice low and mocking, and the words wrapped around your brain like venom. "So good, so very good..."

You couldn’t make it stop. The more it spoke, the more insane the words made you feel. It was as if the very sound of its voice was slowly eroding your thoughts, making it hard to think, hard to focus.

You tried to run. Tried to push forward, to escape. But your legs wouldn’t move as they should. It was as if the very presence of the creature was dragging you down, forcing you to walk slower, each step heavier than the last. You weren’t running—you were walking, like the creature was controlling your movements, slowing you down.

“Good girl...” it whispered again, too close, making you shudder. “Stay... We’ll play forever…”

You couldn’t handle it. The overwhelming sensation of being controlled, the constant taunting laughter, the words that seemed to worm their way into your mind and stir up every fear you’d ever had. It was driving you to the edge, to the brink of madness.

But still, you fought. You fought with everything you had left. Even as the world around you seemed to distort and fade, even as your body grew heavier, you tried. You tried not to give in. But the more you resisted, the more the shadow clung to you, the more its presence slowed you, its voice growing louder in your ear.

"Good... girl..."

You stumbled through the map, your steps growing heavier with every passing second, each step like wading through thick mud. The giggling was incessant, worming its way into your ears, until the sound became more insistent than your own thoughts.

You tried to focus, tried to push back against the pull of the shadows, but your mind felt as though it were unravelling. Your thoughts started to become fuzzy, like a broken radio signal, distorted and impossible to follow. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of what was real and what was just part of the madness that the creature had wrapped around you.

Your vision started to blur, colors smearing together like paint on a canvas that was too wet. The world wavered in front of you, twisting and distorting, and each step felt like you were sinking further into a sea of confusion. The edges of your reality seemed to fray, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t even remember what you were supposed to be doing.

The laughter never stopped, only growing louder, until it felt like it was inside your skull, echoing from every corner of your mind.

And then, suddenly, the fog lifted, and you blinked—blinking hard to clear the haze from your vision.

When your blurry vision finally focused, you found yourself standing in front of the killer.

He was there, standing as still and imposing as ever. His gaze was locked on you, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. The control in his eyes was suffocating.

You didn’t know how you had gotten here. You didn’t even remember moving. But somehow, the shadow—the minion—had led you here. To him. And now, as you stood before him, unable to move, unable to think clearly, you knew the inevitable was about to happen.

The laughter in your ear faded, replaced by an eerie silence as the shadowy minion began to unravel itself from you, its tendrils loosening their grip on your wrists with a sickening wet hiss. You stumbled forward slightly, knees buckling, but didn’t fall. You could only watch as the creature slithered down your back before it moved to the killer’s side.

Then, without a word or command, the minion melted into him—its form seamlessly merging with his body, as though it had always been a part of him. Shadows coiled around him like armor, wrapping tighter as the last flicker of the creature disappeared within him.

The killer then took a single, measured step forward.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your body obeyed his presence now, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

He tilted his head, just slightly, his glowing eyes locked onto you with quiet amusement. And then he spoke, his voice low and smooth, yet cutting straight to the bone.

"The last survivor... at my feet. Like you should be."

The words hit you like a blow. There was no rage in his voice. No wild aggression. Only cold certainty. As if this outcome had always been written—you, here, broken and alone, with no one left to save you.

He leaned down slowly, giving you no room to flinch or retreat. His gloved hand reached out, and his fingers curled beneath your chin.

His grip was firm but not cruel. Possessive.

He tilted your head upward until your eyes were locked with his again, and everything else—your pain, the fog in your mind, the noise fell into silence. He studied you like you were something to own, something he’d hunted for and finally cornered.

His voice dropped to a whisper, brushing just over your skin. “Such a fighter,” he murmured, thumb grazing your jaw. “But even the strongest… kneel eventually.”

Without saying anything else, he stood up again and slid his sword in front of him, the blade gleaming with an almost unnatural light. The symbols carved into it began to shift, moving across the metal like they were alive.

The moment the symbols started shifting, shadowy figures began to unfurl from the killer’s body. They moved like smoke, winding and curling around him. They slithered through the air toward you, their giggles growing louder, more shrill, like a chorus of twisted voices, each one mocking you.

