#or don't pay attention or they changed it

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[cometconmain]

I have someone who comes to groom my dog because I physically can't keep up with it. He's extremely good at his job.

He also thinks Trump isn't all that bad a guy, the Democrats are the anti-human rights party, had no idea the Supreme Court was a thing/is controlled by Republicans and that's why so many human rights are being rolled back in America, refuses to actually use his privilege of having a preferential voting system to not have to vote for the two major shitty parties because he insists on believing nothing good has been done despite numerous proving points to the contrary in his own life let alone others' lives, thinks climate change is a hoax and can't wrap his head around why university studies need to be checked for a donor list and a fossil fuel company supported 'study' isn't reliable actually, hasn't even learned the most basic empathy concept of "you not suffering from a problem other people suffer from doesn't make that problem less important/you should care about people whose lives you don't experience", outright said with his full chest that maybe we should racially segregate the Olympics again actually, and a number of other toxic to downright rancid things I would have just written him off and slammed the door in his face for last year let alone a few years ago.

Don't get me wrong. Talking to him is fucking EXHAUSTING and I feel physically disgusting afterward having to just calmly listen to all these things he spouts which have historically resulted in entire groups of people being targeted for genocide and numerous other human rights abuses when left unchecked and allowed to fester at the societal level.

BUT HE LISTENS WHEN I CHALLENGE HIM.

I can see him actually seeing me as a human being worth listening to. He's older than me and definitely been down way too many right-wing rabbit holes for me to pull him onto the surface any time soon. But I'm giving him things to chew on and hopefully if we're lucky I've planted some seeds which will eventually grow into some semi decent human being plants one day. He's really ignorant and clearly under-educated and that itself isn't his fault and biting his head off isn't remotely going to make up for that gap and is only going to drive him further into the arms of whatever fucked up extremist conservative groups he's been listening to.

He is reachable. He's just also a very long project I only get to work on for an hour at a time every 6 weeks.

And some of the things I've said which I think were part of what got through to him involved showing empathy for him being a single father(? I may have mixed that up with someone else but I think he is) with a disabled kid. He shows empathy for disabled people because he's the father of one (and probably is neurodivergent himself I believe but unsupported and doing his best to give his son the support he didn't get from the sounds of it).

But yeah.

Listen: you don't have to take shit to the face if the person is solely malicious and trying to hurt you. No one is obligated to meet that with kindness and anyone saying otherwise can get fucked. There is a limit to how much bullshit someone can cop while the bullshitter acts like any emotional response to their bullshit is unreasonable/out of nowhere and that is valid on the part of the person copping the crap.

However, if you a) can handle coping long enough to break down those walls with unexpected kindness/it isn't dangerous for you to try that method (VERY IMPORTANT. PAY ATTENTION TO THOSE DETAILS. DON'T TRY THAT ON SOMEONE WHO IS ACTIVELY THREATENING/DANGEROUS TO YOU), or b) can tell it's soft bigotry/general ignorance driving the otherwise yuck things being said, do give the compassion and patient education route a try.

I've had numerous instances of me holding shitty ignorant beliefs I had no idea were actually harmful. The people biting my head off didn't get to me. The people who took the time to see I was just ignorant and under-educated on the matter (and hadn't yet developed the empathy for a group I didn't belong to) taking me aside and patiently dealing with my idiocy long enough to explain things to me in a way that got through my skull (and eventually into my heart as well) were the ones who fundamentally improved me as a person. I still have plenty of things I always have to work on. But I can tell you now I would be much MUCH worse without those patient, kind, educational interventions by people who could tell the difference between malice and ignorance.

The same applies to everyone else.

Human beings are human beings. All of us. Re-humanising each other is the last thing any of the politicians and extremist groups want us to do BECAUSE IT WORKS. IT BREAKS THE WARPED MODEL OF THE WORLD THEY PORTRAY AS REALITY TO DIVIDE US AND KEEP US ALL AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS INSTEAD OF CUTTING OFF THE FOOD SOURCE FOR THEIR WEEDS AT THE ROOT.

When we remind a hurting person that we are a person too, not the bogeyman the extremist groups paint us as, it shakes their warped worldview to the core. It makes them think. It makes them QUESTION. It makes them look at the flower the 'evil' Pride-pin wearer gave them because no one gave them flowers when their mother died and their hate begins to crack at the seams.

The things the world teaches men hurts men too. Teaching them they DON'T have to subscribe to that mentality all the way down to the roots of the patriarchy weed is the best and most effective way of cutting that mentality off at the source. Even if you struggle to empathise with men because you've been hurt; ok, valid. But it is demonstrably more effective, sustainable and long term changing to just get rid of all of it by addressing their pain and showing them how much healthier and happier they can be just in their own life let alone others' lives by casting off the system that hurts them too.

