#like that was their whole thing in light and shadow save all that you can no matter the expense

[darth-jess]

What do you think was the breaking point for anakin?

Oooo another WONDERFUL question! Sorry, but this is about to be a long post, because this truly deserves a long answer.

I think Anakin's breaking point comes the moment he discovers that Palpatine is the Sith Lord. In the movies, this plays out rather quickly, but in the Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover, Palpatine builds very slowly to his "big reveal" and it is absolutely horrifying and wonderful and terrible.

Anakin goes to the Chancellor, to tell him that Obi-Wan has engaged General Grievous and that the Clone Wars are almost over. However, Palpatine is very direct with Anakin, telling him that Grievous and the Clone Wars are merely "a distraction" at this point. He tells Anakin that the Jedi Council is "about to make its move" and take over the Republic.

Anakin thinks the Chancellor is being a bit dramatic, but Palpatine quickly reminds Anakin that the Council continues to hide things from him, that even Obi-Wan is hiding things from him. And poor, exhausted Anakin (who has not slept in days– weeks?– for fear of his nightmares) cannot come up with a good response in defense of the Jedi. He tries, he really does, but this man is exhausted.

Palpatine then admits he is aware of Anakin and Padmé's marriage, that he has only pretended not to know to "spare [him] discomfort."

And this is where Sidious feeds Anakin his poison, this is where he sinks his teeth in and Anakin is too exhausted to notice until it's far too late.

Palpatine asks Anakin to think about what he wants, and once more, Anakin has no idea how to answer.

Anakin plays along, choosing increasingly more expensive things, and each time Palpatine tells him he will grant it to him. Eventually, Anakin gets tired of this "game" and chooses something so ridiculous:

"All right," Anakin said softly. "Corellia. I'll take Corellia." "The planet, or the whole system?" Anakin stared. "Anakin?" "I just–" He shook his head blankly. "I can't figure out if you're kidding, or completely insane." "I am neither, Anakin. I am trying to impress upon you a fundamental truth of our relationship. A fundamental truth of yourself." "What if I really wanted the Corellian system? The whole Five Brothers– all of it?" "Then it would be yours. You can have the whole sector, if you like." The twin gleams within the shadow sharpened. "Do you understand, now? I will give you anything you want."

Anakin is not stupid.

Even exhausted and alone, he realizes that nobody would grant such things without getting something in return. Of course, Palpatine only answers by telling him that he only need do what he wants, what he feels is right. Palpatine says:

"You can have every one of your dreams. Turn aside from the lies of the Jedi, and follow the truth of yourself. Leave them. Join me on the path of true power. Be my friend, Anakin. Be my student. My apprentice."

Anakin is too tired and too afraid to really consider his wording, he is so confused and isolated. The scene continues:

"I know what you truly want," the shadow said. "I have only been waiting for you to admit it to yourself. A hand–a human hand, warm with compassion– settled onto his shoulder. "Listen to me: I can help you save her." "You–" Anakin blinked blindly. "How can you help?"

And this is where Darth Sidious reveals himself, this is where he admits that Darth Plagueis was real, that Plagueis was his master before he killed him.

"You," he said. Suddenly he was neither dizzy nor tired. Suddenly everything made sense. "It's you. It's been you all along!" In the clean blue light of his blade he stared into the face of a man whose features were as familiar to him as his own, but now seemed as alien as an extragalactic comet– because now he finally understood that those familiar features were only a mask. He had never seen this man's real face. "I should kill you," he said. "I will kill you!"

Anakin's first reaction is to kill him, because he realizes that this whole time, his friend, someone he looked up to like a mentor, like a father has been lying to him. And not only that, but he is the Sith Lord that the Jedi have been hunting, the Sith Lord that started this war.

As the scene continues, Anakin wishes Obi-Wan were here, he knows Obi-Wan would know what to do, what to say. But he is alone. And while Anakin doesn't know it yet, his isolation is deliberate. Because Palpatine knew, that if were surrounded by those who loved him– Padmé, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan– that Anakin might not fall.

And then, Palpatine delivers the final blow:

"Perhaps not. Perhaps it's simply a question of whether you love Obi-Wan Kenobi more than you love your wife."

This, I believe, is Anakin's breaking point.

Though I think there are also very good arguments to be made for other moments as his "breaking point" (when he sits in the Council chambers, staring out and thinking of Padmé as he cries for the choice he is about to make; when he makes the choice to return to the Chancellor's office; when he takes action against Mace Windu and cuts off his hand to stop him from assassinating the Chancellor) THIS is the moment the black poison of the Sith is injected into his mind.

And every moment after this is just a side effect of that poison burning through him.

What do you think? Is this Anakin's breaking point? Do you guys have a better one?

[akkivee]

idk how well known it is outside of mtr circles, but all of mtr’s last names represent gods in jp mythology; izanami is the goddess of creation and death in shintoism, kannon is the jp name of the goddess of compassion and mercy in buddhism and jinguuji means a temple housing a shinto and a buddhist god

i recently read some post of a fan lamenting how hypmic doesn’t do anything with that and it’s a sentiment i’ve always agreed with lol, but lately i’ve been thinking how that doesn’t make sense since hypmic always ties meaning to names which means i’m just not looking hard enough lol. i think jinguuji is self explanatory enough, jakurai has a whole solo saying he’s been saved by hifumi and doppo. hifumi’s i think comes in play with his different selves; he created gigolo to function in his day to day life, but hifumi and gigolo can’t exist at the same time, so in a weird way he has to kill one self to function as another

doppo’s has always stumped me, hence why i’ve never spoken about this even when mtr was my life lol; like doppo is a very kind guy, but he doesn’t strike me as merciful, esp compared sensei and hifumi. but i’ve come to think doppo’s mercy is not for the benefit of everyone, but jakurai and hifumi only. and it comes in the form of easing their struggles, like doppo gently pushing sensei towards understanding ramuda to ease his heart, and while not particularly agreeing with his choice, wants to help hifumi find closure with honobono to help hifumi’s trauma

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[prythianpages]

Next to You | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

warnings: angst, this does touch on death/dying (character deaths/reader death), end of the world, mentions of blood/injuries

word count: roughly 3,400

a/n: You can thank Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars for this lol. I was supposed to post this way earlier but I decided to rewrite some things last minute.

Death had come, manifesting in a cloud of heavy darkness. So dark it made Azriel’s shadows appear light and shiver at the sight. The darkness was rising from every crevice, every corner and a low, rumbling growl shook the earth beneath him. 

Koschei was here.

The sky began to darken, the sun being swallowed whole by the vast darkness much like the warriors at his side did. Shadows writhed and swirled around him, whispering and frantically urging him to run.

But Azriel’s eyes were still fixed on the spot where Rhysand was standing. Where Rhysand had stood.

Koschei had suddenly unleashed his wrath upon Prythian, taking each court down one by one. He saved the Night Court for last but he took its High Lord first. Feyre had stayed behind with Mor and Amren at the riverhouse to protect Nyx. Rhysand had been struck with such brutal force and swallowed by Koschei’s void of darkness so swiftly that Azriel still couldn’t believe it.

Not a single trace was left behind of his best friend, his brother, his High Lord.

Rhysand was gone. Just like that.

There was no time to grieve, no time to scream. Koschei’s men were advancing, their swords and arrows drawn and ready to continue their relentless attack. Azriel, Cassian and Nesta fought back alongside their own soldiers or what little remained of them.

It was no use. They were vastly outnumbered and no help would come as the Night Court was the last one standing. It felt as though the battle had already been lost, the sickening smirk on Koschei’s pale face sealing their fate. 

The ground buckled and split, jagged cracks tearing across the cobbled streets like veins of chaos. Trees swayed violently, their roots torn from the earth and the sounds of fae screaming rang out in the distance. All signs of life were being ripped apart at the seams.

Azriel’s gaze darted to Cassian, and an overwhelming wave of dread twisted deep in his gut. The Night Court General, usually so unbreakable, now stood battered and bloodied, his eyes void of any hope. Defeat clung to him like the grime smeared across his face. Nesta reached for his hand, their fingers threading together in silent solidarity.

A look of understanding passed between them. 

“Go,” is all Cassian said.

Azriel hesitated, his chest tightening with wild emotions. There were words burning on his tongue—words he never thought he'd have to say. But he couldn’t force them out. He didn’t need to. Cassian nodded once, his eyes conveying further understanding. A final, silent farewell. A nod that Azriel returned. 

And then he spread his wings wide, launching into the air. The wind howled against him, his shadows shuddering nervously, sensing his panic and wanting to soothe him. But they, too, could see that the end was near.

**

Azriel had never feared death.

As an Illyrian warrior and the Night Court’s spymaster, he had long prepared for it, accepted it as an inevitable part of his life. He was willing to die for his court.

But then he met you and everything changed.

Suddenly, the thought of dying filled him with terror. The fear of leaving you behind, of never being able to say goodbye. The idea of dying without feeling your touch one last time, without whispering how much he loved you. That was more frightening than any enemy he could ever face.

The words you had exchanged earlier were rushed and hurried, Koschei's attack taking everyone by surprise. He hadn’t said goodbye. He had only just enough time to promise to come back to you. 

And that’s all Azriel could think of in this moment–in what could very well be his last moments–is keeping that promise.

Smoke and dust choked the air, Koschei’s darkness thickening. He doesn’t turn around in fear for what he’d see. He kept his gaze forward, watching in distress as buildings shattered. The city of Velaris was crumbling apart around him. 

He ducked and wove through the falling stones and debris, doing his best to avoid the death arrows that seemed to be coming from every direction. His hazel eyes were sharp and focused. Even as pure fear clawed at his chest, making his heart race and hands tremble.

Your name was a prayer on his lips that manifested into a mantra of desperate hope.

The bond between you thrummed and sung madly. What once was a source of comfort was now only magnifying his fear. He could feel your terror, feel the frantic rhythm of your uneven heartbeat, echoing through the bond like a scream.

Azriel’s eyes locked on the House of Wind as it came into view, his wings straining as he pushed harder against the air. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pushing past the protests of his muscles, the stinging of his injuries. The mountain the house was on trembled beneath the force of the quakes. His breath caught in his throat as one of the house’s spires broke away, crashing into the rocky expanse below.

He folded his wings in tight, landing hard in the courtyard, barely keeping his balance as the ground beneath him bucked and split. Cracks spidered across the stone beneath his boots, but he forced himself forward. Determination burned bright in him, every second counting. He had to find you, to be next to you.

Inside, the walls trembled, stone and dust raining from above as the ceilings began to crumble. He barreled through the halls, his destination clear. The library. He had left you there, hidden away with the priestesses and some of Valkyries, who had vowed to defend in case the attack reached them.

He thought you would be safe there. That he’d defeat Koschei and his army of death. That he’d return to his family and be able to hold his nephew, who has only had a taste of the world, in his arms again. That he’d be returning to you with the promise of tomorrow and a future where the two of you could start a family of your own. 

All those hopes and dreams were dying along with the world around him. The cruelty of fate knew no bounds. It continued to weave its harsh and bitter threads and when Azriel threw open the library doors, his heart stalled in his chest. Panic gripped him, raw and unyielding, flooding his veins like ice. So cold that he found it hard to breathe.

Because there was nothing.

No priestesses. No Valkyries. No you. 

Only darkness.

Koschei’s death magic had hit the library first. The clouds swarming below let out a hiss from the faint light that dared to creep in through the doors.  Azriel’s shadows slammed them shut, trying to hold the darkness back. The House’s energy pulsed faintly, aiding his shadows and taking over. Whatever magic remained of the House directed itself at repelling the evil force that had invaded its walls.

His shadows scattered, darting through the ruined halls, desperate to find you. But the gnawing fear clawing at his chest felt insurmountable, a type of desperation he had never known. He reached for the bond, tugging on it with everything he had. He pulled and pulled on those threads, frantically searching for any response. 

Tears stung his eyes when, at last, he felt your response.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice trembling, the word a plea torn from his soul. He didn’t know who he was begging—the shadows, the House, or the Mother herself.

His shadows moved, drawing his attention away from the door that shuddered under the pressure of Koschei’s darkness. His head snapped up as he realized where you must be.

Azriel bolted back up the stairs, his shadows scouting ahead and darting through the debris and cracks. His head began to pound and vision blurred from his injuries but he pushed on. The connection through the bond grew stronger, the tug more insistent. 

She’s safe for now. Not hurt, a shadow reported to him but he needed to confirm it for himself. Needed to see you with his own eyes, feel your presence. 

His legs trembled as he pushed forward, his lungs burning. When he finally reached the door to your shared room, he shoved it open with more force than necessary, his gaze sweeping around, wild with fear. 

And there you were.

The sight of you nearly buckled his knees. Relief washed over him in a crashing wave.  You stood on the balcony, your back turned to him, silhouetted against the dimming sky. Koschei’s creeping darkness loomed on the horizon, thick and unnatural, swallowing the sky and closing in around the House of Wind. 

The sense of relief he had felt was abruptly cut short. Time was running out.

His shadows reached you first, swirling around your feet, urging you to turn. When you did, his heart clenched painfully.

Your eyes, wide and teary, were full of fear and despair. You clutched something tightly against your chest—his cloak. Your fingers trembled as you gripped onto the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” your voice quivered. “I thought–I thought I wasn’t going to see you again…”

Azriel crossed the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tightly against him, cradling your head to his chest. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate. Only when he buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, did he finally allow a few tears to slip from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He repeated it, softer this time, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m here.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your hands cupped his face, thumb gently wiping at his tears. When your eyes roamed over his face and then lowered, a sob tore through your body, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“You’re hurt,” you choked out, taking in the gashes and bruises marring his skin and wings, the torn leathers barely holding together. The agony in your eyes when you met his gaze once more was far more tormenting and painful than his injuries. 

Azriel shook his head, his breath ragged and labored. “It doesn’t matter.”

The world outside was falling apart—literally crumbling into darkness. Azriel was dying and every breath now tasted of bitter and agonizing defeat. He could only hope that the Mother would spare him some mercy and grant him more time so that he may go with you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, your hand reaching down to touch the blood that soaked through his leathers. It stained your hands and Azriel removed your hand from his side, placing it back onto his face, not caring over the blood that now smeared his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated as if he could force the pain away with sheer will.

Because you were the only thing that mattered to him at this moment. You are his everything. His only reason to keep fighting, to keep breathing.

You let out another sob, the sound like a dagger, piercing straight through his heart. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you whispered, your words shattering him further. 

“I know, baby, ” Azriel replied. His grip on you tightened, his wings curling protectively around your frame as though he could shield you from anything, as though nothing in the world could touch you while he was near. 

He wished he could take away your pain, your fear. That there was something he could do to stop the darkness invading the world. His brows furrowed in anguish, whether from his wounds or your suffering, he couldn’t tell. He leant his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, feeling as though he failed you. As your mate, he had vowed to protect you, to shield you from harm, to always keep you safe.

“No,” you said firmly, sensing his regret and shame through the bond. 

“Azriel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best partner I could’ve ever wished for. I thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you so” –your face tightened, the very thought of Azriel’s shame and sense of failure cutting deeply through you– “so don’t for a second think you’ve ever failed me. Not then, not now."

"I love you so, so much."

His eyes opened wide, searching yours, and there he found only love. His heart swelled with emotion, eyes filling with more tears. “I love you, too.”

And then he kissed you. One last time. The saltiness of your tears mixed into the kiss but he didn’t care. Azriel cherished every taste of you, savoring the bittersweet blend.

The harrowing sound of stone breaking and collapsing followed by more screams had you tensing and breaking apart. Azriel’s shadows circled around you both, forming a protective barrier as the world around you got darker and darker. The floor groaned and splintered beneath you and a shudder coursed through you as the air grew unbearably cold around you.

Unbridled fear and panic surged through the bond, so intense he could no longer tell where your emotions ended and his began.

“Look at me,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft but laced with a tremor, betraying the emotion he was holding back. He looked at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, indulging himself one more time.

Azriel’s shadows let out a hiss and your breath hitched. Koschei’s darkness had finally reached your room. But Azriel refused to let the overwhelming emotions suffocate you both, refused to let things end this way. 

 “Look at me,” Azriel said again, holding your face firmly in his hands to keep your head from turning. There was a slight tremor in his fingers as you looked back up at him, tears slipping continuously. He offered you a smile that was trembling yet still warm and comforting. “That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes on me.”

The stone above you began to crackle and Azriel pulled you closer to him, held you tighter. “I’ve got you. In this life and the next. I will find my way back to you.” 

His eyes looked into yours, those hazel irises filled with raw vulnerability, a fierce determination. Your lips trembled as you nodded, struggling to form words past the lump in your throat. Yet, slowly, you managed a smile of your own. 

The world was ending around you, Koschei’s oppressive shadow of death looming.  He could take anything and everything he wanted. Except for this. He could never take what lived between you.

Because not even death could tear you apart, sever the thread that bound your souls.

Azriel swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing, each inhale more shaky.  “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” he whispered, his words straight from the vows he made to you during your mating ceremony. 

“And wherever we go, we'll face it together, ” you breathed, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, mirroring the one in his. Yet, beneath the weight of fear, a fragile sliver of hope flickered. 

And Azriel couldn’t help but think back to how he’d always imagined his end would come. Brave, fearless and alone. A warrior’s death. It was the way he’d been raised and trained to believe he should go. 

But this… this was something far greater. 

He found a deeper kind of bravery. The courage to love so deeply and fiercely, even at the darkest of times. To face death not with a sword, but with you in his hold and feel whole. There was something tragically beautiful in facing the end with you by his side...

A sudden chill swept through him, paralyzing him. The warmth between you two began to fade yet your gazes remained locked. Unwavering and resolute.

Was this it? The last shard of light before the darkness consumed him? The scene around him began to dissolve, your image flickering like a candle in the wind. 