You tried to back away, to get away from them, but your legs wouldn’t respond. They were everywhere—surrounding you, closing you in. You shouted, desperate to push them back, to make them stop, but they didn’t listen. They just giggled more, their laugh echoing through your mind like a sick, rhythmic chant.

Some of them swatted at you with their shadowy limbs, their touch cold and mocking. Each swipe left you feeling more helpless.

"You're not strong enough," one whispered, its voice dripping with venom.

"Just give in..." another giggled.

The words were cruel, harsh, degrading. They spoke of your weakness, your failure, and it made your chest tighten with frustration and despair. You could barely breathe beneath the weight of it, the laughter, the mocking voices, the shadows that consumed everything.

And then, you felt the chains.

At first, they were slithering just outside your periphery, but before you could react, they moved quickly, wrapping themselves around your wrists. They were cold, tight, and they burned as they slithered up your arms, pulling you off the ground. Your body dangled in the air, weightless, but utterly trapped. The killer’s chains, now bound to you, pulled you higher, lifting you as if you were nothing more than a puppet in his grasp.

You looked down at him, your heart hammering in your chest, but his eyes were focused on you with that same cold, calculating gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his sword.

Without warning, he sliced through the air.

The pain was unbearable.

It was a clean strike, swift and precise, but the force of it seemed to tear through your very soul. You screamed, but it was drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. Every part of you felt shattered, and you didn’t even know if you could still breathe.

And then, just as everything around you turned black, you felt the pull of the Entity’s grip once more, dragging you into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, your body was sore, aching from head to toe. The world around you was familiar, yet wrong. The scent of firewood and damp earth reached your nose before your eyes opened, and the steady crackling of the nearby campfire filled your ears.

You blinked, disoriented, as your vision slowly cleared. You were lying on the ground, just outside the survivor's camp, surrounded by familiar faces all sitting nearby, talking softly to each other.

You tried to sit up, but the ache in your body stopped you. It was as though you’d just woken from a nightmare or perhaps it had all been one.

But now, you were back here.

Back in the camp.

Like always.

After that night, you were called into two more matches. Neither of them involved the new killer. Neither of them involved that suffocating presence, that overwhelming control. But it didn't matter. Every time you returned to the camp, the memory of what had happened still clung to you, like a dark cloud hanging over your every step.

But it wasn’t just you. Other survivors had faced him, the new killer, and each time they came back, they were different. Broken, in a way. You could see it in their eyes—the vacant, haunted look that spoke volumes without a single word. They would return to the camp, their bodies battered, their minds frayed. They would fall silent, almost like the echo of the killer still lived within them, dragging them down into the depths of his control.

You’d watch as they stumbled back, each one looking less whole than before. They didn’t talk about it at first. They couldn’t, it seemed.

Eventually, when they would speak, it was always fragmented. Unclear. The words didn’t fit together like they used to. They’d speak about their match, but their minds were somewhere else.

Their sanity seemed to slip with each encounter, like pieces of them were lost in the game. It wasn’t just the physical toll of facing a killer. It was the mental and emotional cost. You could see how every time they faced him, they came back with less to give. Less of themselves to share, to offer. It was like facing him was leaving scars deeper than any cut or wound could.

You told yourself you were fine. That the first encounter hadn’t gotten to you the way it had the others. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. The memories of everything about him lingered like a toxin in your bloodstream.

So when the familiar pull of the Entity tugged at your core again, dragging you into another match, you expected nothing. Just another trial. Another run. Another chance to survive.

But when you opened your eyes… You were staring at the dark fortress.

That damned fortress. Its jagged stone walls and blood-tinted shadows loomed above you like the mouth of some massive beast, hungry and waiting. Your hands clenched into fists. You could only grit your teeth, the familiar sting of frustration prickling your eyes.

Really?

You tried to think positive. Maybe it’s just his map, you told yourself. The Entity had done that before—used a killer’s realm for another’s trial. Maybe this was someone else. You had to believe that. Maybe it was the Huntress, or the Trickster, or anyone else who didn’t drag your thoughts into madness with a single glance.

Please, let it be someone else.

But then you heard it.

The laughter.