I'm pretty sure I'm just rehashing the same points here, sorry, but the concept of deradicalisation as a healing and long term change tool has been my social justice special interest this year so talking it out helps it solidify in my own head too. (And gives me strength to deal with bullshit because it reminds me it's worth copping what I can personally handle in order to get someone to think, change and grow, one exhausting person at a time).

part of the reason i love how bell hooks talks about masculinity is that she shows real compassion towards men suffering from the effects of toxic masculinity. she was conscious of how we need to unlearn the ways we talk about men + masculinity just as much as we need to unlearn the same for women + femininity. so many times ill see someone talking about toxic masculinity like (hyperbolizing here but only slightly) “these FUCKING STUPID BABY BITCHES won’t MAN UP and go to a therapist!!!” and like. i get the anger. but you see feminists recreating patriarchal manhood by only promoting good behaviors through patriarchal frameworks. any use of the term “real men” is bad because it reifies the idea that manhood is a special title you must earn, and it is something possible to fail and fake. & as important as it is to promote sexual equality + the pleasure of non-cis-men, lots of people are essentially still working with the idea that men need sexual prowess to have worth but just shifting it slightly so there is more emphasis on women’s pleasure. but I want cis men to think about their partners’ pleasure because they care about their partners, not because they need to check a box in order to keep their man card. and don’t get me started on small dick jokes– and the absolutely pitiful excuse people will use that “well, I don’t believe it, but misogynistic men get upset when I say it, so it’s okay!”

basically bell hooks is so fucking right. in order to create loving men we need to love men, simply for being alive, whether or not they are performing. as much as we need to actively unlearn misogyny (and we do), it’s equally vital we unlearn patriarchal ways of seeing manhood. we can’t just assume that taking a feminist perspective automatically means there is no work to be done there.

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.1 the bet

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: hi guys! this is the first chapter and I'm so excited this is just about how the bet starts nothing crazyyyy YET… i can’t wait to write more! merry christmas!! <3

masterlist

“I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. The muffled thump of bass from inside the house was enough to make your ears ring, even from a distance. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer mixed with the crisp winter breeze, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Because,” Shoko said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Deep down, you know you’ll have fun if you let yourself.” she grinned at you.

You side-eye her, “Have fun?, this is a party of drunk idiots I have to pretend I like.”

“Don't be dramatic.” Shoko rolled her eyes, patting your shoulder as she let you go. ”You spend too much time brooding alone in your dorm, anyway.”

“I call it peace,” you shot back, but Shoko was already halfway up the stairs.

The door swung open before either of you could reach it. A group of boys tumbled out, laughing and shouting, nearly knocking you over in the process. You stepped aside just in time, muttering a curse under your breath

The heat of the crowded house hit you immediately. The air was thick, almost suffocating, with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and overly sweet perfume. Bodies pressed together as people danced to the relentless beat of the music.

“Come on, let's get a drink,” she said, grabbing your wrist and leading you towards the kitchen. You stuck close to her, pushing past people in the crowd and avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“This is a disaster,” you muttered as you reached the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Shoko handed you a bottle of water before pouring herself something that smelled suspiciously strong.

“It's just a party,” she replied.

As she took a sip, she leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning the room again. “There he is,” she said, nudging you with her elbow.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Your gaze followed hers, landing on a familiar figure sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the living room. Ryomen Sukuna.

He was sitting on the couch like he owned the place, his long legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa. He was wearing a white shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the toned muscles underneath. His eyes scanned the room with practiced boredom, like none of it was worth his time.

A girl was sitting on his lap, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling as if he’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. She leaned closer, whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his gaze drifted and then locked onto yours.

He grinned, a slow, cocky smirk that made something in your chest tighten not with attraction, but with irritation. It was the kind of grin that said he knew exactly the effect he had on people and loved to watch them crumble under it. He tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Caught you staring

As you looked away, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. But you didn’t turn back. You weren’t interested.

“Great,” you muttered, taking a long sip from your water bottle. “Now I have to burn this memory from my brain.”

Shoko laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit, he’s hot.”

“He’s insufferable.”

“Hot and insufferable. The best combination.”

“I’ll leave right now.” you turned heel, but Shoko grabbed your arm, stopping you from your track.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

Your jaw tightened, but you stayed put, watching as Sukuna leaned back even further, his eyes still fixed on you. The girl on his lap pouted, clearly annoyed at his lack of attention, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I hate him,” you muttered under your breath. The words came out bitter, but they were true. “Did I mention that before?”

“Yeah, like hundreds of times,” She replied, laughing “You really hate him, huh?”

“I just don’t get how people fall for his act,” you said.

Shoko shrugged. “Like I said, he’s hot. People like hot.”

“Hot doesn’t excuse being an asshole,” you murmured, crossing your arms. “What’s his deal, anyway? Does he just sit there all night waiting for people to grovel at his feet?”

“Pretty much,” Shoko said with a shrug. “But he’s good at it. Watch.”

As if on cue, another girl approached him, drink in hand. She leaned down, her lips close to his ear as she said something you couldn’t hear. Sukuna smirked, his attention finally shifting away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? he’s harmless,” Shoko said.