The last thing he saw was your eyes before the world faded into black.

just kidding!

Azriel startles awake, eyes wide and frantic, searching through the darkness. He blinks and he realizes that it’s not completely dark, that he's in your shared room and it's warm and comforting. Moonlight trickles in, casting a soft glow on you and he feels like he can breathe again. You’re nestled in bed beside him, turned on your side and facing him. He watches as your chest rises and falls gently, features soft and peaceful.

So different from the you he had seen moments ago and a stark contrast to the way his chest is currently rising and falling. Rapidly and uneven, driven by the hammering of his heart.

It had all been just a dream. A nightmare.

A strand of hair falls across your face, and Azriel’s eyes catch the movement of a shadow. The one that much rather prefers to be by your side than his. It peaks over its hiding spot, your hair, to face Azriel.

Though his shadows don’t have eyes, he feels as if it is blinking right back at him, slowly assessing him. It gives a shudder and then, another shadow darts from the corner, stirring the rest awake. They rise from were they had been hiding and resting, rushing back to him in a heartbeat. 

Master is safe, they whisper as they brush up against his arms and wrap around him. Before he can reign them back, some of them flutter toward you, doing the same. Master’s mate is safe.

It was just a nightmare. You both are safe.

The cool caresses of Azriel’s shadows have you shifting slightly and they coil back as you blink your eyes open. Sorry, they whisper. Some of them retreat back into hiding in the corners, merging with the ordinary shadows of the room. The ones hovering at his side continue to whisper their reassurances, intent on calming and soothing their master.

“Az?” Your voice is heavy with sleep.

You begin to push yourself up and Azriel scoots closer to you, one of his wings draping over you to keep you in place. His hand reaches out for your face and he pulls you in close until your noses nearly touch.

Concern immediately flashes in your open and wide eyes as you must sense the lingering unease through the bond.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Azriel murmurs, still groggy and shaken from the remnants of his nightmare. But as he studies you—the warmth in your gaze, the absence of the fear and despair he had seen in his dream—his anxiety begins to ebb. “I am now. It was just a nightmare.”

Your brows furrow in doubt, and he brushes his thumb along them, soothing the crease. Your hand then reaches for his chest, right over where his heart is still racing and your frown deepens. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you some tea.”

Though his wing remains draped over you, he hooks a leg around you for added security. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, leaning in to nuzzle against your nose. When he pulls back, he can still sense your worry so he adds: “I don’t need tea. I just need you.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he breathes back almost immediately.

He covers your hand on his chest with his own, feeling his heart begin to calm with each passing moment. He then brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your palm before resting it against his cheek. He can feel the warmth that blooms in your chest at his touch and reciprocates the feeling through the bond.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes softly.  “Now, go back to sleep.”

“You too,” you huff out, the sound of small disbelief strangely soothing to him at this moment.

Azriel grins, his tense muscles slowly easing. “You first.”

He lets out an amused exhale as you slightly roll your eyes at him, but he can tell sleep still clings to them. After one more assessing look at him, you let out a sigh and finally, close your eyes. His gaze is tender and loving as he watches you drift back to sleep, your features softening. The grin on his face eases into a contented smile when you shift even closer, instinctively seeking his warmth.

This time, the last thing he sees before closing his eyes is your peaceful face, the lines of worry smoothed away. No trace or hint of fear or panic. Only tranquility.

And as he sinks back into the embrace of sleep, he feels relaxed and secure, knowing that the promise of another tomorrow still awaits for the both of you.

a/n: Did I get y'all? Honestly, I was going to leave this without that last scene but then I thought that was too cruel so I stayed true to the song "I just woke up from a dream." I watched this scene between Cersei & Jaime from Game of Thrones so many times to help me write this because I wanted it to give the same vibes.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[xo-cod]

someone asked for it but the ask got deleted so here it is again :)

bodyguard!simon x popstar!reader

absolutely hated you in the beginning. only tolerated you because price had given him this responsibility and because the pay was decent. otherwise he was just a shadow with one worded responses and grunts towards whatever you said.

used to manhandle you whenever you used to walk slow, pulling you along with a tut and a roll of his eyes. you couldn't really see his face since he still wore his balaclava but his face was definitely screwed up behind it

the loud cheering becomes jarring to him the first few times, he's not used to this environment and there's been a few times where his hands have sprung to his gun ready to unload hell onto a poor excited fan who wanted a signature

but the more time he spends with you, the more he warms up around you. he even knew time brought you on base for when he needed to grab something quickly and you ended up meeting his team members

gaz and soap are basically #1 fans fr. the fact that you're friends with their favourite musicians makes them fanboy, your life is so exciting and they always want to know the latest gossip.

simon watches on unamused but secretly feeling a certain way when he sees you speaking happily with his friends

the dances you have with your backup dancers make simon so jealous ‼️‼️ the way your hips sway with theirs, the way their hands are across your waist, the tight outfits, god he has to physically restrain himself from ravishing you

he watches on with his jaw clenched, body rigid as his eyes feast upon your body like treasure. even through the thousands and thousands of people there, you'll always feel the burning of his eyes on you

and when your eyes meet him on a special part of a song, he's literally entranced by you. his breath held and he feels vulnerable, despite the millions of people there. when you're singing to him, it's to him

his praise to you is usually a nod of his head and a "good" but the more you both grow closer, the more you notice how touchy he can become and the more praise that falls from his lips (though it still can sound a little cold only because he feels awkward and doesn't think you need his reassurance that you're doing a good job)

"wear this pretty number f'me" when you both become super close, he likes it when you wear his favourite outfits. he'll hand them to you offering no explanation, only that it looks really good on you. secretly admiring you on stage when it glimmers and shimmers against the light because you look so beautiful

secretly has a few pictures on you on stage where you look so beautiful, he can't help but flick through them at the dead of night when he's alone.

will also secretly heart and save the videos on a private account of all the fan edits of you and him (a cliche but i like them 🤭)

will definitely notice the little skulls you have dangling from your outfit/jewellery and he smiles to himself, it's like an easter egg no one could guess

begged him to make an insta and after much reluctance and pleading he finally did.

he gained followers very quickly, his dm's full of people wanting to thirst over him to his workout routine

but you're the only one he follows <3

yes, he's also fallen victim to stalking your page and looking at old boyfriend with a smug and annoyed look

you got papped one time with the initials SR♡ on your necklace and it went crazy popular. everyone trying to figure who the mystery person was.

but simon looks on in pride, he might be called ghost to everyone else but between you both he'll always be your simon riley. a secret no one could know <3

cue soap and gaz screeching at the paparazzi pictures, having called on the whole thing when ghost was assigned to you in the first place

[the-thing-withfeathers]

gunshots, gods, & getting fucked (b.e.)

warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT! gun usage, violence, bank robbery, mention of cops. fingering, oral, strap-on usage, pet names, praise.

your hands gripped the steering wheel tight, your knuckles were turning white. your eyes scanned the dark and empty road for any sign of flashing lights.

you were growing bored, but you had to stay focused.

the radio was playing the faintest of tunes, you mouthed the lyrics as you looked into the void, only being illuminated streetlamps.

and then there was an alarm.

your eyes flicked to the bank’s entrance as the car’s engine sprung to life. your eats started to hurt at how loud the alarm was.

you thought she was more careful than that.

you saw your raven-haired partner sprint out the doors, the duffel bag she was carrying looked like it was about to burst open.

she swung the passenger door open, practically leaping into it.

“drive!”

you didn’t waste a second before your foot slammed onto the gas. you drove off, your tires screeching as you took a hard right at the end of the street.

“what the fuck, bils?!” you asked her, frustrated. “you said you wouldn’t set it off!”

“yeah, look. sometimes things go wrong.” she scoffed, “anyways, i have the money. it’s up to you now, baby. get us outta here.”

you chuckled dryly. of course she managed to sweet talk you despite nearly butchering the whole operation.

“you look so fucking pretty behind the wheel.” billie grinned at you, she lowered the mask she was wearing and leaned over to press a kiss to your neck.

“enough, tiger. i need to focus.” you elbowed her softly, she laughed softly and leaned back in her seat. “save it for when we’re in the clear.”

it was like the universe was trying to be funny. just as you said that, you heard sirens getting closer to you.

“fuck.” you hissed, looking in the rearview mirror. you saw a cop car tailing you, you changed gears and the two of you jolted forwards as the car sped up.

billie leaned forward and popped the glovebox open, pulling out a pistol. she grabbed an ammo magazine from the middle compartment and loaded the gun. she pulled her mask back up and turned around to gauge what she was dealing with.

“hold on, we might not need it.” you warned her. billie tended to have, what they called, a trigger finger. she got a little too excited to sport the gun in her hand.

you saw her blow a raspberry as she slumped back in her chair. you found her cute like that.

you made a sharp left, turning into a busier road. you made risky swerves, cutting in between available spaces when you could. then you turned a random corner, spotting an alleyway.

you quickly parked in it, killing the engine. you signaled billie to be quiet, your eyes never leaving the rearview. you saw as the cop cars sped by quickly. you gave it a few seconds before turning the engine back on and reversing back onto the road.

you made sure to keep the car quiet as you made your way to the bridge that allowed you to get into the next city over.

three cop cars managed to spot you just as you entered the bridge, quickly speeding after you.

“jesus billie.” you groaned softly. “made yourself a bit of a threat there.”

“luckily, i have the best getaway driver ever.” she poked your shoulder.

“i can only do so much.”

you conquered any gap that you were allowed. but you saw in the distance that oncoming traffic was starting to slow down as more cars started to pile onto the lanes.

the three cars behind you managed to take over all the lanes, one on each. you couldn’t back out now. you started to sweat a little, worrying that you might not make it out fast enough.

and then you spotted it.

a huge semi-truck, it’s shadow was hiding the cars beside it.

you squinted slightly and managed to read its license plate.

BRT 365.

you almost called it a victory, but you weren’t out of the woods yet.

as you were about to make your move, one of the cop cars bumped into your rear. it sent you and billie forward a little.

you looked over to her to make sure she was okay, but she was only frustrated. you could tell she was getting close to scratching that itch, and you needed more time.

“hey bils.” you called after her, grabbing her attention. she turned to you and raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

“give ‘em hell.”

she licked the top row of her teeth, donning an almost sinister smile. she cocked the gun and rolled her window down. she elevated herself and stuck her head and arm out the window.

she pointed the gun directly at the cop car’s wheel.

“fuck you.” she said as she fired, hitting the tire dead on. you watched in the rearview mirror as the car veered off to the side and crashed into the bridge.

the driver of the car fumbled with the radio, most likely signaling that you were armed.

the other two cars were nowhere to be seen, hidden behind layers and layers of other cars. you saw your chance.

you lined the car up with the underbelly of the semitruck, spotting it’s mechanism that you & its driver built yourself.

“watch this.” you said to billie. you swerved into the underside of the truck, latching onto the mechanism.

the metal platform started to lift the car up into the truck, you turned the engine off to make it easier.

when you were completely inside and the bottom of the truck closed itself off, you exited the car.

“that was some mighty fine timing, charli!” you called out to the woman behind the wheel.

“thank me later, we’re nearly back at the safe house.” she said, her thick accent was reassuring.

you leaned against the car, your arms crossed over your chest as your girlfriend rounded the car, standing in front of you.

“look at you, pretty. proper criminal.” she said, her hands finding their way to your waist. she yanked you forward and connected your lips in a deep kiss. it was immediately heated, you knew successful missions like this turned her on like no tomorrow.

you giggled softly and put your hands on her shoulders. “nice shooting.” you pushed her backwards slightly, she groaned at the loss of affection.

you smiled to yourself, making your way to charli’s passenger seat. billie still set off the alarm, so you had to deprive her just a little bit.

—

you hopped out of the passenger seat once you reached the safehouse, smacking your hand on the side of the truck twice. you made your way back to the car as charli opened the back.

you drove out of the truck and parked the car in the garage.

“we’ll dump it tomorrow night, we just have to let the police cool down their search.” you said, shutting the car door behind you. billie took out the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

she reached for your hand as she walked towards the back door entrance to your safe house. you jogged a little to grab it, intertwining your fingers together.

“i’ll see you guys next week. night, night!” charli called after the two of you, mounting her motorbike and driving off. you waved after her and so did billie.

as you two made your way to your shared bedroom, billie howled in excitement. she tossed the bag on your bed and unzipped it, turning it over and emptying it right on the bed.

“fuck yeah, baby!!!!” she exclaimed, whooping and turning to hug you. she lifted you a little and spun you around. you laughed and whooped just the same.

she set you down and grabbed your face with both her hands, “my fucking princess, you and your cars are a fucking supernova.” she said, smashing your lips together in a fiery kiss.

you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her closer. she set her hands on the back of your thighs and you jumped, wrapping your legs around her waist. she turned 90 degrees and set you down directly on the cash.

oh, this was interesting!

she nearly tore off your pants, not even bothering to take your other clothes off. she planted your feet on her shoulders as she knelt down in front of your already dripping cunt. you could head your heart pounding in your ears, this turned you on a little too much.

“fuck baby, does robbing a bank turn you on?” she chuckled, running a finger up and down your opening. “or was it the getaway?” she asked, tilting her head.

you nearly let out a whimper as you shook your head. “no…” you answered.

“no? what was it then?” her piercing eyes looked up at you from where she was.

“you shooting that gun… that was so fucking hot.” you confessed, your hips rolling on her finger. she let you continue that motion, you were the reason she got away. she had to reward you for that.

“oh really? you flatter me too much…” billie smirked, her gold teeth flashing in the light of your bedroom. her finger hit your clit, you hissed at the contact, your hips bucking upwards.

“billie, c’mon, please?” you begged her, you needed her to make you feel good.

“i suppose so, because you’ve been such a good girl. my fucking supernova.” she said, leaning down and diving into your pussy.

she pressed her tongue flat against your clit and shook her head quickly. you were leaking all over the cash, you knew it would ruin some of the bills. but you didn’t care, and neither did she.

you let out a sharp moan as she put two fingers in you. she was devouring you like she was a woman starved, lapping at your arousal like it was the only thing she could ever eat again.

your thighs tightened around her head, you could tell she was enjoying it. she loved being suffocated between your thighs.

her fingers pumped in and out of you quickly, she wanted to please you too. she curled her fingers inside of you, coaxing another moan out.

you felt a white-hot flush run through your body and settle in the pits of your stomach. it didn’t take long for you to give her a warning.

“billie— oh fuck, i’m gonna cum!” you cried out to her, your hands gripping the sheets and the bills that laid on top of them.

you thanked whatever otherworldly presence was looking out for you that she didn’t stop. she gave you silent permission with her eyes, those fucking eyes.

your back arched as you reached your climax, and she lapped everything up. she refused to leave anything behind.

when she was done, she walked off to the closet, and you knew exactly what she was after. she came out with a black silicone cock sitting perfectly strapped around her waist.

you felt yourself gush at her stance. you sat up, backing up into the bed and she climbed on it to hover above you.

the wads of cash followed the two of you, sinking into the mattress until it was under your back.

“you’re already so wet, don’t even need to use lube.” she said, mockingly. “does my cock make you this wet, princess?” she pouted, asking you.

you nodded quickly, your hands caressing her cheeks as she lined the tip of her cock with your hole. she turned her head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand.

as she slowly entered you, you let out a series of whines, trying to adjust to being stretched out.

“yeah, you can take it, baby. you can take it.” she said, pushing it further into you until the gap between your cunt and her waist was basically non-existent.

your eyes squeezed shut as you wriggled a little, allowing yourself a couple of seconds to get used to the size. you opened your eyes slowly to see billie’s empathetic ones, she was so sweet even in times like this.

even after all the crimes she’d committed, you had no doubt that she loved you more than the life she led.

“ready, baby?” she asked you as you met her eyes. you nodded in response because if you tried to talk, it would only come out as moans.

she thrusted into you, hard. pulling out almost all the way then bottoming out completely. you cried out in pain at first, but then it became pleasure just as quickly.

“fucking…” she mumbled, “good girl. fucking good girl, taking it so good for me.” she said through thrusts.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your mouth hung open. her hand found its way up your shirt, squeezing one of your tits through your bra. your back arched into her hand.

“oh my god, you’re so pretty. you’re so fucking sexy.” she said, studying your face of pleasure.

“fuck, bils!” you screamed out, your nails digging into her cheeks. she didn’t care about the pain, she just loved making you feel good.

she started to pick up her pace, her hand joining the fun as she used her fingers to draw circles on your clit. you squealed as your body jolted, your tits bouncing with every thrust.

“fuck.. fuck… fuck…” the curses stumbled out of your mouth with each thrust. that rush of pleasure went straight through your body again.

“gonna cum, princess?” billie asked, you started to tighten around her cock, making it harder to continue her movements. you could only whimper out a soft ‘mmhm’, but that was good enough for billie.

“okay baby, why don’t you cum for me like the good girl you are, yeah? c’mon, you can do it. cum like a good girl.” she coaxed your second orgasm out of you.

the pleasure was building up from everything she was doing. the hand on your clit, her cock fucking into you and making you see stars. your body tensed up,

and then you released.

“billie!” you cried out, your body relaxing as you came on her cock, your arousal forming a ring at its base.

she kept thrusting into you, helping you ride out the crashing wave of an orgasm you just had. and then she pulled away, plopping down on the bed next to you.

“hey baby?” she spoke to you.

“hm?”

“i’ll only ever fuck you like this now.” she said.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ll only ever fuck you like we’re gods.”

—

author’s journal

pooookie nation!!!!! it’s been a while since i came out with something for billie and i had this sudden burst of inspiration to write this.

this one in particular is for @dandelions4us <33 i told u i’d come thru with this babes!!

going insane for crime billie now WOOF WOOF BARK BSRK

& also i hope u all enjoyed this you filthy animals

kisses xx

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo's little sister seducing Choso at Shibuya

Pairing: Choso x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,6k

Synopsis: When Gojo's little sister is at Shibuya in order to find her brother, she meets none other than Choso - a man that seems to have everything she has ever dreamed about. Is she able to seduce him?