That sick, echoing giggle, bouncing off every wall, carried by the wind, crawling beneath your skin. One voice at first… then two… then a dozen. It built in layers, high-pitched and overlapping, like a chorus of corrupted children whispering secrets they were never meant to know.

Your heart sank. Your spirit plummeted.

It wasn’t just his map. He was here.

Somewhere in the shadows of that fortress, sword in hand, chains dragging silently behind him like whispers of promises unkept. And the minions… they were already awake.

You pressed your back against the nearest wall, trying to steady your breathing, trying to fight the creeping sense of hopelessness threatening to swallow you whole.

You weren’t ready for this. No one ever was.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to move. One step at a time. You couldn't afford to freeze in place, no matter how tightly the fear gripped your chest. You had to find one generator, just one, and maybe, you'd have a chance to survive this.

The laughter echoed around you, still distant. It seemed to follow you, seeping through the walls like a taunt. You clenched your fists tighter, pushing forward despite the dread clawing at your insides. There was no time to waste. The longer you lingered in the open, the more vulnerable you became.

But as you moved through the fortress, each turn felt more disorienting than the last. The corridors twisted in strange directions, every door you passed seemed to mock you, every hallway a dead end.

Then, you turned another corner.

And there it was.

A throne room.

It loomed in front of you, massive, and strangely pristine, given the state of the rest of the fortress. The walls were lined with ornate stone columns, and in the center of the room stood a throne, tall and imposing, carved from obsidian. The seat seemed almost to beckon you, as if daring you to approach.

You glanced around, a sense of unease crawling up your spine. It felt like you were being watched, like the very air in the room had shifted, making your skin prickle with a foreboding presence.

You turned to look behind you, your breath catching in your throat as the faintest laughter reached your ears. The sound was so quiet at first, like a low whisper on the wind, but it grew louder, until it became unmistakable.

The laugh was right behind you.

You spun around, heart pounding in your chest. The throne. The seat that had seemed empty just moments ago was now occupied.

There, sitting in the obsidian chair, sat the killer. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if he were sitting comfortably in his domain. And perched on his shoulder, like a twisted, grotesque pet, was one of his minions. Its dark and shadowy form flickered like smoke, its sharp teeth snapping at the air in your direction. It giggled, the sound high-pitched and unsettling, as if it took delight in the fear it was causing. The sound seemed to echo around the room, magnified, as if the walls themselves were laughing along.

Your heart thudded in your chest, the sight of him sitting so calmly in that throne sending a chill through your bones. You were frozen, caught between wanting to run and being unable to look away. Every inch of you screamed to get out but your body wouldn’t listen.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was no anger in his gaze, no wild fury, just an unsettling amusement. He didn’t say anything, but his lips curled into that eerie, cold smile again, and his eyes seemed to say everything. You were his now.

And the giggling… it didn’t stop. The minion on his shoulder let out another shrill laugh, and you could hear the rustling sound of more shadows moving around you, just beyond your sight, closing in, like a thousand eyes were watching your every move.

Suddenly, he tilted his head slightly, as though something had caught his interest. It was subtle, but there was an unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. The minion on his shoulder paused, and without warning, it detached itself from him, leaping from his shoulder and flying straight toward you.

You screamed, the sound loud and desperate, as the creature lunged at you. Its body seemed to dissolve into a dark mist before it reformed, clinging to you like a twisted parasite. The minion’s cold, clawed hands wrapped around your shoulders and chest, pulling you closer, its sharp teeth snapping in your ear as its giggles echoed in your skull. It smelled like cold stone and death, its touch icy, seeping into your skin.

You thrashed, trying to break free, but it was impossible. Its form was slippery, elusive—like it was one with the darkness, and no matter how hard you struggled, it held you tighter. You couldn’t breathe as it laughed—mocking you, taunting you.

The killer's voice cut through the madness.

“Be quiet.”

The word was spoken softly, but the weight of it was like a command, and in that moment, everything went still.

The minion on your chest froze, its body shuddering with the sound of its laughs dying in its throat. You couldn’t understand it at first, but then you realized something—it was shutting up. You didn’t even know why, but the giggling stopped, the pressure around you releasing just enough for you to suck in a trembling breath.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shout, to demand that this nightmare end. But you couldn’t.