“Harmless,” you repeated, your voice with sarcasm. “Sure.”

“You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t fall for his charm.”

“Good,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I’m not about to start. I don’t need someone like him in my life.”

“You gonna keep her there all night?” Suguru asked, nodding towards the girl on Sukuna’s lap.

Sukuna smirked tilting his head back. “why not? She's comfortable here.” the girl giggled again, clearly tipsy, but Sukuna's attention has already wandered. His eyes scanned the room lazily, taking in the usual suspect, drunk athletes, and the occasional out-of-place loner. Until it landed on you.

You stood in the kitchen, keeping your distance from the chaos, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. Your eyes roamed over the room, observing, until they met his. He caught you looking, and a smirk tugged at his lips. When you quickly looked away, he let out a low chuckle.

His friends noticed this.

“You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, what’s the deal?” Geto voice cut thought Sukuna’s thoughts, and he glanced over at his friend.

“I’m not staring,” Sukuna retorted smoothly, his tone laced with nonchalance as he effortlessly lifted the girl off his lap. She let out an irritated groan, before stalking off in a huff. “Just observing,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Geto teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you're staring at her, that’s not the ‘I’m observing’ look you usually give what’s going on with you.”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered to you once more. “She’s different,” He had noticed you around campus—the way you never spared him a second glance when you passed by, completely unaffected by his presence. Once, he’d even tried to strike up a conversation, but you had brushed past him without so much as acknowledging him, as though he were invisible.

Gojo chuckled “Different? Dude, that girl is the only one who doesn’t drool over you.”

Sukuna’s lip curled into a sly grin. “So what?”

“So,” Suguru continues, crossing his arms, leaning against the couch. “you’ve never met a girl who doesn’t fall for your charm, right? You’ve been with everyone but her? she couldn’t care less.”

Gojo snorted. “And she’s probably the only one on campus. That’s gotta sting.”

Sukuna scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “Please. She is probably playing hard to get.”

Geto exchanged a glance with Gojo, and then a mischievous grunt flashed his eyes. “All alright, how about we make this interesting? We give you ten days.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, “Ten days?’

“Yeah,” he said with a sly smile “Ten days you make her fall in love with you.”

Sukana let out a short laugh, but the challenge already sounded fun to him. He never was the type to back down from a game. “You think I need ten days?”

Suguru shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It’d be easier if it were any other girl. But this one… she’s too—what’s the word? Stubborn. Definitely not into guys like you,” he said, “She won’t be an easy win. That’s what makes it interesting, though.”

Satoru chimes in “Yeah, man. You can’t just use your looks and charm this time. You’re gonna have to actually work for it.”

Sukana's eyes flicked back to you for a split second. You were standing there unaware of the conversation that was happening a few feet away from you. “Ten days huh?” he murmured.

“Ten days” Gojo repeated. “And if you fail you lose. It's as simple as that.”

His expression turned darker, the idea of him not winning seemed unthinkable. He wasn’t just going to prove them wrong he was going to show them that no one could resist him.

Gojo leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, glancing at Sukuna. “You can't be seen with other girls. It’s gotta look real, after all.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted slightly, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge. “You think I need rules to make this work?” he asked.

Geto gave a small nod. “It’s just to make sure no one gets suspicious. You’ll need to actually put in the effort.”

Sukuna smirked, unfazed. “Fine. I’ll play by your rules, but don’t expect me to go easy on her.”

Ten days to make you fall for him. The girl who wouldn’t give him the time of the day. The girl who didn’t care about his reputation. The girl who has no idea what was coming for her.

Unknowingly, you had already been pulled into his game.

“You think his shirt could be any tighter,” Shoko muttered, nodding towards a guy who was flexing across the room.

You snorted. “Pretty sure it's painted on.” leaning against the kitchen counter. Shoko grinned at your words, sipping from her cup.

The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the party, you leaned against the counter sipping on your water. Shoko perched on the edge of the sink, swinging her legs as she talked. You were nodding and listening to the story she was telling you. You hear a group of people walking in the kitchen, their laughter loud and careless. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. The weight of his presence pressed into the room like a rebound heartbeat. Ryomen Sukuna.

His graze swept the kitchen, it lingered on you for a moment too long, and a smirk appeared on his face.

“Shoko,” one of his friends called out, his tone playful, but almost teasing. “Come help us with something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and them. “Fun, huh? i doubt it.”

“It’s better than being stuck in here,” another white-haired friend chimed in.

She rolled her eyes but slid off the counter anyway, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said with a wink before following them out of the kitchen. And then, it was just you and him.

Great.

Sukuna didn't say anything, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as he leaned against the counter across from you.

“Guess it’s just us now,” he said finally his voice low and smooth.