Warnings: the end is spicy as hell so read at own risk, Choso being a lil slow but straightforward in the end, this has no real plot so be aware of brainrot

Tags: @96jnie @shebibtedmypepnis @chososwhoresblog @sanicsmut (you didn't ask for that but I tagged you anyway) @curlynoodle937565 @ifuckfictionalmen (thought you might like that) @nyahctrl @khaleesihavilliard

„Let’s see where you are…”, you mumble to yourself.

Satoru has some nerves, letting himself get sealed when the whole country needs him and his stupid six eyes and hollow purple. You’ll definitely make fun of him for the rest of his life for that. What else should you do? After all, you are his little sister. It’s your job to get on his nerves.

Your heels klick against the hard floor beneath almost therapeutically while your eyes scan the area. Seems like none of these fuckers are here. Who the hell is responsible for this whole mess? Surely not that volcano and flower guy from before, right? If Satoru is smart, he already exorcised both of them.

Something inside you makes you stop in your tracks. There is someone, without any doubt.

“Don’t be shy, you don’t have to hide from me. I promise I won’t bite. Just beating the shit out of you”, you announce into the darkness, the only thing lighting up the hallways being the colorful signs.

This definitely isn’t one of Satoru’s students, that’s for sure. None of them is already skilled enough to hide from your sharp senses. Fuck, even Nanami can’t escape you.

So, who the hell is this?

Your nerves begin to tickle just the way you like it, a bright grin plastered on your face. Finally some action, finally someone you can fight eye to eye. How long has it been since you’ve experienced that? Too long, that’s for sure.

Despite being Satoru’s little sister, you aren’t gifted with six eyes or unlimited cursed energy. No, even though being a member of the Gojo-clan you were never able to meet his standards, always a shadow by his side. Gifted with the same blue eyes but without the glow, gifted with a few strands of white hair but your head isn’t fully snow-colored. That didn’t stop you from becoming a grade 1 sorcerer, one of the bests under the special ranks. Yes, you are an exceptional jujutsu sorcerer all by yourself, without being gifted since birth.

But regardless of your big brother always came first, he loves you with all his heart. Protected you when you didn’t want to be protected, trained you even though you hated getting beaten by him, comforted you when all you could do was cry. To be honest, Satoru is the best big brother you could have asked for and it’s your responsibility to save him. What do you have siblings for?

“You’re starting to get on my nerves. Come out or get out of the way.”

Foreign steps start to echo through the hallway, making your heart hammer against your ribcage in an instant. These footsteps don’t sound familiar to you, you haven’t met whoever this is yet.

Your vibrant blue eyes dart towards the figure of what seems like a man, coming closer and closer to you. He’s tall, dark hair hanging into his face. Oh, his face…he’s really handsome with that tattoo over his nose. Since being Satoru’s sister comes with meeting many good-looking man, this is nothing new to you. But something about him is special, more your type. A look into his brown violet eyes is enough to get lost in them.

“You’re hot”, you coo out, heels clicking while you approach him.

“Who are you?”, his deep but bored voice questions.

Choso hates to admit it, but you’re easy on his eyes. Something about your appearance seems familiar while he’s sure he has never seen you before. That ocean eyes…

“You look like Satoru Gojo.”

“Yeah, I hate to admit it but I’m his little sister. Are we really that similar? I don’t want to look like him”, you remark, face twisted.

That means you’re his enemy, that means he has to kill you. Instinctively, he shoots slicing exorcism your way, attempting to pierce right through your heart at horrendous speed.

“Watch out, that is dangerous!”, you warn him, flying through the air with ease to avoid his attack.

Damn, you’re fast. Your speed is exceptional for a human being, almost as fast as Satoru Gojo himself.

“Let me come closer”, you hush.

Before he’s able to react any further, you stand right in front of him, fists flying his direction.

“You’re so quiet, what’s on your mind?”, you insist, careful to not get sliced open by his blood manipulation.

“I wish you were too”, he hisses before catching your fist mid-air and slamming your body into the ground.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad”, you purr, hands grabbing his strong shoulders tightly.

Satoru would kill you right here on the spot if he’d hear you, always disliking your taste in men like nothing else.

“I think he’s kinda hot”, you admitted while eyeing the dark-haired boy from Kyoto named Kamo.  

Satoru almost choked on his coke, eyes and face screaming in disgust.

Are you serious, (y/n)? What the fuck is wrong with your taste in men, why always the bad ones? Maybe you should get them checked.”

He roughly smacked the back of your head, making you almost lose it completely.

“Are you out of your mind, idiot? I heard your eyes can freeze if someone hits you in the head while you’re squinting!”

“Your eyes aren’t functioning properly anyway. How about someone like Yuta or somethin’, a nice guy with good intentions. Or even better, just do this world a favor and stay single.”

“Can you just shut the fuck up? You have nothing to say to me!”

“I AM YOUR BIG BROTHER-“

“CAN YOU TWO SHUT UP ALREADY!?”

Hehe. You smile to yourself while shaking your head, focus back on the man in front of you. Oh, you can tell by the way he moves that he’s absolutely buff underneath that cloak. And his eyes…They look even more stunning up close. What a gorgeous man. Yes, he’s definitely more than your type. Who is he?

“Tell me your name.”

With a swift motion, you’re back on your feet, curse-loaded fists aiming for him.

“Choso Kamo”, he presses out.

What’s wrong with you? Are you really trying to seduce him while battling? He’s your enemy, he’s on his way to kill your comrade, he…you…

Why are you so good-looking? And why does your confident smile make his usual calm heart flutter? You don’t seem scared at all, let alone determined to kill him.

“Oh, that explains the blood manipulation.”

“I’m here to kill Yuji Itadori.”

“Yuji, huh? What did that poor boy do to deserve your hate?”, you question, letting yourself fall into a split to avoid his blood.

“He killed my brothers”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You stop in your tracks for a second, gaze fixed upon his. Oh. This certainly wasn’t the answer you were expecting. In your mind, all of these curses and the people working with them are cold-hearted monsters, walking on this earth to kill every human that gets in their way. But Choso…

You can feel his pain.

“I’m sorry to hear that”, you breathe out.

And you mean it. You’d be devastated too if someone killed Satoru, seeking for revenge with every fiber of your being.

Your glistening eyes and words make it hard for Choso to raise his hand against you. The eyes that look like those of Satoru Gojo, those eyes that are partly responsible for the death of his beloved brothers. No, he can’t let you get away, you are a part of the problem, you have to die, you…

You are grabbing his hand.

“If someone killed my brother, I would do exactly the same thing. But let me tell you this wasn’t easy for Yuji, he had no other choice-“

“I don’t want to hear it”, Choso yells, slapping your hand away, trying to slash you open again.

“Good for you I like my man feisty and strong. You’re a great catch”, you shout, entangling him in close combat again.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you understand that we are on different sides?”, he questions.

“Why though? We’d be a perfect match. I bet those fingers look good around my neck.”

The way Choso’s face instantly twists in disbelief and that little blush that creeps up his face are the best things you’ve seen for a long time while suddenly water rains down on him, fire alarms going off around both of you.

“Opsie, might have hit something important”, you comment, white uniform now soaked in water.

Did you really just say that? Are you too dumb to realize that he is your enemy, that romance has no place in his world, that he is fucking reincarnated? No, you are way too smart to not be aware of the fact who he is. You simply decide to ignore it.

But not only that, are you really flirting with him? Choso never really thought much about his appearance, it was never his goal to be ‘attractive’. But at the moment, when seeing your wet skin, your eyes lingering over him…

Something about your words and looks make him wonder.

“Do you…really mean that?”, he mumbles while blocking your attack.

“Huh, that you’re hotter than hell? Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

Choso feels like fainting when your dripping face comes so close that it’s only inches away from his own, your mesmerizing orbs locking with his through wet lashes while your hands rest against his chest. Can you feel his heart hammer, can you tell that this the first time a women ever touched him? Oh god, what is he supposed to do? He has a mission, he needs to kill Yuji Itadori, he-

Your fingers start to draw small circles over the fabric of his soaked cloak, making something twitch inside his pants. Fuck, why do you have to look so absolutely stunning when your hair is completely wet, light up by purple light that makes you look almost angelic?

“Oh god”, he breathes out.

This feels so good. No, this is so wrong.

“You…you shouldn’t be flirting with me. I am party responsible for your brother getting sealed and killed. I am your enemy.”

“Urgh, stop talking about my damn brother, he’s fine anyway. He doesn’t let himself get killed by some idiots. And you don’t have to me my enemy. Let’s be…friends”, you suggest.

“Friends”, he repeats.

“Maybe more, who knows…I’m not mad about the things you’ve done. I fully understand why you’re outraged and what your mission is, I respect your motives”, you reply.

God, why does he have to be so breathtaking beautiful and relatable? Under all the men you’ve met, why is it exactly him you fell the hardest for? Why can’t it be someone like Ino or Todo? Why does it have to be him? Oh, Satoru will definitely kill you when he finds out about it.

But you don’t care. No, Choso has something you were looking for in every man you’ve met before. He is strong, outstanding smart, has clear goals, is straight up stunning and a little dangerous. You couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re standing on opposite sides.

You want him.

“You won’t stop me from killing Yuji Itadori.”

“I will have to try. But until then, there is absolutely no reason for us to fight, right? I’m into bad guys anyway.”

Choso looks at you completely lost at words. You, a breathtaking fine-looking and skilled jujutsu sorcerer, are really interested in getting to know him? This has to be a dream he didn’t know about until now, a deep desire that comes to life.

But he can’t resist. Despite all the things that speak against it, he can’t.

“Fine”, he grumbles.

“Great! Would you mind taking off that cloak so I can see your abs?”, you ask, eyes sparkling in excitement.

But why is this not enough? Why is a simple ‘fine’ not enough to fulfill that desire? Something inside him begs him to pull you closer, to hold your body firmly against his, kiss you and-

He swallows heavy. What has gotten into him?

“I won’t do that”, he automatically replies, gaze fixed on your pretty little mouth.

Oh, the things he wants to do right now, things he never thought about before. Is it because of the human body he reincarnated him? No, he never felt the desire to be close to a woman before. It’s because of you and the way you tilt your head, how you seem to know which words you have to use in order to drive him insane.

“Oh, was it too early for that? Fine, I’ll wait then… ”

Fuck it.

It happens faster than you’re able to react. With a swift motion, Choso pins you against a nearby wall, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“What do you have that other women haven’t had before?”, he hisses.

“Beauty, brain, power…”

You aren’t able to finish your ramblings. With rough hands, he grabs your waist and neck before pressing his lips against yours. You melt into his touch in an instant, too stunned by this sudden reaction. Instinctively, your very own hands begin to roam around his body, muscles now perfectly emphasized by the stream of water that pours down on both of you through the dim purple neon lights. Fuck, you’re melting like butter in his hands, your shared sloppy kiss being the only thing apart from the dripping water that fills the empty hallway.

“Fuck”, you moan into his lips, fingertips tracing through his wet hair.

This is straight out of your dreams. Making out with a man you didn’t even know an hour ago, a man that seems to have everything you want, a man who’s your enemy. But since when are enemies this good at kissing, since when is it allowed that they are so damn fine?

Why the hell are you so turned on?

He let’s go of you as suddenly as he grabbed you before, panting hard while looking down at you with glimmering eyes.

“I will search for Yuji Itadori now”, he proclaims, licking over his lips and closing his eyes for a second.

Slowly but surely, Choso returns back into reality, mind sorting itself. That felt good, way too good for his liking. If he didn’t let go, he’d probably stay here with you until the night ends. But he still has a mission to fulfill.

“You sure about that? Y’know, we could stay here a little longer, that fire alarm with all that water pouring down and the neon lights are kinda romantic…”, you begin.

“I’ll meet you again. Until then, don’t get in the way.”

One last touch. He allows his fingertips to brush over your cheek and mouth one last time before turning around and disappearing.

He’s gone, leaving you sinking down the wall as your knees give in. Mindlessly, your fingertips trace over your lips.

This really happened. Did you really just seduce the enemy? Your heart still hammers roughly against your chest, hands trembling in sensation while the water from above keeps pouring down on you. No man ever touched you like that, no man ever gave you that kind of feeling. Fuck, what did you get yourself into?

You chuckle into yourself, eyes fixed on the pouring water.

“If Satoru finds out about that…”

Click here for Part ll

[capricornlevi]

"stop shoving," levi hisses, tugging the sheets very pointedly out of your grasp. you scoff, shuffling closer to the centre of the bed that's been duly marked with a border of pillows. "or you're gonna be taking the couch, i swear -- takes me long enough to get to sleep without anything else ... interfering."

*interfering?" you mock his dramatic choice of words. "ah, because of course, i decided that the best way to spend my friday night would be to sabotage our apartment's plumbing system, flooding my room and wrecking my grandmother's crocheted quilt, all so i could get the chance to disrupt your sleep cycle?"

you can't see him since your back is facing his but you can practically hear him roll his eyes. "not saying you could control the pipe bursting, obviously, but you can control yourself from shoving the pillows over to my side."

"and doesn't that prove my point about the pillows being fucking stupid?" you quip, rolling from your side to instead lay flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of Levi's room. the dark blue walls stare right back at you.

a beat passes where you think levi might be genuinely annoyed, and you hope he isn't; as stubborn as he can be, he is technically doing you a massive favour by letting you stay.

and it can't have been an easy decision, given how you both decided not to -

"so what's the proper protocol for platonically sleeping in your roommate's bed, then?" he huffs. "there's not exactly a guide for this shit, y'know."

from your peripheral vision you see him mimic your movement from before, switching from his previous spot staring at the door to take up a supine position, grabbing one of the pillows that's nestled between you and using it to prop his head up.

now you can see, to a certain extent, how the low light from his desk lamp throws shadows on his sharp yet delicate features, the glint of his grey eyes as he tries to pretend he's not glancing at you too.

"platonic," you say quietly, and because it's not a question, he doesn't answer.

you see levi adjust his shoulders, fixing the pillow so it's more comfortable, though you could have sworn he wasn't this close to you a few moments before.

well. let's see if your hunch is right.

"it's not like we haven't been in ... y'know ... similar situations," you murmur then, committing to finally addressing the elephant in the room.

levi's breath hitches in his throat so quickly you'd swear you imagined it, but you know him too well by now. you know his tells.

he's looking directly at you now, neck angled so he can meet your gaze. the hostility has melted away, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

"we said we wouldn't do it again. the whole roommate situation -" he begins half-heartedly, sounding as though he's already given up. "it's messy."

"we did say that," you muse quietly.

"we did," he repeats.

"came to a mutual decision."

he mumbles in agreement. "saves things from getting awkward."

another beat passes, heavier this time.

"levi?"

"yeah?"

"can we get rid of these pillows now?"

one last moment of hesitation.

"fucking finally."

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ Perverted ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Osamu Dazai

... NOW PLAYING ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| Perverted by Elita ...

a/n: it has been so long i'm sorry for disappearing </3 I LOVE YOU ALL THANK U FOR CONTINUING TO SUPPORT ME, new and old followers ILY. SPECIAL THX TO @amo-bsd, @little-miss-chaoss, @starrs20 THEY R THE BEST. also idk if this fic is ur thing cuz its dark content so u dont have to read it but i tagged y'all bc everyone who comes across this post SHOULD FOLLOW U BC UR THE BEST

content: f! pm! reader. MDNI! dark content + nasty! knifeplay. knifeplay is consensual, BUT keep in mind that unequal power dynamics are still at play because dazai is an executive and f!reader is a subordinate. (aka if this were real life this is not consensual)

++ blowjob (incl. facefucking). degradation and name-calling ("slut"), praise and pet names (i actually used bella LOL). dazai is possessive. like he actually treats you like a possession KEEP THAT IN MIND B4 READING

Dazai has always been calculating and cruel. Perhaps it was one of the things that drew you to him the most, as twisted as it were, knowing that these bloodied hands could sometimes hold you so tenderly, and that you of all people were the one he chose to see him naked at the end of the night. You took some sort of pride in it, in the fact Port Mafia's youngest executive had chosen you as his personal plaything, out of all the women that could easily fall into his arms.

His room is dark, ceilings tall, his face shrouded by velvet curtains that cast a shadow over you like a gaping mouth. His desk is stacked with papers, neatly organized in a pile, but there are painkillers and used-up bandages sprawled across the floor beneath it. Dazai is in the corner, staring down disdainfully at the broken city that is Yokohama. He doesn't greet you when you enter. Rather, he looks down at you condescendingly. "You were reckless today. You're lucky Akutagawa was there to save you, or you would have been killed."

"I'm sorry," is all you can say. As his subordinate and, for lack of a better term, his lover, you never know which Dazai you're about to face. Your apology is well-received, a grin forming on his lips as you bow your head. You're always so quick to submit to him. He's used to it, being an executive and all, but it feels especially good coming from you.

"Yeah?" His voice is a low hum now, seductive and rogue. He comes closer, then you feel his thumb graze your chin, then he forces you to gaze into the empty void of his dark eyes. You stare, captured by the intense nothingness behind them that threatens to swallow you whole, gulping as you realize that in those moments of enchantment, those slender fingers of his have crawled along the sides of your neck. He leans in, and you can feel his lips tracing along your collarbone. "How are you gonna make it up to me?"

Your knees are weak; you're always falling right into his hands this way. He guides you to the dresser, hands on your hips, then presses his body against yours from behind, fingers toying with the hem of your blouse. "How about I kill you right here, myself?" you hear him whisper in your ear, breath warm against your skin. Then, you feel cold metal pressed against your neck. "Would you let me do that to you?"

You catch a glimpse of silver, gleaming with the reflection of the city lights as Dazai runs a blade along a vein.