His words had an unnatural weight to them, and somehow, in the deep recesses of your mind, you understood—you had to obey. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your voice had been silenced, as if by some unseen force, the very command in his tone forcing you to submit.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but your mind felt like it was fogging over. The minion was still on you, but it seemed almost dormant now, no longer laughing, just clinging to you in silence.

You could feel its unsettling presence as it nuzzled against you, the chill sinking deeper into your skin. The laughter had stopped, but its taunting silence filled the void left behind. It felt like your very thoughts were being muffled by its touch.

The killer moved then. Slowly he stood and approached you, his footsteps quiet. He didn’t look angry, or even bothered. Instead, he seemed almost… contemplative, like he was thinking, carefully choosing his words.

When he reached you, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if studying you closely. The silence stretched, and for a moment, you were certain he was trying to figure something out—something about you.

Then, he leaned forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice broke the quiet, low and smooth, but somehow, it carried a weight that made you want to shrink away.

“You know,” he began, his tone almost casual, “you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t even form the words. You could only stare at him, your mind racing as your chest tightened with uncertainty.

He paused, still looking at you with that unblinking, unsettling gaze. Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, a small smirk curled at the corner of his lips as if he’d figured something out.

“Yes...” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You remind me of one of my past followers. My most devoted one, in fact.”

Your stomach turned at his words, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in place by the weight of his gaze, unable to speak, unable to do anything but listen as he continued.

“The one who died for me.” His voice softened, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut. His eyes glinted with something darker, something satisfied. “She was so loyal… so ready to give up everything for me. But in the end…” He paused, tilting his head again as if savoring the thought. “She gave up her life for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mention of a past follower, someone who had been so loyal, so devoted, yet had met their end in his service made your skin crawl. Was he speaking of her with a sense of affection? You couldn’t really tell.

He straightened up, his face still unreadable, and for a moment, he just stood there, gazing at you. The minion on your shoulder shifted slightly, as though it too was listening, waiting for something more.

“And now,” he murmured, voice barely audible but chilling nonetheless, “I see the same potential in you.” His eyes darkened, the intensity rising, and you felt an overwhelming surge of fear. “You could be the same... so willing, so ready to give everything for me.”

Fear surged in your chest, thick and suffocating, but there was nothing you could do. No way to run. No voice to scream. Only the echo of his words wrapping around your thoughts, sinking their claws in.

Suddenly, with terrifying ease, the killer stepped forward and lifted your limp body off the ground.

You gasped, more from the shock than the effort but your limbs refused to fight him. Your legs dangled, your wrists still tangled in those invisible chains of command. He held you with little effort, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back as if you were something fragile, something precious.

His hand moved slowly, and you felt the chill of his gloved fingers as they gently brushed your hair back from your face. The motion was almost… tender.

His expression shifted as he looked down at you. For a brief moment, he almost looked soft, like he was admiring a painting or some priceless relic he’d spent ages hunting. Then his lips curled into a smile—not warm, not kind.

It started at the corners of his mouth and spread unnaturally across his face, twisting it into something manic, something unhinged. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of terror pulsing through you.

“I just have to charm you enough...” he whispered, his words soft, almost soothing, but his eyes told a different story—dark, hungry, and filled with crazed intent. “And then you’ll be mine. Completely. Beautifully.”

His face, now a warped blend of fascination and madness, hovered inches from yours. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the cold emptiness he radiated. You could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t asking. He wasn’t hoping.

He was promising.

The last thing you saw before your vision blurred again was his crazed smile, framed by the writhing shadows around him, as if the darkness itself had chosen to serve his obsession. And deep down, you felt it:

He wouldn’t stop until you were his.

a/n: For those who might be confused, Jungwon’s power revolves around control and domination. He has the ability to summon up to three minions at a time, which roam the map in search of survivors. Any survivors who come too close to Jungwon or his minions may be temporarily swayed into becoming loyal followers under his influence, forcing them to obey his will for a short period. Think of his power like the villain in Shazam.

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[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 13)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Part 13:

After practically being dragged by Vaggie back into the main lobby of the hotel with Alastor quietly humming behind the two of you, you were basically swarmed by Charlie, Angel, Husk and Nifty.