You didn't look up, keeping your focus on your drink “Lucky me,” you replied, your tone dry.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and deep. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

When you finally glanced up, he was much closer than you’d expected. His tall frame leaned casually against the counter opposite you. Up close, the details of his features were almost overwhelming—the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips that formed an infuriatingly smug smirk, and the mess of his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wanted to. He was hot—like, really hot.

“You’re not exactly the first guy to try this,” you said coolly, taking another sip from your drink, your gaze steady as you met his.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Try what?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re doing right now,” you replied, “the whole brooding, mysterious thing. It’s not as original as you think.”

He laughed at that, his head tilting back just enough to expose the line of his throat. It wasn’t often that people spoke to him like this, you realized. Most would have thrown themselves at him.

“You’re sharp,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. The scent of him hits you. “I like that,” he added, his voice low, a hint of approval in his tone as his gaze lingered on you.

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by him. “And I don’t care.”

He paused not being he was offended, but because he wasn’t used to being dismissed, even by someone who didn't so much flinch under his gaze.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Most people would kill to be in your position right now,” his tone quieter now, almost intimate, as his eyes locked onto yours.

You smirked, setting your drink on the counter behind you. “Then maybe you should go find ‘most people,’” you replied coolly, not breaking eye contact.”

The silence hung in the air. Sukuna’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, then slowly, his gaze dipped to your lips. The smirk on his face faltered just slightly as if he was plotting something in his mind, before it returned—sharper, more amused.

“You’re different,” he murmured finally, his voice low, the words lingering in the air as his gaze stayed fixed on your lips, the tension between you growing with each passing second.

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you asked.

“Take it however you want,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, his gaze still lingering on your lips as if he was waiting for your next move.

His gaze made it hard to look away. But you forced yourself to break the connection, turning your focus elsewhere. You weren’t sure what Sukuna was trying to do—charm you, challenge you, or maybe a little of both.

“I’m not interested in you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, your tone firm, making sure he knew you weren’t fazed by his presence.

He tilted his head, his smirk fading for a moment. He just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if he were trying to read you.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice low and confident, before turning and walking out.

You let out a slow breath, the heat of his presence lingering in the air. Sukuna wasn’t used to being ignored, and for him, that only made you more of a challenge.

But you weren’t here to play his game.

At least, that’s what you thought.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu

[captain-huggy-bear]

Scratchy

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut - lil' spicy, lil' racy, lil' bit of Lottie is feeling touch starved and it shows 😅 Not for the kiddos at all! Get off my lawn!

Summary: Quinn will do most things to make you laugh, his favourite thing about growing out his beard is the fact that it's a weapon of mass destruction when breaking that laugh out of you. It also makes you a little weak at the knees and hot behind the collar too which is a bonus.

Notes: I haven't kissed someone in 3 years, okay? I miss the scratch of a beard and Quinn has such a good beard at the moment, leave me alone! Don't judge me, just enjoy the fruits of my imagination.

Also Merry Xmas/Happy Holidays for tomorrow, this is my present to you all :) xx

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a still sort of evening, the sort of dim, cozy quiet that only ever seems to happen when the night is dark, and you've made your way back to Quinn's apartment after a date to the silence of his apartment.

The lights are low, but warm because Quinn had changed all the bulbs to a soft amber after you expressed how much you missed the warm glow of the old street lights from your childhood. You're curled up underneath Quinn's arm on his white sofa, both of you pretending you're watching Home Alone but really it's just white noise as the two of you cuddle up together. The TV taking a background role to the two of you, the main actors in this play.

Technically, you should consider getting your shoes on, grabbing your jacket and going back to your apartment, the clock ticking closer and closer to 11pm, but you both know that's not going to happen. It's a Saturday and Sunday means no work for you, Quinn has a bit of a gap before he has another game, and there's absolutely zero urgency or desire from you to leave the spot you're in. You've never been more comfortable.

Every date night goes the same way. Quinn picks you up from your apartment, bringing flowers to the door and wowing over your outfit. Looking at you like it's the first time as he calls you beautiful or pretty or any other compliment he can think of, before taking you to dinner somewhere the two of you have been wanting to try. Dinner is always fun, the two of you bantering back and forth, feet hooking together under the table, and hands twisted together on the tablecloth whenever you're not eating. Then Quinn always asks if you want to come back to his for a movie, every single time you say yes as he helps you into your coat and into his car. Like clockwork you always end up curled up together on the sofa, something playing in the background that neither of you are really paying attention to and like always you end up staying the night, the spare toothbrush now not spare, but yours, and a couple of drawers holding your essentials for the inevitable sleepover. Sometimes Quinn jokes that you might as well move in, except it's not really a joke and you both know that the minute your lease is up you'll do just that.

Quinn's cheek is pressed into the crown of your head as you lay back together across the sofa, your legs are tangled like tree roots, one of his hands resting on your thigh that's slung over his lap, the other wrapped around your shoulders, fingers brushing soothing circles into your upper arm. Your eyes feel heavy in that soft, comfortable sort of way, not sleepy but relaxed as you lean into the crook of his neck, pressing the odd kiss to his shoulder every so often - lazy, content, sweet.