Trusting a man like Dazai can be such a fatal flaw – ...

... but he must be using the dull edge for a reason... right?

"I would let you do anything to me," you reply. You hear him sigh, almost disappointed by your courteous response. He lets go of you immediately and scoffs, tucking the knife back into his pocket.

"You always know what to say," he mutters, as if irritated by your predictability – but you know that it means he's pleased. You’re loyal to him. You always have been.

Then, as if on cue, you turn to face him, getting on your knees in front of him.

"Oh," he muses, entertained. "So, you're gonna use your pretty mouth to make it up to me instead?"

– but of course.

You're eager to please him, hands fumbling for the zipper of his slacks. He grins at how desperate you seem to touch him, petting your head as you bury your face into his hardness. You trace him through his boxers, marvel at the way it grows with your touch. This is the way you command him – the way you bring to his knees while you're on yours. You feel him shudder as your lips caress him, feel wetness seep through his boxers against your cheek as you mold against him.

In this moment, the most dangerous man in Yokohama is yours and yours alone.

"Get on with it," he mumbles lazily, stroking your cheek gently. You're staring up at him admiringly, watching the way his breath catches in his throat as you tease him.

He's gorgeous when he’s weak for you, gazing back down at you with half-lidded eyes, waiting on you to make him feel something. He's the desperate one now, you think to yourself. It��s as if he’s begging,

'Give it to me.'

You'll give it to him – you'll give it to him over and over.

Maybe it's perverted, but it makes you feel good inside, knowing you're needed by him like this.

So, you strip him slowly, kissing along his firm abdomen and thighs as you peel the boxers down his legs. He's impatient, hands trembling as you reach for him and run your fingers slowly along his length. His reactions are all the praise you need – he sighs softly into your touch when you finally wet the tip with your tongue, then you feel him fade into you. You taste the salt that drips so bitterly on your lips, swirl the precum in your mouth and let it melt against your saliva. "You're good at that," he whispers, and you feel yourself grow wet between the legs at his words.

Then, you take him. Slowly, at first – stroking him with your pretty hands while you lick the vein that runs along the underside, then slide him down your throat. You feel his grip tighten on your hair, then hear him make a stifled sound. When you look up, he's staring down at you in amazement, lips parted so slightly as you do your best not to choke on him... If only he looked at you like this all the time, you can't help but think to yourself shamefully.

It's too cruel to continue these sort of thoughts, so you force yourself to take him deeper... You shove him into your mouth until your vision blurs, until you gag on him, until saliva dribbles down your chin. He matches your pace, burying himself into your throat until you choke on his length, until you're tearing up and your vision is blurred. Then, you hear him laugh condescendingly. "This why you were so reckless today?" he asks you roughly, eyes darkening as he peers down at you. His fingers ravage your hair, his nails digging into your scalp as he pushes your head down. "You like it just like this, don't you?"

And maybe he’s right – he has you throwing your life away in this wretched mafia… and for what? He has you following him around like a dog… and to what end?

When you're forced to look up at him with your mouth stuffed full of him, it's almost as if there's no trace of a humanity left in him. There’s nothing in those wild eyes, scornful and resenting. There's some twisted grin on his face, something sadistic and perverse you've only seen a few times before, in the moments before he’s stolen someone’s life. "You act so fucking innocent, but look at you taking me like a damn slut. Do you do this for the others? Tell me..."

You can hardly breathe now, cheeks swollen and red, jaw aching, but you know he expects a response, so you shake your head frantically. No, of course not, you'd never give it to anyone else but him. Never, ever – but he doesn't relent, looking down at you demeaningly with that same sick look on his face. "Yeah? I've seen the way you look at Chūya. You wanna fuck him too, don't you?"

This time, when you open your eyes, the knife is right against your throat – the sharp edge almost tracing along your skin. Would you bleed for this man? Would you die for this man? Wouldn’t he like to know…

You shake your head as if to say, 'Only you... only ever you.' Then, you claw at his legs, pushing him away to tell him enough...

– and he withdraws immediately, shoving you off of him and leaving you coughing and gasping for air on the cold, wooden floor. "I would have killed you if you said yes, you know," he says, point blank. "You're mine alone."

This time, you're not quite sure if he means what he says – or what he means as laughs mirthlessly as you pull yourself together. But in a playful tone, he adds, "But of course, I knew from the start that you'd say no."

Then, you feel it –

His embrace. Gentle. Endearing. Fond.

His soft, tangled bangs fall against your shoulder as he pulls you into his chest.

It’s like he’s become a different person again.

“Come here, my precious Bella," you hear him murmur into your shoulder, tracing a delicate finger along your back as he presses his lips to your spine, and your heart stills.

"Let me draw you a bath."

For a man so cold, his body feels surprisingly warm.

author ps: ANY BDSM should have CLEAR communicated boundaries (established beforehand) and during AND include AFTERCARE. the aftercare was not written (it would be the bath, basically). if you are new to BDSM or considering BSDM please be INFORMED and do not use fanfic and dark content as a basis for it

© BSDAWGZ Don’t steal or plaigarize cos that’s mean… and if you enjoyed the fic, please reblog! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que!

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 4

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Chapter Warnings: MC is actin’ a fool (she’s just a little conflicted guys, don't be mad), angst if you squint, second-hand embarrassment, if there are mistakes please ignore them I’m still editing, first kiss and it’s hawt and it's with this yoongi. jfc~!

Word count: 5.6k (approx. 20 mins to read)

Posting date: October 23, 2024

Notes: This would be my last quick update for a while. Next chapter will be out in 3 weeks time earliest. In the meantime, enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Masterlist

Turns out, you actually did have ramen. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The whole night had been building to something else. The tension between you and Yoongi had been thicc, simmering for weeks, magnified in every stolen glance, every knowing smile, every deliberate touch.

But all of that changed the moment you stepped inside your apartment. Let’s back track a bit.

You fumbled with your keys, taking at least three tries longer than usual to unlock the door. Your heart was racing, Yoongi’s presence behind you was like a furnace. He must’ve noticed your nerves because he placed his hands gently on your shoulders, trying to soothe you, but it only made you more conscious.

Finally, you made it inside.

Too flustered to even turn on the lights, the dim glow from the kitchen cast long shadows, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. Wordlessly, you both kicked off your shoes and hung up your coats.

“Ramen, huh?” Yoongi teased, his voice low, the smirk practically audible. He wasn’t fooled by the offer. You both knew what ‘ramen’ meant. But for some reason, you were acting like a complete idiot.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, bolting to the kitchen as if the pots and pans could save you. “We could actually eat ramen. I, uh... have some.”

Yoongi didn’t reply immediately, but you heard his slow, deliberate footsteps following behind. That sound alone made your pulse race faster. You yanked open cabinets with more force than necessary, the clattering of dishes betraying your current state of disarray. Grabbing the ramen packets, you held them up like a shield. “I have shin ramyeon, jin ramen, buldak—what’s your favorite?”

When you turned around, Yoongi was leaning against the counter, watching you with a quiet, amused smile. “You’re nervous,” he observed. No shit, Sherlock!

You shook your head, denying it, even though you weren’t fooling anyone—not even yourself. A pack of ramen just fell on your foot. You bend over to retrieve it, and when you stand back up, Yoongi is in front of you, hands outstretched to take the three other packets from your arms and place them on the counter.

The way he was looking at you sent shivers down your spine. You were a ball of yarn, slowly unraveling under this cat’s playful hands. You gulped, turning back to run the pot under the tap.

“Okay,” Yoongi said from behind you, clearly stifling a laugh. “Ramen it is, then.”

You exhaled deeply as you heard him make his way to the living room. You peeped from behind your shoulder. He’s checking out some of the photos from a low shelf, a small smile on his lips. 

Fuck the pot’s overflowing. Hastily, you closed the faucet,  poured out some of the water, and brought the pot to the stove.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, his tone casual.

You waved a hand vaguely toward the hallway without even looking, trying to avoid eye contact with him as much as possible. “Just down there.”

And that’s when you messed up. Because after that, everything changed.

When he came back, something was off. He looked... discombobulated. His face caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“What?” you asked, sprinkling dehydrated vegetables from the Shin Ramyun pack into the pot. “What happened?”

Yoongi tilted his head, biting back a grin. “Your room… it’s, uh, very...”

It took a second, but then it hit you. Hard.

“Oh no...” Your stomach dropped. You are the biggest idiot of all time.

He hadn’t gone to the bathroom. He went to Chae’s room. Chae, your BTS-obsessed best friend, whose room is practically a shrine to Yoongi and his bandmates. Posters, merch, plushies, framed photos—everything. Depending on her mood, Yoongi might even be the featured member on her duvet.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, horrified. “You didn’t—”

“I did,” Yoongi confirmed, voice full of barely contained laughter. He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “Didn’t know you were ARMY.”

“Okay, hang on.” You raised your palms in defense, scrambling to reason. How can you explain this without offending him? “No, I’m not ARMY. Don’t get me wrong. I like you—uh, I mean, I like BTS. But that’s not my room.”

Yoongi nodded, a finger lodged between his teeth to bite back his amusement at your rambling. “I’m just teasing. I saw the neon sign with Chae’s name. Couldn’t miss it.” He shrugs, “Just wasn’t expecting to see more of Jungkook-ah tonight. Chae really loves those Calvin Klein ads, huh?”

You buried your face in your hands, peeking through your fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi shook his head, reaching for your wrists, gently pulling your hands away so he could see you. “Why are you apologizing?”

You stared at him meekly, voice tiny. “I dunno…”

“It’s not a crime. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

He grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “I got you to admit something, at least.”

You blinked, confused. “Admit what?”

His grin widened. “That you like me—I mean BTS, you like BTS,” he teased, repeating your earlier words. You were mortified all over again.

You groaned helplessly, turning your back to him.

His cute, throaty laugh somehow made you feel a little less embarrassed—but also made your heart race for an entirely different reason.

You heard the crinkle of ramen packets being opened, and when you turned back around, Yoongi was standing there, eyes glinting mischievously behind the steam of the boiling water.

“This ramen’s gonna be fuckin’ good. I can already tell.”

The evening takes on a different rhythm after that, the heat no longer crackling with the same intensity, but still simmering beneath the surface, like the hot broth you scooped into ceramics for you and Yoongi to enjoy. 

You both sit on the couch, soup bowls on hand, laughing about the absurdity of walking into Chae’s room, talking about anything that isn’t the weight you’ve both been carrying. Yoongi leans back, stretching one arm along the cushions behind you, the space between you narrowing with each quiet moment.

The conversation fades, and the silence that follows feels more like a prelude to another conversation that needs to be had. His fingers graze your shoulder before curling around it, pulling you gently toward him. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, letting his warmth seep into you, feeling the quiet shift between you. 

It’s not the same moment you’d have expected earlier, but it feels real, steady. And maybe that’s better. Maybe this is what you actually need. For now.

“There’s something here, isn’t there?” he asks softly, like he’s testing the waters.

“Yeah,” you reply, the truth rolling out without hesitation. You inhale sharply, the reality of the moment catching up to you. “There is.” You exhale, saying the next phrase almost regrettably. “But there’s also the NDA. If anyone finds out... I could lose my job.”

Yoongi’s grip tightens, his thumb brushing slow circles on your shoulder. “I know,” he says gently, almost apologetically. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’d never risk that.”

You look up at him, really look, and it’s all there—the restraint, the careful way he’s holding himself back, waiting for you to lead. You can see the desire in his vision, the way his body leans just slightly into yours, the way his focus lingers on your lips and stays there. He wants you, but he’s not going to push.

“I can’t think straight when you look at me like that,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Why did you say that? It feels dangerous, like you’ve just given up a secret you weren’t ready to share.

“You think I can?” he chuckles softly, tipping his head back toward the ceiling, exhaling a frustrated “shit” like he’s trying to release the tension hanging between you.

“Is this a bad idea, Yoongi?” you ask, looking down on your lap, scraping the dry bits of skin on one finger, just something else to focus on apart from his face.

Yoongi shifts closer, his body coaxing yours until you melt against him. His arms circle you, wrapping you in comfort, and you let him. Of course, you do. 'Cause it feels so damn good. He feels so damn good. You didn’t realize how touch-starved you are til this moment. Your arms quickly find your way around his body, too, and you revel in the satisfaction it brings.

“How about this,” he murmurs after a beat, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Let’s take some time to think about it. We don’t have to decide anything right now.”

You nod, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath you. He means it. He’s giving you the space, the choice—and that’s enough for now.

When Yoongi finally stands to leave, the atmosphere is a little lighter, still buoyant with potential. He pauses at the door, holding your hand just a little longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over your skin before he speaks.

“I won’t be in the office next week. I’ve got some things to take care of. But, can I invite you over to my place next Saturday?”

“Yeah,” you answer without hesitation. It feels like the easiest answer you’ve ever given.

Yoongi reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone, passing it to you without a word. You take it, knowing exactly what he wants—what’s long overdue—and type your number into it before giving it back.

Riding on a surge of courage, you rise up onto your tiptoes, and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your hands find each other again, and the soft squeeze he does grounds you both in the moment. The kiss—it was more like a peck—is gentle, brief, but it feels like a promise. Unspoken, but understood. You’re not ready to explore it fully, not yet, but it’s gonna come. 

You pull away and catch the moment when his eyes slowly open. “Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you reply, your hand lingering in his until it naturally falls away as he steps back, walking backward into the hallway.

The door clicks shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, feeling both lighter and heavier all at once. Whatever just happened between you—it’s real. And now, you decide where it leads.

Not a minute after he leaves, your phone pings.

Unknown: 📍[Address] Unknown: Can’t wait for Saturday. Good night, beautiful. 

“RISE AND SHINE, SLUT!!!”

Chae bursts into your apartment like a tornado, her voice echoing through the space as she strides in, bags of coffee and donuts in tow. It’s barely 9 a.m., and she’s already charged with energy. You glance up from the kitchen where you're unloading the dishwasher, the clatter of dishes nearly drowned out by her entrance.

She marches straight toward you, tossing the bags onto the counter. “Alright, spill. What happened? On a scale of one to ten: how good was the tongue technology?” She’s practically vibrating, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin that stretches on your lips. “The tongue technology was…” You pause dramatically, just to watch her lean in. “Nothing happened.”

Chae’s face drops, as she flops onto your couch. “What?! That’s impossible. Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you confirm, continuing to clear the dishes, the clang of silverware punctuating your words. “You kinda had something to do with it, actually.”

She bolts upright, brows raised. “Wait, what did I do?”

You shake your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Well, he needed to use the bathroom, but…”

The way she looks horror-stricken is hilarious as she pieces it together. “No!!! Shut the fuck up.”

“Yep,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing as you lean against the counter. “He went into your Magic Shop.”

“NOOOOOOO!!!” Chae wails, dramatically falling off the couch and onto the floor, writhing like she’s physically in pain. You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter as she flails on your living room floor, her face scrunched in pure mortification.

You finish your story, shaking your head. “Yup. So, there he was, just trying to take a piss, and instead, he was greeted by all of his own face staring back at him. Honestly, the fact that he didn’t run screaming is a miracle. I for sure thought he would think we’re some psycho duo who lured him in our den to murder him and sell his body parts in the black market.”

Chae sits up, groaning. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I can’t believe—fuck.”

You wave her off, still grinning. “It’s fine. We ended up eating ramen and just… hanging out.”

“Being the world’s worst cockblock was not in my 2024 bingo card. Did I fuck it all up?”

You wince, wiping your hands on a dish towel and tossing it onto the counter. “It was awkward for, like, five minutes. But no, not really.”

“But…” Chae tilts her head, zeroing in on the shift in your tone. “You’re low-key panicking, aren’t you?”

You sigh, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “God, I know it sounds ridiculous! I’ve been losing it, thinking I’m just, like, this weird work wife and he’s just stringing me along for shits. And now that I actually know he’s into me too, I thought I’d feel better, but I’m not–I’m still freaking out.”

Chae watches you, letting you get it all out.

“What are people going to say if they find out? That I seduced him—just like they thought I would? It’s insulting and mortifying! I don't want to be that girl. And more than just office gossip, there’s that NDA hanging over my head. I could actually get sued…”

“First of all, that whore Danbi can suck it,” Chae says bluntly, shrugging as she hops up from the floor and grabs a donut. “And honestly, babe, let Yoongi pay the fines even before shit hits the fan. He’s got enough money.”

“Be for real, Chae.”

“Girl, if he’s serious about you, he needs to handle it. Make it known to his company that you’re not some random hookup. He’s gotta deal with that shit.”

“It’s too early for ultimatums,” you argue. “We’re not even officially anything yet.”

Chae raises an eyebrow. “You’re something. I saw the way he was looking at you, all heart eyes. And don’t think I didn’t see you guys playing handsies under the table. You make me sick.”

Your lips form a straight line, trying to hold back a smile, but you can’t help it. “He’s so… ugh. I like him.”

Chae grins, sitting beside you. “I get it. You want it to be real, but you’re scared of the shitstorm that comes with it.”

Chae gets it. This is why she’s your bestfriend. “Exactly,” you sigh. “It’s just… complicated now.”

Chae reaches over, squeezing your hand gently. “Look, you’ll figure it out. Don’t let fear stop you from seeing where this goes. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, nodding slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

Chae stands, stretching dramatically before heading for her room. “And next time? I’ll make sure my room is locked.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, it’s a real boner killer.”

“Funny, I’ve never had any issues in there.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“Love you!” she sings, grinning as she enters her room.

“Love you too!”

You’ve been on edge for days, but now, standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment, that nervous energy shifts into something else—anticipation. The building’s lobby feels imposing, the security guard's request for two forms of ID more than enough to stir your nerves. Once they verify your information, you're ushered to the elevator and as you ascend there’s a buzz beneath your skin. 