"WHERE WERE YOU? I was so scared!" Charlie barely manages to get out past the blubbering tears streaming down her face as she hugs you.

Angel examined your body with all of his arms, checking to make sure you were okay, "Geeze, toots, how'd you manage to survive that long against Smiles over there? I was sure you'd be dead meat!"

Husk gave you a glance up and down, "Glad you're alright. I'd hate to miss out on getting to know another drinking buddy." Husk glances over to Angel and grumbles under his breath, "You owe me $50."

"You were betting on if (y/n) was alive???" Vaggie groans, hands rubbing her face in exasperation.

Nifty is basically hyperventilating in your face, sniffing and examining your hair strand by strand, "Yup- still gross- EW!" Before she launches off your shoulders to go and do god knows what somewhere in some far corner of the hotel...

You let out a breathy chuckle, "I appreciate the concern... and the vote of confidence... Angel..." You give a sarcastic glare over in the spider's direction, earning a sheepish smile from Angel.

Taking Charlie's hands in your's, you take one of your hands to dry the tears from her eyes and say, "Charlie, you don't need to cry. You're such a sweet girl. I honestly can't thank you- and Vaggie-" you smile in Vaggie's direction before continuing, "- for saving my life and bringing me here to the Hazbin Hotel. I came here to find the love of my life- back from when I was alive. It's only been a few hours, yet you've already helped me fulfill the goal I've been trying to achieve for decades!"

Your words brought surprised looks upon Charlie, Angel, and Husk's faces.

Husk nearly dropped the glasses he was cleaning, "Uh.. Say what now?"

"Excuse me, but did you just say you found the love of your life... from when you were alive?? Who the hell-" Angel started to say before Alastor walked over put his hand on your shoulder,.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kidding me." Husk interrupted Angel's sentence with the most deadpan yet exasperated voice he could muster.

"Wait... you mean... Freaky face has a fuckin' WIFE???" Angel yelled out in disbelief. "What the actual FUCK? I didn't think that guy was capable of love!"

"Ahem." Static noises became louder as Alastor glared in Angel's direction.

"Alright, alright, jesus, sorry! Husk, I need a drink."

"Already on it."

Meanwhile, Charlie just stood there as still as a statue from the shock. Until she suddenly started chuckling slowly, "Ah ha... hahaha... wait... really?" She brought her hands up to her mouth, trying to hide the huge grin that was slowly forming on her face.

You nodded, "Well, not quite wife haha... I was killed before he could propose..."

"Geeze, talk about grim.."

"Why, I do say that is quite enough from the peanut gallery!" Alastor piped up, menacingly twisting his head towards the bar where Angel and Husk were.

Charlie turned to Alastor, "How come you never mentioned you had someone special before?"

"Well my dear Charlie, I am a very private person, I do not often willingly divulge personal information about myself or my life back when I was alive."

"Oh." Charlie looked down at the ground dejectedly, thinking she was closer to Alastor than to be kept at such length still.

You patted Charlie's head, "Don't worry- I'll be happy to chat with you anytime! Though I don't know if you'll have fun hearing how I killed my husband- er- before Alastor. Maybe I'll have to settle for stories about my art career!" You chuckle smiling at her.

"Jesus, she IS crazy after all."

"Takes crazy to know crazy"

"Oh, shut up."

Charlie gasps, suddenly perking up, "Oh.. MY... GOSH!! Does this mean we get to host the very first wedding at our hotel??" She squeals and gives both you and Alastor the puppy-eye look.

You link your arm through Alastor's and look up at him with an inquisitive look.

"Ahaha! Why, if it is what my dear (y/n) desires, then that is what we shall do!"

You grin and bring your left hand up and hold it out to Charlie, "We already have the rings!"

Charlie blinks blankly and her mouth hangs open holding your hand to examine the ring on your hand. Vaggie leans over to look as well, "I honestly don't know I missed that..."

After staring at the ring for a while, Charlie smacks Vaggie's arm a bunch before squeezing her in a big embrace- the sounds of her squealing excitedly filled the room.

"WE HAVE A WEDDING TO PLAN!!!!!"

-> Part 14 - Final

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