He loves moments like this, where he's not captain, just Quinn, just your boyfriend. Where he can watch the way your shoulders relax around him, feel the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips, the press of your lips to his shoulder. It's that sort of slow intimacy that has him tilting your head towards him, hand cupping your cheek as you rearrange yourselves to face each other.

"You're so pretty, baby..." It's a mumble, soft and sweet, his bottom lip poking out just ahead of his top. You're tempted to catch it between your own but don't get a chance before he's pressing his lips to your forehead, dragging them down across your temple and cheek.

The scratch of his beard tickles slightly and it has you twitching and pursing your lips to contain a giggle. That little shake of your shoulders as you try to hide it has Quinn stopping just shy of your lips, hovering in place with that delectable smirk of his that he gets from time to time (but not often enough).

"Does my beard scratch, baby?"

"Nooo..." You deny it even as he teasingly brushes his cheek against yours, purposefully brushing the bristles of his beard against your skin until you squirm in his lap, twisting yourself up and above him to avoid it. Your hands planted firmly on his chest as if that will keep him away from you and keep your skin free of beard burn. As if you're strong enough to stop him if he truly wants something.

It's not a sensation you actually dislike despite the way you scurry out of his reach, in fact, he knows you love when he grows out his beard. The scratch of it always sends little shivers down your spine, but it sets your nerve endings off in a way that always makes you giggle like a little kid. It's cute, has been since the first time he kissed you and you pulled away laughing in such an endearing way he couldn't even be offended.

Quinn doesn't let you scurry away for long, flipping the two of you until you're on your back underneath him, he shifts a pillow under your neck as he does so. A small gesture but one that speaks volumes about his priority of making sure you're always comfortable. His hands bracket your head, nose brushing against yours as he stares down at you under his lashes, big eyes softening at the corners. He's so beautiful that you think you might combust in that moment, having all his attention on you like that makes you squirm.

"You're such a liar. This doesn't scratch? At all?" He doesn't give you much time to answer. Long fingers and wide palm of his hand gently encircling your neck, thumb hitting just underneath your jaw, holding you in place as he scrapes his face against yours roughly, the scratch of his beard across your cheek forcing a giggle from your throat that has him stopping briefly just to savour it. It's one of his favourite sounds.

The reprieve doesn't last long, Quinn moves, rubbing his cheek down from your own to the sensitive skin of your neck. Your legs kicking out at the sensation, fingers grasping the back of his shirt as you laugh harder, despite all protests you lean your head away to give him more room.

"Oh, yeah, this totally doesn't scratch! Not a tickle, huh? Such a liar, pretty girl." He rubs his beard across your neck and shoulder, the sensation has your toes curling, a hand sliding up his neck and into his hair, fingers gripping tight to silky brunet strands.

"Quinn!" You laugh it out, but there's a hint of desire riding your tone, eyelids fluttering closed. The scratch of his beard, one of your guilty pleasures, a secret you think you have kept well, but that Quinn knows all about. Has ever since the first time he shaved and your eyes held nothing but disappointment that you tried your best to hide, same way he knows you love when he keeps his hair a little longer. You're terrible at poker.

"Nuh, this is your punishment for lying to me!" He stops briefly to press a kiss into the underside of your jaw, even then his beard scratches as he does it, an inescapable sensation that has your fingers tightening in his hair, "Not really a punishment though is it, baby?"

"Shut up..." You mumble it out, embarrassment riding your tone even as your toes curl and your back arches into him, a leg rising to wrap around his and pull him closer.

"Oh, what? Cause you're embarrassed? My pretty girl's embarrassed that she likes my beard?" He brushes his cheek back against yours again for emphasis, nose trailing across your cheek.

"Quuiiinnnn..."It's an embarrassed sort of whine you let out as you turn your head into the pillow behind you, cheeks warm as a squirm out of embarrassment and something like desire winds its way to your stomach.

His fingers grip your jaw, turning your face back towards him, not allowing you more than a moment to hide away from him. Quinn's lips find their way to yours, open mouthed and soft as he captures your bottom lip between his. He lowers himself down to you, body squishing yours into the sofa, hips rocking against yours in a targeted fashion. You pull at his hair as you writhe beneath him, legs trying to pull him closer, a sigh breathed against his mouth like a prayer.

"You were saying?"

"Shut up..." It's an absent sort of mumble, unable to really think of anything else to say when he's this close to you, this warm, when all you really want is for him to kiss you again.

"Is that the only thing your pretty little head can come up with right now?" He's being mean as he squishes your cheeks together, lips a breath from yours as he mimicks you, "'Quinn!' 'Shut up!'"

"You're being mean..." You pout even as the familiar burning twisting sensation stirs in your gut, even as you struggle not to wiggle your hips against him and pull him in for a kiss.