The moment the doors slide open, Yoongi is already there, leaning casually against the doorway, waiting just for you. His smile is welcoming, but the hug he wraps you in says everything he doesn’t—soft, steady, and a little too tight, like he's been needing this as much as you have.

“Hi,” you say when he releases you, suddenly feeling all shades of shy.

“Hi,” he replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you inside. The door behind you slides shut with a quiet whirr, the lock clicking into place as if on cue.

Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam feels sleek and modern, but with a lived-in vibe. The couch is slightly disheveled, pillows piled at one end, and a throw blanket is casually tossed across the cushions, like he’d been napping before you arrived. The soft glow of a three-wick candle flickers from the console, its scent filling the space with something comforting, like freshly laundered sheets—a blend of clean cotton and subtle sweetness that wraps around you as you step inside.

He looks so hot, it should be a crime. He’s dressed comfortably, but he still looks effortlessly sexy. It’s kind of unfair, actually. The oversized black hoodie hangs loosely, and the faded jeans cling to his frame, the rips at the knees offering a glimpse of skin. Scandalous! 

What really catches your eye, though, are the silver hoops glinting in his ears—one thicker, hanging low, and the other daintier, nestled in his second lobe. You’ve never seen him wear jewelry before, and the sight of him in it now sends a thrill through you, a quiet gesture that he put thought into today.

You made an effort too, choosing a lacy purple top that peaks from under your white zip-up hoodie, paired with those jeans—the ones that always make you feel a little extra confident. Standing here, you hope it shows.

He ushers you to the kitchen where the comforting smell of suyuk simmering on the stove greets you.

“You can stay here, or chill at the couch,” he says, casually slinging a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Might need a few more minutes with this.”

“I don’t mind. I think I want to stay here,” you do a tiny hop to sit on the counter, giving you a great view of the yummy meal prepared by this equally delicious man. Honestly, you’re still wondering how this became your life.

The pot of suyuk is covered to stew for minutes more. Yoongi pulls the sleeves of his black hoodie to his elbows and grins. “Wine?”

You nod.

“Rosé, ok?”

You nod again, watching the way his hand moves with practiced ease, filling a glass in one smooth motion. He passes you your glass and picks up his.

Yoongi leans against the counter opposite you. “You know,” he starts, a playful glint in his gaze, “you’re really annoying.”

The heck?! You quirk an eyebrow, bringing the glass to your lips. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he continues, stepping just a little closer, “you’ve been stuck in my head all week, and it’s kind of a problem.”

A nervous laugh escapes you, but you try to keep it light. “Oh, I’m the annoying one? You’re the one who brought that loud-ass mechanical keyboard to work.”

He pouts, the playful edge you’re used to shining through. “Hey, you never said anything about that.” He moves again, this time standing directly in front of you. “But I’m serious.”

Your pulse quickens as he lowers his voice, glancing down to his wine glass, before he looks back up at you. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

The words hit you, sending a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. You set your glass down on the counter, beside where he sets his, feeling the energy shift between you. “You’re just saying that because I’m here, in your fancy apartment, drinking your fancy wine.”

Yoongi goes to step into the space between your legs, and they instinctively part to let him closer. “Nah, you know it’s more than that.”

Goddamn. Your knees brush against his hips as he inches closer, his hands coming to rest lightly by your thighs, squeezing it lightly.

“We… we probably shouldn’t,” you whisper, though your fingers are already resting on his arms, curling lightly around the sleeves of his hoodie, keeping him close. “Not until we’ve talked.”

“I know.” He pauses, searching your face, but instead of withdrawing, his hands slide up to cradle your waist fully. “But we both know we want to.”

You bite your lip, looking at him. “Yeah, and that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? Why does this have to be complicated?”

Yoongi’s hands tighten slightly, firm but still careful, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. “Things are always complicated,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

You exhale slowly, feeling his words settle over you. His forehead drops forward slightly, almost brushing yours. All you can focus on is him—how close he is, the feeling of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” you murmur, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

“Why?” His face is dangerously close to yours now, the question hanging in the air between you.

“Because I can’t get you out of my head either.”

Yoongi’s breath catches, a soft chuckle slipping out, but it’s not mocking—it’s almost relieved, like he’s been waiting for you to admit it. “Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

He leans in, his nose brushing lightly against yours, and for a moment, you think this is it—he’s going to kiss you. In fact, you could close the distance right now, but instead, you reach up, flicking his forehead with your fingers.

“Ow!” He jerks back, rubbing his forehead with a mock-offended expression. “What the hell was that for?”

“For making this complicated,” you smirk, the moment breaking just enough for you to breathe again.

“Right, blame me.”

“Well you’re the idol.” You laugh. The air feels less heavy now—more like a promise than a problem.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says after a moment, his voice low, serious again, palms going back on your legs, moving them like he is smoothing out the fabric.

“Yeah?” You thread the strings of his hoodie on your fingers.

He looks at you again, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But for now, I’m perfectly fine with being annoying if it means you’ll stick around.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile. “You know I will.”

His grin widens, playful again, but there’s something softer underneath. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little with a lopsided grin. “Me too.”

Dinner was amazing. The suyuk was cooked to perfection–soft, juicy, and subtly seasoned. Each slice melted in your mouth. Yoongi served it with four kinds of banchan, all prepared by his eomma and sent from Daegu that very morning. You don’t ask if it was specially because you were coming over, but you let yourself believe that for a while, even though it was presumptuous.

As he clears the table (refusing to let you help in any way), you wander to the window in his living room. Your mind wonders how Yoongi can be this perfect, really. First, he is handsome. Second, he is kind. Third, he smells wonderful. Fourth, he can cook. As you catalog all his wonderful traits in your brain to rival the Dewey Decimal system, his voice cuts through your thoughts.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you smile, though still a bit dazed. “Thank you for cooking.”

“My pleasure.”

Yoongi proffers you a glass of wine, and your fingers brush against his for just a moment—long enough to feel the spark that’s been igniting between you all night. 

The apartment feels spacious now, the soft, jazzy tune from the record player filling the room with a smoky, lazy rhythm.

You take a sip, admiring the view through the enormous window, the Han River stretching out beneath you like a sea of shimmering lights. The city skyline flickers, alive and distant, and for a moment, it’s as if the two of you are in your own world, above everything else.

Yoongi steps up beside you, the closeness between your bodies almost unbearable. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands next to you as you both look out at the city. 

For a while, neither of you speaks, letting the silence stretch out. It’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels like the calm before something inevitable, something you both know is coming but aren’t quite ready to face.

“Beautiful view,” you murmur, more to fill the quiet than anything.

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies softly. “Gorgeous.”

“But you’ve seen it a hundred times.”

And then, you realize his gaze has been on you all along. “Not talking about the Han.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the subtle curve of his lips. Your heart skips, and you look back out at the lights, trying to focus on something else.

“You know,” you start, your voice quieter now, “it’s dangerous spending this much time together.”

Yoongi shrugs, face indifferent. “I’m not worried about it.”

He sets his glass down on the windowsill, taking yours, too as he steps closer. “Are you?”

You hesitate for just a second, your pulse quickening. “Maybe.”

The city lights shimmer beneath you, but all you can focus on is him—on the way his eyes linger on your face, the force between you growing with every second. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his hands are on your waist, guiding you gently closer.

You freeze for just a moment, your breath catching as his fingers move underneath your hoodie to brush against the fabric of your top. It’s soft, barely there, but the electricity it sends through you is anything but subtle.

He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

You feel your resolve waver, your heart pounding in your chest. You feel yourself melting onto him, your back now flush against his chest. The soft melody from the record player wraps around you, and before you know it, you’re swaying, the two of you moving in a slow, lazy rhythm.

You rest your head against his shoulder. His arms tighten around you just slightly, his fingers splayed across your stomach in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the music.

He hums, his breath hot against your ear, and doesn’t let go. Neither of you does, and the two of you continue to move to the slow rhythm of the music.

After a beat, your slow dance stops, and Yoongi coaxes you to face him. You meet his stare, and the look in them is unmistakable—he’s holding back, the same way you are. The longing between you is palpable, every second stretching out like it could break at any moment.

Your fingers grip the fabric of his hoodie, your voice a whisper as you say, “This could be a bad idea.”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours now. “I know. But it could also be good.”

You swallow hard, mulling it over. He says it like it’s simple, like he already believes it. 

“We don’t have to do anything, ok?” he assures you. “But I want to hear what you’re afraid of. I want to ease your mind.” He plants a soft peck on your forehead, as if he can magically erase all your fears.

You hesitate but even the doubts are starting to fall away. Maybe you shouldn’t. The NDA, the complications, the fine line you’ve been walking—there’s every reason to step back. To keep this where it’s been. But your heart’s hammering too fast, his presence too overwhelming. You take a deep breath.

You glance at him, the dim light casting shadows across his face, softening his features but sharpening the attraction between you. Your thoughts are spinning. You’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Not this kind of heat—this slow, dangerous burn that’s been growing between you for months. And it’s not just about how he looks, or the chemistry—though, that’s undeniable—it’s him. 

Yoongi is solid. Kind. Real in a way that cuts through your usual hesitations, making you feel like you want to dive into whatever this is, no matter the risk.

“Speak to me…” he encourages, pushing a piece of hair back behind your ear. But the words don’t come. Because even though you're filled with dread on what could happen if you take this step with him, you’re also filled with want. So, so much of it. You want him so bad. And you don’t think you can wait any longer.

“What if…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are on you now, sharp and focused. “What if… just this once? I don’t want to think about anything else.”

Yoongi doesn’t move. For a second, you think maybe you’ve phrased it so abrasively. But then his gaze shifts—something raw, something unguarded flashes across his face.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low, almost a rumble in the quiet.

Your pulse races, the words caught in your throat, but there’s no going back now. You nod, the answer clear in your head before you can stop yourself. “Just one kiss.” 

And before you can second-guess yourself more, his lips are on yours—firm, demanding, and everything you’ve been waiting for.

Yoongi’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair as he pulls you to him, fast and deliberate. The kiss isn’t soft. It’s immediate, intense. His lips crash against yours, rougher than you expected, but it feels so fuckin’ right.

Your back hits the glass window behind you with a thud, the cold surface making you gasp into the kiss, but Yoongi doesn’t stop. He’s all heat and urgency, his body pressing into yours like he’s trying to make up for every moment you’ve spent pretending you didn’t want each other this desperately. His hands move to your waist, gripping it like he’s afraid to let go.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, letting yourself melt into him. His lips are firm, skilled, moving with a kind of intensity that has you dizzy, every thought slipping away except for him. He breaks the kiss only to drag his lips down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his mouth finds the sensitive spot beneath your ear. 

You let out a soft moan, your hands finding a place at the back of his neck, guiding him back to your lips. It’s not graceful—none of this is. Raw and messy and honestly, it’s everything you’ve been holding back for far too long.

Yoongi’s hands slide up your arms, pushing them over your head, pinning your wrists against the glass. His body pushes harder against yours, breath coming fast and ragged as he looks down at you, his lips swollen from the kiss. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, like he’s holding himself back but barely. 

“One more, please?” he asks, voice pained, like it’s taking everything in him not to go further, as his nose nudges yours.

You can’t think. Your brain is empty. It’s all Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. The only answer you have is the way your body arches into his, silently begging for more. “Ok,” you nod, “more.” And that’s all he needs.

He leans in again, kissing you deeper this time, more controlled but no less intense. His hands tighten around your wrists, holding you there, completely under his control, and you can’t help but surrender to it. The glass behind you is cold, but his body is so warm against yours. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that—lost in the fire of his kiss, the feel of his hands on your skin. It feels like time doesn’t exist, like the world outside these four walls has disappeared, leaving just the two of you.

Slowly, he releases your wrist and only then do you start to feel the pinpricks shooting along your arms as they descend limply along your sides. Gasping for breath, you tilt your head to the side, and Yoongi instantly claims the crook of your neck, murmuring your name in a raspy voice against your skin.

But even then, he’s still waiting, waiting for a sign that you want this to go further. After all, you only said one kiss. Knowing Yoongi he will not go beyond what you tell him to. If he only knew that you are so far gone at this point. Game fuckin’ over.

When he finally retreats, both of you breathing hard, he doesn’t say anything immediately, but the way his eyes search yours says everything.

“Tell me what you want,” he pleads, his ragged breath dancing along the moist parts of your skin. “Anything, jagi, it’s yours.”

“You,” you say, inhibitions long gone, the sweet name he uses ushering all the nagging thoughts away. “I want you.”

Nodding, he closes the gap between you and mumbles his assurance against your mouth, “You have me.”

So tonight, you’ll let yourself have him. 

And it’s gonna be so fuckin’ good you can already tell.

A/N: Alright, how about that first kiss??? 🥴 Honestly, it got me blushing while editing that whole sequence.

And before y’all burn me at the stake for blue-balling you yet again–I promise you the next chapter will pick up where we left off and it won’t be some weird time-skip. Promise! ✋ Hehe. You need to wait for it a little bit though because the next chapter is only at 10% right now and work is gonna be pretty hectic for the next three weeks.

For now, let your imagination go buck wild, and don’t forget to leave me an ask or shout at me in the comments if you want to see anything specifically in the next chapters.

Also y’all have to thank this one lovely anon who requested for more time before scootergate, because initially it was gonna happen the Monday after this night. The horror!!

Thank you again for reading this, you lovely human! 😘 See you in the comments. ⬇️

Chapter Five >

Taglist: @glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

@sexytholland @kiki-zb @hiddlestandom @babyarmybabbles

[sims3fiend]

Sims 3 Settings Setter

Proper release notes and beta edition

I've added support for setting any Config or Option setting, plus live editing of many many others, so it's now release time. Full feature explanation below, but essentially this lets you edit lots of settings ingame directly instead of having to make .package mods, and provides a "better" and more shareable way of editing GraphicsRules.sgr settings (IMO). Sorry if a new post is annoying idk what I'm doing

THIS IS A BETA, I haven't tested a lot of the settings, there are bugs, etc.

DOES NOT CURRENTLY WORK WITH THE EA VERSION

Downloads: Sims File Share Sims File Share - Less stutter config GitHub

More info about what it is (I yap a bunch) under :)

Installation and use

Please note, some settings wont appear until you load into a world.

Download the ASI file and wack it in to your Sims 3 base directory, where the ts3w.exe is located. If you're using one of the presets, make a folder called s3ss_presets and pop them in there (you'll need to activate them in the presets menu ingame).

Make sure you have an ASI loader, these are either from Smooth Patch's ASI portion or dxwrapper. I recommend dxwrapper, just make sure you set the LoadPlugins value to 1 (should be default)

Start the game, you might experience a little more of an initial "freeze" when starting the game than usual, this is from the script logging a bunch of config calls during initialization, there's like 800 or something nuts. It should not have any negative impact on regular loading or gameplay, and I plan to turn the logging off… eventually.

Press Insert to open up the menu. Go crazy and change everything, make the sun huge, crank bloom up, live.

Check the box next to a live setting to have it save for next time you launch, same thing for config but you also have to press save down the bottom because I forgot

Help I crashed/the game doesn't start with the mod!

Please send me your hooks_log.txt if you're experiencing any crashing issues. If the crash is because you set some value to like 7 billion, that's on you, you can just delete the line out of script_settings.ini or go to Settings -> Clear all settings

If you can't get the game to run with the mod, lmk also, please tell me if you're using a launcher, if you're using any other .asi mods, using dxvk, etc. as well as what operating system you're on.

Features

Live Edit

This is the new™ and now main part of the mod. I've mapped out several/most of the exes main "settings" (anything that interacts w/ 0x005a00a0 and some that don't) areas, which allows you to now, in game, change these values whereas before it was a whole arduous process of making .package mods. I mapped these all statically so some of the offsets/addresses might be wrong.

I was gunna list the settings but there's 260~ of them so maybe not?

I plan to add missing specific individual settings from Config eventually. If you think a setting is missing, or if you think I've mapped a value wrong (i.e. you know it has an effect but it's not working with my mod or is crashing you, or one value is changing multiple things), please let me know. Render/er is definitely missing some, that's because the function is scary and I don't like it.

Values (sometimes) have sliders with the min and max value I found in the exe set, if you want to go higher, you can double click to type in your own number.

Some interesting things you can do with the settings:

Set max lots higher than 8 AND increase the radius so it actually shows (will crash if set too high ~35+, need to investigate) by changing values in Streaming

Play in a game where the sun never sets or rises by editing Sky Common -> Sunset/Sunrise Time

Change shadow settings (includes the same thing as LD's shadow extender mod under), extending shadows (they will still look hideous, writing a post about why currently)

Change various light settings to get the perfect look for your game. Some popular mods edit these values for their looks (presets soon?)

Do whatever… this is…?

Game Config

The function we're hooking (0x0058c380) only seems to effect Config (GraphicsRules.sgr in the .exe directory) and Options (Options.ini in the documents/Sims3 directory), but logs a whole bunch of other thing. Feel free to toggle the option in the settings tab and try changing a bunch, it should in theory work because the function is reading and writing but somewhere it gets overridden or something idk 🤷

It lets you set any that fall under those two categories/headings, which means there's some like ForceHighLODObjects that aren't in the actual file and are settable. You might notice some show different values than what they're set as in your config, this could either be that I'm hooking it too early (I don't think I am), or the value is getting overwritten or changed somewhere in the exe. If there's a setting that's in the file but not in the list that you think does something, lmk, but it should capture everything.

I haven't mapped all of the Config/Option settings to Live Edit as they're all split up in the exe, if there's one you want in particular, lmk.

Presets

I've prepared a preset with just the essentials from my GraphicsRules file post with the idea that you can then use this with a stock GraphicsRules file instead of having to manage different versions, giving you the ability to toggle certain things back to default. I might make some visual "enhancement" presets or something later, either based off popular mods or my own insanity, we'll see.

Presets go into the s3ss_presets folder, and currently they stack rather than replace (not intentional but I might keep it)

Known issues:

Rendering toggles need to be re-toggled each load - Easy fix I'm just lazy

Options settings overwrite the actual Options.ini file (idk why??)

Occasionally D3D9 wont hook, I can't replicate this reliably to test so lmk if you can lmao

I mapped all the settings pretty hastily, so some are bound to be wrong

Was flagged as a virus briefly??? Praying this never happens again because I have no idea what to do to fix that dshjakfhhsdaj

Presets stack, if you apply a preset and you have existing values, they stack together… I kind of like that though as a concept so I just added a clear all option to settings, I might rework it later.

Some Live Edit value locations might change during gameplay, resulting in the menu displaying them incorrectly and crashing the game if edited in a broken state. I've checked most off them and they don't seem to, but Render ones did. Let me know if you experience it as I can probably find a static pointer like I did for Render.

Planned things:

Searching. God that'd be good…

Go over existing maps again, some I did early on before I supported static values, 4 float arrays, etc. so I've probably messed some up

Adding every single GraphicsRule.sgr setting to Live

Maybe adding some of my performance mods to it? Or should I keep them as their own individual thing? Mmmm I dunno

I still haven't looked at the way everyone else has been editing the "live" settings, so I should probably do that, there's probably a lot of info out there but at this point I'm too invested in my weird approach djsakfsksaffsa

Updates:

18.10.24 - Hopefully fixed an issue effect people using launchers, as well as a fix for the process hanging after quitting (would look closed but the process is still there in the bg). Also fixed presets applying. 17.10.24 - Hopefully fix a D3D issue that might've resulted in the game freezing/looking frozen. Handles D3D device resets. Will expand in the future to cover other areas maybe.

[k0juki]

It's waiting outside

Tyler Harrison x fem!reader

Summary: instead of Kay, it's you who the Xenomorph takes.

Warnings: One f word, but that's it i guess? If I missed anything let me know :)) also Kay is not mentioned here at all...sorry.

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

Wc. 869

---

The corridor was a dim, oppressive tunnel of steel and shadows, lit only by the weak, flickering lights overhead. The walls were damp, slick with condensation, and the air was thick with the scent of fear. A reinforced glass door stood between Tyler and you. You were trapped on the other side, face pale and streaked with tears. You pressed your hands against the door, eyes wide with terror as you stared at Tyler, Rain, and Andy on the other side.

“Please! Andy, open the door!” Your voice full of panic, the sound barely audible through the thick glass door. Your eyes darted to the shadows behind you, where something huge and dark moved just out of sight, lurking in the edges of the dimly lit chamber. "Open that door! It killed Bjorn and Navarro."

Tyler’s heart hammered in his chest, a sickening rhythm that made him feel like he was about to explode. He pressed his hands against the door, his brown eyes locked with yours. “Andy, we have to open it! She’s right there!” he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation.

Rain was beside him, her hands also pressed to the glass, her expression stricken with fear. “Andy, please,” she begged, turning to the man standing at the control panel. “We can’t leave her in there! We can get her out before it’s too late!”

Andy stood back, his hand not moving to the control panel, a grim look on his face. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his eyes fixed on the dark shapes moving behind you. “We don’t know what’s in there with her,” he said, his voice strained, filled with emptiness. “If we open that door… we might be opening it for that thing too.”

“I don’t care!” Tyler shouted, slamming his fist against the door, making you jump. “We can’t just leave her to die! That thing is going to take her, Andy! We have to do something, anything!”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you looked at Tyler, eyes pleading. “Tyler, please, please, help me! Don’t leave me here!” Your voice cracked, the fear in your words breaking his heart.

Rain’s voice trembled as she reached out, grabbing Andy’s arm. “She’s right there, Andy. We can’t let it get her. We have to open the door. We can’t let her die too!”

But Andy’s eyes were locked on the shadows, on the faint, sickening movement of something massive, alien like shifting behind you. The Xenomorph loomed in the darkness, it's eyeless gaze fixed on them through the glass door. It was waiting, waiting for them to open that door, to be let inside.

“We can’t,” Andy whispered, his voice filled with dread. “If we open that door, it’ll come through. We’ll all die.”

Tyler’s fists clenched, his entire body trembling with rage and helplessness. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “We’ll find another way! I promise, we’ll get you out!”

But you were sobbing now, fear overwhelming you whole. “No, no, no please, Tyler don’t leave me here, don’t-”

Before you could finish, the Xenomorph surged forward with terrifying speed, its long, skeletal fingers wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you back into the shadows. Your scream filling the room all around you. It was piercing Tyler’s soul as he watched you get dragged away from the door, disappearing into the darkness.

“NO!” Tyler screamed, his voice breaking as he pounded on the door, his heart shattering in his chest. Rain gasped, covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“Y/N!” Tyler cried out, his voice filled with pain.

“I'm sorry Tyler, but there wasn't anything I could do to help her." Said Andy.

"No, you could save her, but you didn't! You didn't!" Tyler shouted and took a step closer to Andy, ready to punch him. But Rain stepped right in front of him, holding him back. "It's your fucking fault!"

“We couldn’t do anything,” Andy said quietly. “If we had opened that door… we would all be dead.”

Tyler slumped against the glass, his forehead rested against the cold surface, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt like the world had just ended, like everything had been ripped away from him in one horrible moment. Your cries echoed in his mind, a sound that would haunt him forever.

"She’s not dead. She's all right." Tyler mumbled all over and over again. Trying to remain clam.

He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Y/N’s scream, the scream that had been cut short too soon, the scream that would stay with him, echoing in the dark corridors of his mind.

Rain put a hand on his shoulder, her own tears falling silently as she whispered, “We’ll get her back, Tyler. We’ll find her.”

But as they stared into the dark, empty room beyond the glass, where you had been moments before, the hope in their hearts felt as fragile as the glass that had separated them. The corridor was silent now, save for the distant, ominous hum of the ship’s machinery, as they were left to grapple with the terror of what had just happened.

And the knowledge that the nightmare was far from over.

---

A/n: Archie was so fine in the new Alien...I had to write something for him. Lemme know what do you think!

Also! Request are open for him too! So send one! <3

Don't copy or translate any of my work!

[alastorss]

𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑬 — 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑰 — 𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑶𝑼𝑹 ☽ series masterlist | other works

syn. The Radio Demon gathers your wrist and presses kisses along your pulse, stopping when he feels it racing beneath his lips. Gently, he sinks his teeth into your flesh just above your vein, enough to draw a taste of blood, before lapping at the spillage like nectar.

He’ll let you frolic around in his daydreams a little longer—allow you to sip from the chalice and taste mortal life again. It would make your flesh all the sweeter when he finally digs in.

“You are strange,” he murmurs against your skin.

“And you bite too hard,” you complain.

warnings: literal and metaphorical cannibalism, non-sexual biting, soul selling, blood and violence, co-dependency, probably slightly toxic relationship, alastor is a whole walking warning. wc: 5.7k

𝑰 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻

The Devil is beautiful beyond comparison.

Wrapped in silky red and black from head to toe; drenched in the colour and stench of blood; he’s dressed to the nines as if tonight will be his last. He stands seven feet tall—eight or nine if you trace all the way to the tips of his antlers now strung with the flesh and sinew of freshly slaughtered buffalo. 

You think for a brief moment that he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, hypnotized by the twirling of his cane. Only divinity could dare to be this breathtaking, yet here he is before you defying all heavensent rules. Unsure of whether you’ll ever stand so close yet so far from Heaven again, you reach out to touch him just to test if he is even real.

The Devil has a suave smile that makes his eyes crinkle in joy, teeth yellow and baring at you. A threat, you think, but you don’t care. His smile shrinks and grows in an endless cycle as you run a hand up and down the front of his coat, corduroy smooth beneath the pads of your fingers.

You recognize this look he’s giving you: who do you think you are? A filthy sinner begging The Devil for salvation? How pathetic.

And yet he seems equally entranced by your touch, as if you are the first. Somehow, he pierces you with his eyes but you can tell that he’s looking straight through you. A silly, powerless fool like you isn’t even worth his eyes.

Despite his apathy, he was the one who intervened with your early demise when he could have just as easily been on his merry way. Venison is best when fresh—that’s what he told the butcher. But it was spoiling in his hands the longer he stood there between you and the door, urging you to leave and simultaneously gluing you to the floor.

The Devil saved your life framed in the harsh red of the underworld.

Light pours in through the door he has blocked, illuminating his frame in warm shades of amber and crimson. His eyes shimmer in the shadow it casts on him, you realize. They glow like fireflies—yellow and flickering.

“You are wounded,” he suddenly points out as he towers over you. At first he seems taken aback by his own observation, as if he hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts into existence, but then it mellows into something along the lines of morbid amusement. Amused by your mortality—the mark of a demon.

Sinners were nothing more than sacks of meat and blood, after all. No less than they were when they were alive on Earth.

The question drifts dangerously through your mind: is he not a Sinner just as much as I am?

Static cracks in his throat, an eerie jazz tune faintly floating through the air, and you know then that you must be wrong. Regular Sinners do not know souls like the dozens you can hear screaming in the background of his smooth jazz.

“Help me. Please?” Your fingers dip into your wound and you cry out weakly in pain. His smile only grows.

Poor little lamb, so sweet and trusting. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought you waltzed right into this shop knowing that the butcher wanted to flay you open.

“Unfortunately, I am not interested in…” He leans down so his face hovers just above yours. “Charity.”

From this angle, he can see the subtle widening of your eyes. The way your pulse jumps in your throat, deliciously afraid. You reek of fear and something else he can’t quite place. It makes him salivate.

The Devil is cold to the touch—death incarnate. You hadn’t noticed until your hands were on his face, his neck, lathering down his chest, nails raking deep marks into his skin.

“I’ll give you my soul.”

“I have plenty of souls, my dear. More than you could possibly imagine! What good would yours do in my collection, hm?”

Yes, what good would your soul be to someone like him? At the end of the day, your name would be drowned out by the endless sea of his other contracts. Forgotten and abandoned, the last piece of your identity. There’s only one way you could be more than those before you.

“I can do anything. I can be anything. Just name it.”

“Oh?” He hums with a raised brow, intrigued by the offer of the soul and body. “And if I said I wanted you to be my dinner tonight?”

You swallow nervously. “Then I would present myself to you on a silver platter.”

He laughs at this, clearly humoured by your answer. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

And that is how it came to be: a lowly Sinner and an Overlord of Hell—forever intertwined by the messy entanglement of your souls.

Forevermore, you used to joke with your fingers braiding marigolds into his hair. Oh, how he misses that laughter so.

𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺 𝑫𝑶

The four walls of Alastor’s radio station become your only friends.

You learn that there isn’t much to talk to besides the walls anyhow, since the microphone and anything else on Alastor’s sprawling desk is off limits. Even he himself is not around very often, sometimes disappearing for days on end and coming back stinking of rotten flesh and blood, of which you have become acquainted.

You also learn that he likes things in a particular way.

For example, you may only see your reflection once every day. I hate it when my food has an ego—that’s what he had told you once. And you are only allowed to eat whatever he hand-feeds you. That is the life of a pet, after all, and you are nothing but a glorified domestic animal he has chained to his wall.

One day passes and he does not devour you like he originally intended. Then two. Then five. Eventually, you lose space on the wall to make another tally mark, so you resort to counting in your head until you forget how to track time.

“Usually people take their dogs for walks,” you once jested to him after he signed off his morning broadcast and sat there staring at the wall for a while.

He only gazed at you lazily from across the room for a moment before rolling his chair over to you and tilting your head back by the chin. He dipped his thumb between your teeth until you chewed on him and told you:

“How convenient it is that you aren’t a dog, then!”

You never brought it up again, not because you were afraid of him swallowing you whole where you stood, but because he tasted of death itself and you would rather avoid having his thumb in your mouth.

The third thing you learn is that he’s not all that scary so long as he deems you entertaining and obedient enough. Overlords—that’s what Alastor calls the ones who own souls—come and go and usually never return.

You earn raised brows and questioning looks. He often challenges them with his eyes: go on, ask me! Ask about my new pet so I have a good enough reason to dirty my coat with your filth.

The ones who pipe up about your presence are the ones who end up as wavelengths in his show. Alastor is quite protective of his pets, you see. What’s his is his, and what isn’t will be his one day. In his own sadistic, twisted ways, he is actually quite a good owner.

You’ve learned the loneliness that comes with being his pet, too.

Loneliness so empty that it swallows your lungs until you can’t breathe. A loneliness that crushes your ribs to dust. The familiar hum of jazz music became your most cherished companion.

Solitude is a funny thing. It plays tricks on the mind, drives people mad. Even Alastor can’t be immune to it, in his defense. You wonder if that’s why he’s opted to do nothing but stare at you from his desk for the night.

Soft whispers and laughter fill the room, voices enchanting you with their poetry. They buzz from the demon’s radio which is perched by his head where it rests on the table.

The room is illuminated only by the tiny lamp on his desk and the artificial glow of moonlight. He has decided to grace you with several blankets after weeks of your complaints of the radio tower being too drafty. They’re wrapped unceremoniously around you.

“What?” You ask him from the sofa after he’s been staring for far longer than he usually would.

He offers you a moment of relief as he tears his eyes away from you, like he had not even realized he was staring so intensely. But then they’re back on you in an instant, boring through your soul.

The soul he owns.

“I’ve never…” He trails off, seeming as if he can’t decide whether or not you are worth conversation.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion, watching him carefully consider his next words. Finally, he goes back to listening to the whispers and chattering from his noisy radio, pretending as if you no longer exist.

You take the opportunity to observe. It’s not like you hadn't had chances to discreetly watch him before—you live under the heel of his boot, after all. But to see him off of his show, face tired and dark despite the permanent smile that paints it, something stirs in your chest.

The final thing you learn is that the only soul more lonely than yours is the one which belongs to the demon who holds your heart.

He keeps friends in his shows. Voices to keep him company. You suppose that before you showed up, there wasn’t much else to talk to, and Alastor is a man of habit. He never stopped collecting those voices, no. Not even with you right there.

Thinking back, you wonder if he ever went as mad as you did when he first brought you here. If he counted days on the walls he talked to. If he would sit in deafening silence after his broadcast ended until deciding he wanted venison for dinner.

If he ever appreciated your presence, even as nothing more than his pet.

It was the only explanation for your beating heart. Why he had not devoured you down to the marrow yet.

You slowly shimmy off the couch and drag the blankets along with you, trailing behind you like a cape. The sudden movement makes his head turn at lightning speed, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

His body is impossibly rigid—it’s the first thing you notice when you drop to your knees by his side to rest your chin on his thigh. Alastor’s claws are threading through your hair before he can stop himself, feeling your warmth beneath his palm.

A dog and their owner. Only this pair could know silent adoration this way.

It’s twisted, you think, that he still holds this spell over you. That he’s still the most beautiful being in all of Hell.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though. Without him, you were nothing more than a plate of dinner that sprouted legs to all the other demons. You may not have your soul, but for some reason, you find comfort being seen by a monster like him.

“You look ridiculous, darling.”

“It’s not my fault you keep me suspended twenty feet off the ground,” you grumble, eyes drifting shut under the gentle smoothing of your hair.

“That’s what the blanket is for!”

“You’re about… five months too late,” you deadpan.

If it were any other Overlord, such a badmouth would have gotten you eaten already. But he only chuckles in response, quiet and lovely.

A long beat of silence passes before realization crashes down on you. Your eyes fly open as you peer up at him in curiosity. His voice is missing its usual lively buzz of static, as if a switch had been turned off. He sounds…

“Beautiful,” you breathe.

The demon raises a brow at you in question. You quickly shake your head, embarrassed by your sudden declaration. His hand stops atop your head. Laughing at your flustered expression, he suddenly removes you from his lap to stand.

“Come. It’s a nice night for a walk.”

“A walk?” You repeat, dumbfounded.

Alastor smiles ear to ear.

“That’s what dogs do, is it not?”

𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑫𝑶𝑮

The difference between you and Alastor is that the only soul you’ve ever known is your own.

You’ve memorized its shape, the way it flickers like a flame within your chest. Like it has its own tiny heartbeat—a separate being residing in your body. You know its colour and its tendency to leap when adrenaline courses through you. You know every part of it. Even then, it had taken all of your afterlife to grasp.

Alastor understands something you cannot.

He has long since memorized the collective weight of a thousand souls. The way they all sigh at once, like waves in the ocean bellowing and sinking.

He is an Overlord of Hell. Someone destined to be greater than you. You’ve known this all along.

He’d always been involved in shady business, coming back to the tower stinking of new souls, meat and booze. You remember that he once boasted about his skills in gambling.

“Isn't it just luck?” You asked.

He laughed at your question, “It’s never just luck, dear. That is why you sell souls, and I own them!”

You resented him for those words, even if they were true. Reminders that your soul was sitting in the palm of his hand. That your entire life was that tiny, flickering flame he could blow out at any moment.

At the same time, you were strangely relieved. Alastor offered you more than just protection. He gave you a home, regardless of how boring, and gifted you whatever your heart desired so long as you were obedient.

And no matter how much he denies it and pretends it isn’t so, he’s also a friend. A companion. You have the nights you’ve spent awake talking to him until sunrise to prove it.

Perhaps that is why ugly guilt bubbles in your stomach when you see his bloody body and the first thought you have is:

Does this mean my soul is free?

You’ve smelled blood before. At some point, it became a comforting scent. The smell of Alastor—the scent of home. But you had only smelled the blood of others as it stained his clothes and skin. Never the demon’s.

His shady business was bound to catch up with him eventually.

Your first reaction is to panic. To turn his body over and scour his torso with your hands until you find where the bleeding starts.

“Alastor? Alastor!” You call his name over and over to no avail.

Again, the terrible thought crosses your mind: I should leave him to die. But then he groans in pain, and the thought vanishes just as quickly as it came.