"I guess I should get off you then, since I'm so mean?" He starts to move away, your head shaking vehemently no at the illusion of distance, "Oh, no? Thought I was mean?" Quinn attempts to push off and move away from you, arms defined and strong, straightened up next your head as he pretends to pull off you.

"Stay, please?" Your legs lock around him like a vice as he attempts to back up and put distance between you under the pretence of leaving, teasing you even as he has absolutely no intention of actually going anywhere.

"Is that all you want, sweet girl? Just me to stay right," he punctuates the end of his sentence with a roll of his hips back between yours "here?" He's rock hard against you, but he doesn't really care, this isn't really about him, it's about you and all he wants is to get you off. He could care less if he cums tonight. Not when you're whining into his neck and looking up at him like you might cry if he pulls away from you right now. Clingy and needy, desperate for him in a way that has his heart. He loves the idea that its him you want, only him, that no one else can fill that space.

Your neck almost cracks with how rapidly you shake your head, because as much as you want him to stay pressed against you, warm and heavy and delicious, you're not sure if that's enough anymore. Not when Quinn's commanding your attention, domineering over you like the captain he is.

"Use your words, baby, 'm not a mind reader, can't read that pretty little brain of yours." It's breathed out against the shell of your ear, the first stop before his lips trail down the side of your neck. This time the scratch of his beard is anything but funny, a little whimper leaving your throat as he sucks a hickey into your neck, one he's determined to make stay for at least a week, next to the beard burn you're definitely going to have as well.

"Want you, Quinny" Your fingers make their way back to his hair, its grown out so far in the season, long enough for you to tug on it when his own long fingers slide between you and tap your sternum.

"I'm right here, baby." It's frustrating and even more so as you squirm because you can feel his smirk against your neck, know he's purposefully acting like he doesn't know that you want his fingers in you.

"No, want you." you try to emphasis the point without words, too shy, always too shy to say what you're actually thinking and wanting and it always gets to Quinn. God, you're so fucking cute, how you refuse to tell him even while you're rutting against him and tugging on his hair.

"Here?" His fingers slip further down, hand pressed against your belly before slipping around to your waist, grip tight but not enough to leave marks.

You shake your head again, frustration building as you try to wiggle his hand lower.

"No? Mmm.." A kiss lands on the front of your throat and down to the dip where your sternum starts, while his hand moves again this time to your outer thigh, pulling you leg tighter against his hip, "Here?"

"Baby..." your voice actually cracks and breaks and when he pulls back to look at you there are tears in your eyes, frustrated tears that get to him and make him more than a little weak for you. He loves you too much to keep teasing you, pressing a kiss to your lips before mumbling against them.

"Oh, I see, you want me here instead, huh?" Quinn presses his thigh up between your legs, pressing firm against your cunt. You really can’t help it as you roll your hips against the intrusion, the fabric of your underwear brushing against your sensitive clit with each roll. It's an attempt, an effort to find some sort of friction, some sort of relief from the desire that burns in your belly and has your panties slick.

"Sweet girl wants to ride my fingers till she gets off? I got you, baby, don't worry." He doesn't expect a response and he doesn't get one, not really, just a babbling mess of words that broadens his smirk because you’re so pretty rutting against his thigh as you lie underneath him. You tug at his hair so hard he nearly hisses, but he's taken worse hits in a game before and he'd let you pull all his hair out to hear the way you whine under him.

Quinn's mouth covers yours at the same time as his hand slides up your thigh, long fingers pushing your panties to the slide quickly. Even quicker is the way he slides one finger into you, thumb seeking your clit in double time, as you moan into his mouth, hips wriggling against his hand.

"You're so fucking wet, baby, this all for me?" He murmurs it against your lips, thumb circling your clit as he presses a second finger into you, curling them until he finds that spongy little spot inside you, the spot that has you crying out his name and gasping for air, back arching off of the sofa and towards him.

There's not much mercy from Quinn as he thrusts his fingers into you, each time determined to curl against that same spot, his lips kissing from your mouth to behind your ear, sucking and licking hickies into your skin like your his own personal Monet painting.

It’s a third finger stretching you open, eased by the sheer amount of wetness that you drip with, and the way his beard scratches at the delicate skin of your neck, creating a shivery sort of delight through you, that has you cumming so hard and so fast that you think he might have broken a world record. You're gripping so tight around Quinn's fingers that he worries he might lose circulation in them.

You whine and moan his name so loud that he’s grateful he lives alone, no roommates, no brothers, no parents. Your body shivers and rolls, tensing and relaxing as your orgasm rolls through you in waves, as Quinn works you through it, thumb rubbing your clit and fingers still working against you but more gently this time, careful of your overstimulated nerves. “Fuck, there we go, I got you, baby...look at you, so fucking pretty."

Your hips jerk away from his touch, overstimulated and overly sensitive, Quinn lets you push his hand away, drags it out of your panties and catches your eye as he slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking you from his skin. He hums like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted and in his opinion you might just be.