To wish for him to die after all he’s done—you couldn’t stomach that. You would be no better than he who owns souls for his own amusement.

He had stumbled all the way home in the end. To you. There had to be a reason for that. For him to crawl back to you despite his animal instincts.

“I’ll fix you,” you promise with shaking conviction.

You piece him back together with your own two hands, however clumsily. You’ve never stitched together skin before—only sewn fabrics and crocheted yarn that Alastor brought home to keep you entertained.

It’s disturbing how easily your needle threads together flesh. How it writhes under your touch and how much blood really comes out of it.

Alastor bleeds red.

For some reason, you had always thought that he didn’t bleed at all. But he does. He bleeds the same colours as those that stain his face when he returns from long nights out. It smells the same, too—nauseatingly metallic and rotten.

You do your best to piece him together fully, clean the wound, and bandage him up despite his weak efforts to struggle and the bile that pushes up your throat.

“Stop moving!” You yell in frustration.

This is the last thing Alastor remembers from that night: your arms flung around him to stop him from squirming around; your pounding heart pressed against his while you carefully pin him down whilst trying to avoid disturbing his wound; your lips beside his ear as you chant—please, just go to sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, he’s delirious.

At first, he isn’t sure why he’s asleep on the sofa. Your sofa, as you’ve claimed. His head lolls to face the window to gauge the time of day.

Bright morning light sears his eyes and momentarily blinds him. Groaning, Alastor brings his hand up to cover his eyes. There’s a sudden white hot pain from that action that shocks his system awake.

He hisses, body involuntarily curling in on itself to ease the pain, but it only exacerbates it.

His hand changes route from shielding his eyes to feeling for the spot where it hurts the most. To his horror, he can feel bandages sloppily wrapped where his skin should be.

“The… Hell?” He mutters, trying to push himself onto his elbows to see his stomach better. But he freezes halfway up, propped back on his elbows when he finally catches sight of you. 

You’re seated on the floor with your head in your arms, seemingly sound asleep by his side despite the ruckus he’s caused.

The demon slowly pieces the puzzle together, eyes drifting to the trail of blood smeared from the door to where you’re sitting. He assumes the sofa under him fares no better than his floor, and he groans in disgust.

He takes a minute to stare at the ceiling, trying to remember whatever else he can from last night. But the ache deep in his skin is too pressing to ignore, and eventually he returns to moaning and hissing in agony. Again, he turns his head to you.

You look peaceful this way. Drool pricks at the corner of your lips and as mundane as it is, Alastor can’t help but be a little endeared.

It’s strangely human. You are strangely human.

One hand falls atop your head and the other on his bandages as he watches you slumber. Perhaps it was in your human nature to help him, your terrible captor, when you could have just as easily left him for dead.

You look like an angel basking in the orange glow of the Underworld. His saviour. Beautiful and human.

Fondness boils in his stomach at the idea and he quickly retracts his touch, instead laying an arm over his eyes.

It’s too bright. He can’t think straight.

He considers counting this as an eye for an eye. Your life for his. It would only be fair to set you free now that you’re even.

Dread creeps up his spine at the thought of spending his days in lonely silence once more. You were originally meant to be nothing more but a companion for entertainment. But he was growing quite attached to you as pathetic as it was.

He had gotten used to your witty remarks and dry humour. The way you laugh before you tease him. How you sit on the floor and rest your chin on his thigh even though he’s told you before that his lap is available. And he finds your flustered and exasperated expression after his comments to be more amusing than death.

It would be a shame for it all to end, even if it were the right thing to do. He’s a demon, after all. Hell was for those who knew right from wrong and still became Sinners.

His silent reverie is interrupted by your shuffling. You groggily straighten up, blearily wiping the sleep from your eyes. It takes a minute for the realization to kick in, but when it does, you’re blinking at him in bewilderment.

You’re on top of him in seconds, clinging to his neck and wailing like a child. He hisses in pain, doing his best to sit upright for you and grimacing though his smile.

“You’re okay!” You exclaim, hugging him tighter and tighter.

“Darling—” He grunts, trying to shimmy away from you despite the warmth blooming in his chest. “My stitches!”

You scramble away from him, retreating as if he’d bitten you. Your back hits the other end of the sofa by the time he sits up. “I’m so sorry! I just…”

He watches as your face dims considerably. His heart drops to his stomach for a reason he can’t explain.

“I thought you were going to die,” you whisper. It’s followed by sniffles, and he can tell even without looking that you’ve broken out into tears.

“Come now, dear. Don’t cry. I’m very much alive, thanks to you.”

You nod, using your sleeves to pathetically wipe at your cheeks.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” you quietly admit with an embarrassed laugh.

Alastor also can’t explain the relief that floods him at that moment. Relief that you’re smiling. That you’re still by his side. That he’s alive. That you saved him.

If he had died, would you have blamed yourself? Even if he hadn’t returned home, would you have waited by the door for him until your soul came back to you?

Would you be sad then, too?

It’s a strange feeling that rises in his throat. He’s never been so grateful to be alive before.

“But you did it,” he tells you. “See?”

You nod again. From the other end of the couch, he can see your shoulders relaxing. It settles him, too—calms his fraying nerves.

He understands, then, the spell you have cast over him in return. He would do anything to see that smile.

Trust is not his forte. Demons are not to be trusted.

However, he can’t help but think that you’d save him over and over again if you needed to. And at that moment, he swears you have a halo glowing atop your head.

An angel in a Sinner’s world.

𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹, 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑻

You wake up to the familiar stench of blood, as you do most mornings.

It isn’t what makes you jolt awake. Rather, it’s the other smell wafting through the air. Mixed with the iron sting is the soft smell of flowers and the deep earthiness of grass and soil. Stirring, you blink the blurriness out of your eyes and take in your surroundings.

Dewy grass pricks at your palms as you sit up. The outline of your body has flattened the moss down and packed it into the earth, downy shrubbery now crushed beneath you.

Alastor sips at his mug, lips nursing the rim as he watches you slowly wake over the top of his newspaper.

“Someone slept well,” he sings with a cheshire smile, ears flopping from one side to the other with the movement of his head. You blink at him from the ground, legs curled under you.

“Where are we?”

“My room, darling.”

You take another look around. A gentle breeze shakes the trees weeping with leaves and vines, tousling the branches so they appear to dance in the wind. You’ve learned never to be surprised when it comes to this demon. He’s a bottomless well of them, after all.

“It doesn’t look like a room,” you observe flatly. He only laughs, shaking his paper flat to continue skimming through the morning column. Dissatisfied by his lack of an answer, you press on

“Does your room come with air conditioning? It’s too humid.”

Alastor snorts. “I prefer it when my dinner marinades without complaint.”

“It’s been months and you have yet to eat me up for dinner,” you point out.

“Tonight will be the night,” he replies nonchalantly, as if it were just any other day. You can’t help but notice the slightest hesitation in his conviction. Like he hasn’t yet made up his mind.

Silence follows his statement and you can only stare at him in response. After he shows no signs of elaborating, you sink back down to the earth with a thud and a sigh. Watching the dark, eerie sky as clouds float by, you pipe up again.

“The sky’s dark. Isn’t it morning?”

“I prefer the night. Calming, isn’t it?”

Your nose scrunches up into a playful sneer. “The big, scary shadow man loves the dark. Who knew?”

“Sarcasm isn’t very cute on you, my dear.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “I think I’m hilarious.”

The Radio Demon sets down his paper and peers at you from his seat at the garden table, chin propped on his knuckles. “Entertaining, yes. Hilarious? Not quite.”

“It’s apparently my last day alive,” you grumble, rolling over onto your side so your back is turned to him. “Let me have this.”

Your eyes drift shut as another breeze washes over you. The smell of grass and mossy waters—you never thought you’d have the chance to remember what this was like. What it’s like to be alive. How it feels to have grass between your toes and listen to the distant cries of insects and birds.

When you blink your eyes open again, you expect it all to vanish. To be back in Alastor’s radio tower, banished to your own little corner where he can watch you and entertain himself. To feel the rattle of the chain around your neck while he pulls you closer just to have a taste of your soft flesh.

But when you finally allow your surroundings to sink in again, you’re met with nothing but open night skies freckled with globs of stars. It feels free. You had forgotten what that felt like, too.

“I don’t enjoy it when my dinner feels sentimental, either,” he suddenly hums. You roll onto your back, head lolling to the side so you can glare at him. Slowly pushing yourself up, you haunch back on your palms with your legs outstretched toward the flowing water. 

“I’m not sentimental,” you argue.

“Oh? Is that so?”

You scoff in lieu of a proper reply. On your hands and knees you drag yourself toward the luminescence hovering just above the water. You come so close that your hands sink deep into the mud of the riverbank, surely dirtying your clothes in the process.

Fireflies swirl in the air and make the surface of the water shimmer like the stars in the sky above you. You carefully collect a firefly between your muddy palms.

It flicks around in a panic, knocking against the tiny cage you’ve built with your hands until it finally settles down in defeat. You can’t help but feel a little sorry for it. 

Trapped. Like you.

Alastor watches you curiously, your face dimly illuminated by the glow of the firefly. He’d usually prefer enjoying his swamp alone, but in a final act of mercy had decided to allow you in just this once. Perhaps he had made a mistake, however. There was a reason he killed swiftly.

He never did like getting attached to his food.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The demon blinks at you. “Fireflies?”

You shake your head.

“Life.”

But it’s not alive, he wants to say. This is all just a grandiose daydream, after all. Soon enough you’ll offer yourself up to him and he’ll devour you without second thought. The dream will end and reality will come crashing down.

He’ll be alone again, the way a monster like him deserves to be.

He slowly rises from his seat and makes his way to your side. Sinking to his knees, mud cakes his pants and his coat. You look at him in confusion, hands unclasping to release the insect to the wild once more.

“Are you that impatient for dinner?” You ask jokingly, albeit with a shake of nervousness underneath.

The Radio Demon gathers your wrist and presses kisses along your pulse, stopping when he feels it racing beneath his lips. Gently, he sinks his teeth into your flesh just above your vein, enough to draw a taste of blood, before lapping at the spillage like nectar.

You suck in a sharp breath, perfectly still beside him. Your free hand comes up to cup his face carefully, causing him to release his bite. Thumb smearing mud along his cheekbone, you look at him in wonder.

It causes him to withdraw, recoiling from you as if you just burned him. The weight of your eyes is too heavy—like you know every part of him at just a glance. He loves being the center of attention, but with you it’s too much.

You always did look at him like he was beautiful. Like he was life itself.

He can see it in every inch of your expression—some kind of twisted longing. It awakens something burrowed deep in his stomach, primal and wanting.

For all these decades he had been utterly alone. And for once in his afterlife, he had felt what it was like to be wanted. To be worshipped.

Does it really have to end so selfishly?

He’ll let you frolic around in his daydreams a little longer—allow you to sip from the chalice and taste mortal life again. It would make your flesh all the sweeter when he finally digs in.

“You are strange,” he murmurs against your skin.

“And you bite too hard,” you complain.

He only licks at your wound apologetically.

𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵. 𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑨𝑮𝑬. 𝑬𝑨𝑻.

The word devotion does not exist in Alastor’s dictionary. The fiery depths of Hell incinerated whatever meaning it held for him long ago.

Nothing is forever—that’s what his mother said to him with a quiver in her voice and trembling fingers captured in his. Her final words to him, not that he was all that sentimental about it anymore.

If you took a peek into Alastor's heart, you might expect to find some select choices of rye from the speakeasies he danced at in his youth. Or perhaps you would see the endless bog of contracts for every soul he owned, the names signed on them lost as if they were nothing more than grains of sugar in his coffee. 

He does not know how to love.

To be honest, he can’t quite remember if he ever learned how to love in life. He remembers what it was like to have his head in his mothers lap after he quit his first job, sobbing pathetically while she hummed to him about how proud she still was. He remembers running his hands over the smooth wooden desk of his radio station in New Orleans, the feel of fresh lacquer under his fingers.

Love was not something foreign to him. He was surrounded by it—the way rye burned in his chest; the feeling of his mother’s hands in his hair; the smell of coffee and wood lacquer. And even in death, he was surrounded by love. By you.

The scent of your blood. The vulnerability of your skin and how easily he could pierce it with his claws. You were fragile and sweet, something strange in a place permanently stained with blood and reeking of death.

Before he had memorized the pattern of your snores, or the way you cradle his face when he bites you like an untamable beast, or the racing of your pulse beneath his lips, amusement was all he ever pursued. His next plaything, whatever would keep him entertained until they inevitably joined his broadcast.

But you had overwritten his heart too long ago to remember what that was even like. The thought of your voice screaming in the back of his show only makes his stomach turn until he feels like he is about to vomit. 

The thought of losing you—his single treasure in the underworld—was more than he could bear. Amusement and a good meal were not worth your life.

Once, too many moons ago to count, you had promised yourself to him on a silver platter. In all that time you had kept him company, regardless of your sarcastic quips and your disinterest in his hobbies of killing for fun. You had become something worth cherishing. Worth protecting.

He hadn’t accounted for the fact that the only one he needed to protect you from the most was himself.

Here's what you would really see if you looked into Alastor's heart: you, with your jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut so tight that your brows are furrowed. Blood—lots of blood—spilling from your skin like liquid gold.

You, and those tears that he hates so fucking much. Don't cry, he would tell you, and you would listen to him because you adore him. Your flesh between his teeth as he sinks them deeper, plunging his fangs into your skin. A devouring so slow that it's agonizing, and finally your blissful little sigh.

He loves you so much that it aches, that it burns in his stomach. He's ashamed of it, of your effect on him—the spell he can't break.

No, that's wrong. He doesn't love you. At least, he doesn't think he does. Monsters do not love.

That's why you are being swallowed up whole, isn't it? Because he's a monster?

Your hands collect his face just as his mind starts to wander. You gaze at him so softly, so tenderly, as if he isn't all claws and teeth and blood soaked antlers. He wonders if you even realize what's in your arms.

"Alastor..."

His name is a whisper of a prayer on your lips—sweet and beautiful like you. If he could devour you like this he would, just to immortalize you. The iron stench of blood fills his nostrils as you cradle him. 

Ah, he's gone too far.

Slowly, he laps up the blood trickling down your skin. A silent apology. And you forgive him—you always do. It's just in your nature to trust monsters. To trust him.

"I love you."

He realizes, then. He's no monster in your eyes. He's just the devil. A beautiful, charming demon who you signed your soul away to.

Alastor doesn't say it back, but he loves you. He's sure he does. He would love you into flame if he could.

☽

notes: this series was inspired by this post from like 2 months ago that i finally got around to!! shoutout to too sweet by hozier and morbid cannibalism poetry on pinterest for getting me through this

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @princekeerys @iicarused @lillylovesalastorsm1 @veroneverleft (send an ask to be added to the taglist!)

© ALASTORSS — DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, MODIFY, OR DISTRIBUTE TO OTHER SITES.

[lunarxcity]

High Lords and High Jinks

- azriel x day court!reader

- synopsis: when rhys and helion try to set up their right hands and closest friends things don’t go according to plan…

—

I'm lost, correction I’m hopelessly lost. What kind of person even gets lost in a library? You see, I was tasked by my high lord and very ambitious boss Helion to find a book on firedrake lilies; they were native to the day court but suddenly went extinct about 1100 years ago, and they haven't been seen in Prythian since. Well, it seems to me that this book is even more elusive than the flower. Why does the high lord of night possess the only book in existence on this flower, only found in day might I add, and why does he keep it in his secret underground library, and why is this library an entire mountain? Helion couldn’t have sent someone else? A visit to the night court to grab a book is beneath my pay grade, but again these days I don't know what isn't.

I'm pretty sure I passed that shelf ages ago, I can’t even tell they all look the same. This library feels like a maze with books cascading down what seems to be a never-ending row of shelves that almost act like corridors, twisting and turning into a path that takes you deeper into the library, filled with even more towering shelves lined with more books. The very kind librarian sent me to the botany and herbal remedies section, but she failed to mention that the “section” is about half a floor. I have been looking for hours(I don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve been trapped underground looking for this cauldron-dammed book all day).

Don’t get me wrong I love books, I spend half my time reading and the other half playing glorified babysitter to the most dramatic high lord that ever was and ever will be. The day court prides itself on our libraries. We have everything from books on the history of ancient creatures that once roamed this land, to banned cookbooks (they had to be permanently deshelved due to certain recipes that had a tendency to explode), and my personal favorite, the risqué romance novels, which are now found at every library in day due to the high lord and his royal aid having a penchant for the genre. Apparently the only book we don’t have is one on a day court flower of all things. Leave it up to Helion to send me to a whole other court with minimal directions and no explanation on why he needs this specific book. It feels like I have spent an eternity searching, I haven’t even found the right section on extinct plants, and I don't even know where I am anymore, mother save me-

My thoughts are cut off by a tug on my sleeve. I look up and see nothing. No one’s there. Interesting... I start to make my way down the shelves when I feel another tug. This one is much harder, I start falling forward and am immediately pulled backwards, which saves me from the fall. I try to find the culprit of this surprising attack, when I, again, feel a gentle tug at my sleeve. I look down and see this cloud of smoke? No, it’s not grey and opaque; it’s as black as ink and solid as if it is untouched by the light. It cuts through the air like a whip, fast and smooth.

I’ve read about these before, but shadows rarely tend to make themselves known. Rhysand’s spymaster is a shadowsinger is this one of his little spies? Are the shadows friendly? Are they sentient? The shadow stops its frantic swirling and looks at me; well, it feels like it’s looking at me as much as a shadow can. I reach out to touch it, and it darts away behind a shelf, seemingly spooked by my touch. A piece of shadow is still visible peaking out from behind the shelf, and I stand still looking at it. “Take as long as you need. Trust me, I will be here for a while.”

I continue searching the shelves, ignoring the shadow in an attempt to ease its skittishness. I look back to the shelf it was hiding behind and notice its absence. Without my knowledge, the shadow made its way back to me and has been circling my ankles. The whisp of shadow then starts swirling around me excitedly before making itself at home on my wrist.

Curious little thing it is, it’s almost like a pet. “Any reason you're pulling on my wrist, or are you just as dreadfully bored and hopeless as I am? I swear I should’ve made Helion get that book himself. He’s probably off partying with Rhys cauldron knows where.” The shadow responds by swirling around my wrist faster and begins to tug me forward. “Oh, so I'm just supposed to follow?” The shadow becomes almost alive at this commend and yanks me forward with a rough force. Tripping over my feet, I let the little shadow drag me through the identical-looking shelves. “Do you even know where you’re going? I’ve been here for hours and all I’ve managed to do is get lost and get manhandled by a shadow. I don't even know where you're taking me if or if you're supposed to be going around unsupervised, pulling strangers through the library. Oh my gods, I'm losing it. I'm talking to the shadow.” The shadow gives one harsh yank, and suddenly, everything goes black. The shadow threw me forward directly into a hard mass. “I find the shadows to be good company; they don’t have a penchant for annoyance, I can’t say the same for most people.”

The mass is talking? I step back and can now see that the mass is a person. Probably the most beautiful individual I have ever laid eyes upon. He has strong, dark features, the build of a warrior, and golden hazel eyes that feel as if they’re looking right through me. The cobalt siphons, the fighting leathers, and the wings tucked into his back tell me he must be an Illyrian. The shadows that seem to ooze from his very being tell me that he must be the one and only shadowsinger of the night court. He looks like night incarnate. His aura is dark, beautiful, and dangerous. I’m from the day court, I know how to appreciate the sun, but there’s something about him that has me reconsidering the allure of the moon.

I have only ever heard of him from Helion, the tales of Rhysand’s shadowsinger, the elusive spymaster that's one with the shadows and has repeatedly turned down Helion's offers to join him in his bed chambers. Helion will then sulk for the rest of the evening, leaving me to deal with cheering him up. I have never been so embarrassed or in awe. Have I been staring at him this whole time? I’m probably staring. Should I say something? I just caught sight of his wings; they span the entire width of the shelves. Oh, I'm most definitely staring.

“Pardon my frankness but what’s the spymaster of the night court doing in the botany section of the library? Don’t you have some super serious spy business to attend to?” He quirked his brow, seemingly amused by my question. “And what’s one of Helion's lackeys doing here looking for a book on firedrake lilies when they haven’t been seen on the coast of day in over a century?” I feel my face start to heat up. “I’m not Helion's lackey , and I will have you know I am much more than that you- wait… how did you know that they're found on the coast of day? You have my book!" Immediately correcting myself to match the levels of politeness and poise expected of a member of Helion's court, I respond in my politest tone, "May I please get it? My high lord is requesting it for research purposes” I swear if this shadowsinger does not give me this book I’ll-

“No can do. My high lord is also requesting this very book, and since this is his court, his request takes precedence.” He starts to smugly grin, that overgrown bat, I wish I could wipe that grin off his stupid, smug, handsome face, wait, no focus. “Well, I am an esteemed guest of this court, so out of pure courtesy, should I not receive this book? We can call it payment for your shadow almost tripping me on the way here.”

At this remark, his gaze shoots up to his shadows, his eyes narrow, and he scans the shadows until he finally finds on the culprit that dragged you here. He starts to squint at it menacingly, and it darts away from his orbit, right behind you, cowering from its master like a child that just received a scolding. “Me and my shadows will have a discussion about that later. They rarely leave my side. You must have coerced them with your day court charms.” He says offhandedly. “So you find me charming?” It slips from my tongue and I curse myself for spending most of my time with Helion. At this he goes silent. Blank stare. I have not met a courtier I couldn’t win over, but he is giving me nothing. He just meets my stare with his mildly annoyed gaze. A minute more of silence... I will not be ignored by this shadowsinger.

“I demand you hand me this book at once.” I stare him down. “There's that day court charm”, he sarcastically replied under his breath. This is a losing battle. I look back at the shadow, the shadow looks at me, and I whisper, “Can you get me the book, please? Your master appears to be in a brooding mood today and cannot extend his guest the courtesy of his cooperation.” The shadow gives a slight nod and darts out from behind you. “I can hear you, you know? The shadows won’t turn on me they are apart of my very being and follow my will.” He finally says. “Oh, you were meant to hear me, and who knows, maybe the shadows got tired of their master's lack of manners and chivalry.” The shadowsinger scowls and was about to reply when, to his complete and utter disbelief, the shadow comes back with the book in tow. I don’t even need the book anymore. The look on his face was enough satisfaction for me. The shadow, while helpful, is still mischievous, placing itself right in the middle of us.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me are you?” he asks looking down at me with competition burning in his eyes. “Not even for a second.” I grin up at him meeting his eyes with just as much intensity. He gives a half smile back, a second passes, and you both lunge for the book.

Somewhere above two high lords are clinking their glasses doubled over in laughter over their little scheme. “My money is on her. I tried to spar with her once, and I was on the floor in less than 30 seconds with no idea how I got there.” Helion says while filling his glass with more wine. “Well, mine is on Azriel. He has years of Illyrian training, and is the most competitive person I know, he won’t lose a wrestling match over a book. He’s my spymaster for a reason.” Rhysand jokes. “Well your spymaster is oblivious to what’s right in front of him. Do you want to make a wager? I wager that she gets the book one way or another. Are you a betting man Rhys?” Helion mischievously asks. “I have known Azriel for centuries and I can’t see him losing a measly fight over a book. You have yourself a deal. Winner gets to make the loser do anything they want within reason.” Helion grins and reaches his hand out, “Deal.”

What started out as an intense sparring session eventually turned into a glorified game of tug-o-war. After exhausting themselves with physical combat, they now both had both hands on the book trying to tug it out of the other's grasp. Azriel's gloves had ended up on the floor, along with a few stray books knocked from their shelves, and an innocent chair that was caught in the fire. She looked up at him, visibly exhausted and asked, “Are you ready to give up now?” He looked back, equally exhausted, and responded, “Never.” Her hand started slipping as he tugged, causing her to grasp at the top of the book, right where his hand was. The minute their hands touched, his eyes went wide. He just stared with a kind of stillness that one only acquired through years of spying. He was deathly still and almost seemed to blend into his shadows which were erratic swirling all around the both of us.

Something flickered through his eyes. Fear? Acceptance? What could he be thinking of to elicit such a reaction? I looked down at his hands and saw the burn marks that were etched into his skin. I immediately jumped back, scared I triggered something. He had the same idea it seems, and dropped the book the same time I did. “I’m sorry-“ we both said at the same time. After a few seconds of silence and him just looking at me and analysing me? He took the first step forward and picked up the book. I thought he was about to take off when he looked at me and walked over and put it in my hands, not sparing a second glance to the book. “But your high lord-“I started. It was like a flip was switched. The brooding, stoic, smug demenour of the shadowsinger suddenly melted away to reveal a soft-spoken, kind, and shy individual. I probably looked visibly confused because he started speaking. “You’re right. I haven’t been very cooperative or courteous. You’re a guest of Rhys, and as a member of his inner circle, I haven’t been very welcoming. So, let’s start again. My name is Azriel. Here is the book that you require for your research. If that's all you're here for, it would be my honor to give you a proper tour of Velaris and formally welcome you to the night court.” He drops to one knee and bows to me and I swear my heart stops. What just happened?

“RHYS DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?” Cassian, who started watching halfway through screams. “Yes, quiet down-" “OUR BROTHER HAS FINALLY FOUND HIS MATE. LET'S BRING BOTH OF THEM UP HERE. I'M ABOUT TO CRY. LOOK AT ME, RHYSIE. DO YOU SEE TEARS? I NEVER-” Rhys gives Cassian a look of annoyance and says, “Well maybe he could've if only he didn’t insult or fight her first. We made it so easy, we tried to set her them up but no- ” Rhysand mutters under his breath. Helion starts cackling, "He will surely have his work cut out for him after that first impression. Also, pay up Rhys, she got the book."

[sexsylexi]

Silent promises

Bruce Wayne x reader

The dim light of the Batcave casts long shadows across the cold, metallic surfaces. The quiet hum of the Batcomputer is the only sound that fills the cavernous space, save for the slow, labored breathing of Bruce Wayne as he sits on the edge of the medical table. His suit is torn in several places, revealing deep cuts and bruises scattered across his body. The usual strong, unyielding presence he carries seems to be weighed down by the night's battle, exhaustion evident in his tired eyes.

Y/N, stands in front of him with a first aid kit in hand, your face etched with concern. Despite the danger he faces every night, seeing him like this still makes your heart tighten with worry. Gently, you start to clean the blood from a particularly nasty cut on his shoulder, your fingers working carefully but efficiently. His muscles tense under your touch, a low hiss escaping his lips, but he doesn’t pull away. He never does.

"Bruce," you whisper, your voice soft but firm. "You need to be more careful out there. You're not invincible, no matter how much you think you are."

He looks up at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the weight of Gotham's burdens and his own self-imposed responsibilities seem to disappear. All that matters is the warmth of your touch, the concern in your voice, and the way you look at him like he’s more than just the Bat.

"I know," he says quietly, his voice hoarse. "But I can't stop. Gotham needs me."

You nod, understanding all too well. But that doesn’t stop the worry gnawing at you. "And I need you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you place a bandage over the wound. "Whole. Safe. Here with me."

He reaches out, his hand covering yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cold steel around you. "I’m here," he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "I promise."

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, the cave around you seeming to fade away. Here, in this quiet moment, Bruce isn't just the Batman. He’s the man you love, the one who, despite all the armor and walls he puts up, he lets you in—lets you see him at his most vulnerable.

You continue patching him up, carefully tending to each wound, your touch gentle but firm. And as you work, he watches you with a mix of gratitude and something deeper—something unspoken but felt in every glance, every touch.

When you’re finished, you step back to admire your work, satisfied that he’ll be okay, at least for tonight. Bruce rises from the table, his movements slow and stiff, but there’s a slight smile on his lips as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers against your hair, his breath warm on your skin. "For everything."

You lean into his embrace, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Always, Bruce. Always."

Bruce pulls you close, his arms wrapped around you as if you're the only thing anchoring him in a world of chaos. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your cheek, reassures you, even though you know tomorrow night he’ll be back out there again, facing Gotham’s worst. But for now, in this moment, it’s just the two of you—no masks, no armor, just Bruce and Y/N.

As you pull back slightly to look up at him, you notice the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. His usual stoic demeanor softens as he looks down at you, his gaze full of gratitude, admiration, and something deeper that he rarely lets show.

“You should get some rest,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve done enough for one night.”

He exhales a heavy breath, as if the weight of everything is momentarily too much. “I don’t know if I can. My mind…” He trails off, his voice tinged with frustration.

You understand. The nights are always hardest for him, the quiet giving his thoughts too much space to wander—to haunt him. But you also know he needs to rest, to recharge, both physically and mentally. You cup his cheek in your hand, your thumb brushing lightly against the stubble there. “Then let me help you.”

He looks at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You always do.”

Gently, you take his hand and lead him away from the cold, sterile environment of the Batcave, up into the warmth of Wayne Manor. The grand halls are silent, the only sound your soft footsteps on the polished floors. In your shared bedroom, you help him out of his remaining armor, your hands gentle but steady as you peel away the layers of the Bat to reveal the man beneath.

When he’s finally free of the suit, you guide him to the bed, urging him to lie down. He complies, his body sinking into the mattress with a deep sigh, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. You slip into bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your head resting on his chest. His arm instinctively drapes over you, pulling you close as if he needs your presence to keep the nightmares at bay.

For a few minutes, the room is quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of his breathing as it begins to slow, his body relaxing against yours. You run your fingers gently through his hair, soothing him with soft touches.

“Y/N,” he murmurs after a while, his voice low and almost drowsy, “I don’t deserve you.”

You lift your head slightly to look at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “Yes, you do, Bruce. You deserve to be loved, to be cared for—just as much as anyone else.”

He looks at you, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the truth in your words. After a moment, he nods slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

You smile back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I am. And I’ll be here to remind you every day.”

He closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh as he pulls you even closer. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the night deepens and the world outside fades away, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day lifting as sleep begins to take hold. In these moments, you find peace, knowing that no matter what Gotham throws at him, you’ll always be here to patch him up, to remind him that he’s not alone.

And as Bruce finally drifts off to sleep, you stay by his side, watching over him just as he watches over Gotham, a silent promise in the darkness that you’ll always be here—no matter what.

[gghostwriter]

Poison Me, I’m Fine

Spencer Reid x Songwriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your choice of poison was Spencer Reid. Who knew he would kill you and set you free in the process

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: I feel insane for writing this in one sitting and not editing it. There's no part 2 for this, I just wanted to purge myself of this angst plot that took over me. This is probably the closest I could write to a singer-songwriter reader x spencer, granted she just writes for other pop stars (maybe I'll write some popstar!reader next time idk yet.) Also, 'Free Now by Gracie Abrams' and 'The Black Dog by Taylor Swift' was on repeat when I wrote this so you can spot some inspiration from both here. Hope you like it!

Main masterlist

You don’t know why you settled for less. Why you opted to walk on a blurry tight rope, why you chose a crumbling place to land on, and why you chose to enter a situationship that will end in heartbreak. Actually, scratch that, you do know why. Spencer Reid, that was enough reason for you to put yourself on the line. Or it was until your treacherous, greedy heart wanted more. 

Does she follow like an echo? Like your shadow, you can try, but you can't run

It started with hushed whispers. Your mind slowly poisoning itself with what ifs and scenarios where he was fully yours, just like how he unknowingly owned you—mind, body, and soul. Whispers of—wouldn’t it be nice to visit this museum again with Spencer or he’d love this newly opened vintage bookstore around the block or it’d be nice to see the stars with him right now. You tried to cleanse those thoughts away but that’s the thing, poison that has entered your bloodstream is hard to remove. 

It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time It's a shame that I memorized your outline

It morphed to vivid imagery next—hallucinations so life-like that you found yourself believing it half of the time. Portraits of him and you holding hands as you both walked down the streets, phantom outlines of you together swaying close to muted music, and shadows of you and him twisting in bedsheets. All untrue, except for the latter. You attempt to blink them all away with no success. Your heart reluctant to part with the delusion than face the truth—that he had only offered you his body and nothing else.

Every page that I wrote, you were on it Feel you deep in my bones, you're the current

It seeped out of you next—to your writings, to your works as if your body was doing its best to reject the poison away. To save itself from the nearing death that seemed inevitable in the end. Your poetry, your lyrics, and your art all contain entangled webs of metaphors and colors that lead back to him. Purple streaks on your canvas to represent his favorite, his beloved authors mentioned in your verses, and symbolisms of his career scattered all over—cuffs, guns, shot and everything in between. You tried to pour it all out of you, the dark and sticky emotion of despair and longing covering you and all extensions of you. Everyone noticed the change. The dimming of lights in your eyes and the shadows that threaten to swallow you whole. Everyone noticed—your family, friends, colleagues, and even the pop stars that buy your singles. Everyone except for the one that could save you, Spencer. 

It turned into screams next. It was as if your body gathered all its remaining strength to shout for help or to howl in pain, you’re not sure really. All you’re sure of was that the end was near. The end was coming to free you from everything—from him. The trigger was overhearing him discuss you with his friend and male co-worker during a run-in in his apartment where he had no choice but to introduce you. Six months of pseudo dating him and no one knew you existed.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, wanting to escape the tension emitting from the situation and when you came back, that’s when you heard it. The lethal blow to your already dying heart.

“She seems nice,” his friend, Morgan, commented.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s no Maeve—not as deep but she’s—she’s safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering lest you whimper out loud the pain his words has caused you.

Donning on a fake smile on your face, you watched as Morgan left with a wave goodbye to you and a casual ‘see you again.’ Not like that would ever come true.

Within seconds, you felt your mask cracking as tears slowly trickled down your face.

“I love you.”

They say the truth sets us free but not this truth. All it did was crash, burn, and pulverize your already precarious stacks of sticks that represent you and him. 

Silence.

“You know, when we first started this—whatever this is—I promised to myself that I wouldn’t fall for you. That this was purely physical, sex,” you sardonically laughed. “But you know what I realized, that you were easy to fall in love with. So easy that I found myself ruined even before I could comprehend where and when it happened.”

“We agreed, didn’t we? That we would tell the truth and stop when feelings are starting to get involved. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You roughly swiped away the tears. “I didn’t know when it happened, Spencer! I thought if I stuck it out long enough, you’d feel something for me too! But that was foolish of me to believe. I see it now.” 

“See what?” 

You walked towards him, invading his personal space. The same way he did with yours. “That you’re not ready. Honestly I’d prefer if my opponent was standing in front of me. At least I could gauge if I had the chance to win. But with her, she’s gone, Spencer—” you jabbed your pointy finger on his chest, where his heart was. “I’m fighting with a ghost who I can’t even land a hit on. A ghost who haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Tell me, Spencer, how do I compete with that—when I feel there’s little to no space for me. I exist only in between and in your limbo when you’re craving for a physical companion. How do I win, Spencer? Tell me or should I just throw in the towel?” 

“Y/N—”

His eyes contained the answer and although it wasn’t what you were wishing for, it was what you subconsciously knew you needed to free you. 

You nodded your head. “I guess—I guess this is it, huh. End of the line for us.” 

“I guess so.” 

You gathered your coat, haphazardly strewn on the floor—just like the pieces of your shattered heart and as you stepped out of his threshold, you gave yourself one last chance to memorize his outlines.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” 

And finally, the poison had killed you and had set you free. 

If you feel like fallin', catch me on the way down Never been less empty, all I feel is free now