His hand, still wet from his spit, cups your cheek gently. You press your cheek into it, eyes blinking up slowly at him as he rubs soft circles there. Soft and tender as he waits for you to catch your breath and come back down from it all, as his eyes watch you for any ounce of discomfort.

“You okay, baby?”

"Mmm...?" Quinn can't help but chuckle at the way you look up at him a little dumb smile on your face, eyes half-lidded and hazy. He’d be worried if I hadn’t seen that look on your face before.

"That good, huh? Got you a little stupid, baby?"

"Mmmm..." Quinn presses soft kisses across your face. Hitting the high points of your cheeks, the top of your forehead, the tip of your nose and the end of your chin. Careful as he helps you come down from it all, you start coming too a little, worried as you call out that he hasn't cum yet and he just shushes you. Tells you this wasn't about him, that he's fine and really, he is. He's happy just servicing you tonight, he knows he'll get his reward in the morning, the soft sort of sex that's all tender and sweet, the best kind.

He eases himself off you, even as you whine about it, hands and fingers grabbing at him, trying to pull him close again, always clingy after you cum.

“Need to get you cleaned up and ready for bed, baby...'m not goin' anywhere, don't worry.” Quinn's hands find yours, pulling you up with him as he stands from the sofa.

He's gentle as he guides you and your wobbly legs to the bathroom, as he helps you undress fully and stand under the warmth of the shower. His hands soft as he washes between your legs and over your sweat soaked skin, pressing soft soothing kisses into the beard burn and hickeys across your neck, even as he smirks proud of himself, of the marks he's left on your skin, claiming you as his for anyone to see.

He's careful as he washes your hair and helps you remove your makeup that has smudged. He's steady and sure as he helps you into one of 'your' favourite t-shirts, one you stole from him and claimed months ago.

You breathe out a soft sigh when you finally curl up under the covers with him, his body engulfing yours in his arms, pulling you back tight against him. You feel safe, so utterly at peace that it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep in Quinn's arms, even as he keeps his eyes on you with a soft smile, more than happy to stay awake just a little longer, just to capture this moment for a little while.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Hot Daddy

Prompt Day 23: Hot Chocolate | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Mild Use of "Daddy" | Tags: AU, Meet Cute, Single Dad Steve, Platonic Stobin

"Hot chocolate?" 

Eddie's startled from his thoughts, looking to see where the unexpected question came from. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, off in his own world, as Wayne would say. Well, he says that, and that Eddie's lucky he doesn't accidentally walk into traffic.

Which, true. It has happened a time or two. But what Wayne doesn't know won't hurt him.

Locating the voice that had spoken is interesting, because Eddie was not expecting to look down, or expecting a hot man next to a table full of little girls clearing running a fundraiser. There's a little girl looking up at him expectantly, and she must have been the one that asked.

Hot guy's hand is resting on her shoulder protectively, and she must be his daughter, since she's his little doppelganger.

The guy is eyeing him, and Eddie knows he looks scarier than he actually is, so he smiles, trying to look less intimidating. At least the girl isn't scared of him, it seems. Not his tattoos, not his piercings, not his heavy leather and attitude.

"Hi, sir!" She says, all chipper, like it isn't freezing cold, "We're selling hot chocolate and cookies to help pay for camp."

It's a script, and a little stilted, but she's got the spirit, that's for sure. And he hasn't been called sir in, well, ever, maybe.

"Of course," he says, and shifts his duffle bag to his other arm so he can reach for his wallet.

The little handwritten sign has their pricing, which he is certain is too low, and he fishes out a ten dollar bill, handing it over.

"Keep the change," he says, and the girls squeal and jump up and down. 

The man finally grins, like Eddie's won him over, just a little. 

Suddenly, there's several girls wanting to be involved in the translation, handing him a sack of cookies, napkins, as hot dad pours hot chocolate out of a stainless steel dispenser.

"Marshmallows?" he asks, and Eddie grins.

"You know it."

He shakes some into Eddie's cup, then a few more as he meets Eddie's eyes and winks, then hands it over.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and he could look into those golden eyes all day. He'd love to see them in the daylight. He bets they are so warm.

"Thanks for supporting the cause," the pretty-eyed hot dad says, and Eddie takes one more long look at him before walking away.

It's good hot chocolate and great cookies. He's impressed. 

The table isn't there the next night, or the few after, and Eddie feels a little bummed out that he missed his opportunity to flirt a little, feel him out.

He wasn't wearing a ring.

Eddie's certain of that. He looked. He also knows no ring isn't the end all and be all, some people just don't wear them, but no ring means that he might have had a chance. And a chance is all he needs.

So, he was hoping they'd be back now that it is the weekend again, but no luck.

"Why so mopey?" Robin asks, and Eddie turns to look at her. 

"I saw a guy on the sidewalk, and I hoped he'd be back on the street corner tonight–"

"Eddie!"

"–but maybe it was just a weekend thing?" Eddie ponders.

"Eddie, are you trying to hire a prostitute?" she asks, eyes huge.

"What? No!" He throws back his head and laughs, "He was a perfectly respectable man! With a little girl!" 

She raises an eyebrow.

"His daughter!"

Eddie's just digging a deeper and deeper hole as she laughs at him.

"I'm not following," she says, leaning on the counter of the music store. She started about two months ago, and so far, he likes her.

"There was a booth of kids doing a fundraiser. The dad that was supervising was hot."

She laughs at him, but it doesn't seem mean. Then her face changes, "When was this? What'd he look like?"

"Last Friday. Good hair. My height? I don't know. A real pretty dude."

"Swoopy hair?" she asks.

"What's swoopy hair?" he asks, and she makes a motion with her hands, and well, maybe?

"Yeah, maybe," he says, as if the image of this guy hasn't been burned into his retinas.

Then, he really hears what she's been asking:

"Robin. Robin Buckley. Do you know hot daddy?"

"Ew, no. Never say that to me again."

"Sorry," he mutters, feeling chided. 

"Steve–" she starts, and he really, really doesn't want to hear about her Bobbsey Twin of a best friend Steve right now. He feels like he knows more about Steve than he knows about Robin, which is crazy for someone he's never met.

"Robin. No more Steve stories," he says, resting his forehead against the counter, banging it slightly.

Steve's a teacher. Steve's a coach. Steve played sports in college. Steve could have gone pro. Steve's a single dad. Steve's the best.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

He doesn't have the brainpower to deal with the Legend of Steve right now.

"Eddie–"

"Robin!" he interrupts. 

"Fine. Don't let me talk," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

And it's finally, blissfully, silent. At least for a few minutes.

Eddie's behind the counter when the bell over the door jingles. He looks up, and – hot daddy.

Robin elbows him in the ribs, "I told you never to say that again!"

"I didn't know I did!" he yelps.

She laughs, "Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."

"You're Steve?" Eddie asks, and he knows his cheeks are red.

"The one and only," Steve says, and Eddie really wishes he'd paid better attention when Robin talked about him now. If wishes were horses, indeed.

Steve's holding two to-go cups, and leans up against the counter, handing one over to Eddie, not Robin. 

Eddie takes it, dumbly. It's hot chocolate, and Eddie looks down at it:

555-0083 Call me Hot Daddy

Steve winks, and turns and walks back out.

Eddie's gonna kill Robin.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ☕

Notes: Punctuation is important, Steve. Should Eddie call you on the phone - or call you hot daddy. Decisions, decisions. Why not both? 🤣

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Nope. Keep her in jail. I'm tired of you people thinking that it's fine to encourage monstrous behavior because life's not fair. Life's never fair. And stalking is often not threats. YES it deserves attention, yes it should be handled.

But ya know what? If you want change? Stop championing a terrorist and vote with your wallet. These companies CAN'T pay out every claim because insurance companies DON'T set the prices. Hospitals and Pharma companies do.

the level of censorship around this man is ridiculous, what happened to free speech? It’s just his name.

[heliomanteia]

Kind of adding on to my previous analysis bit about Davrin's arc, but I'm gonna say I'm concerned about media literacy within the DA fandom if Davrin's arc was hard to comprehend for people.

A little rant-like so I'm putting this under the cut:

VG has a strong and consistent narration that is mirrored or reflected within each companion's quest line: it's all about the bigger picture of personal choices and regrets and change and the inevitability of alteration and the need to live with the consequences — it is also somewhat about mortality and carpe diem. Pretty much every companion's line has something to do with death, coping, trauma, fear, and a big and important personal choice that would alter them as a person — it's always a "neither is better" choice and it calls upon your personal judgement to be made. There's room for criticizing the necessity of the black-and-white nature of some choices (i.e. Taash's culture question, for example) but overall they all have a consistent and equally important narrative line.

Claims that Davrin's arc is about Assan are actually hilarious. I assume people saying that have never in their life encountered a story where the main character had an animal companion, or just less sentient companion, that reflected their personality or some of their inner conflict. You know, the staple Disney/fantasy trope. This is an incredibly common narrative tool, it's bizarre to me that people saw that Assan has a lot of screen time and immediately assumed it's no longer about Davrin just because of that. I guess I could say it's not particularly shocking to me that DA fandom of all places had an issue of keeping their focus on a Black man's story. Moving on.

As for the claims that Davrin's arc is about Isseya, I'm a little shocked that was even a talking point. Because just as "animal companion reflecting the character's struggle" is a narrative tool that's up there among the ten most frequently used in media, "antagonist that reflects the main character's pathway in an inverted, perverted manner" is just as frequently applied. In fact, it's concerning that people missed Davrin vs. Isseya mirroring in the game based around the concept of recognition through the other and mirrors of self (Solas vs. Rook). I think it's safe to say that if someone did not catch anything about Davrin's arc and how it's entirely about him, I don't trust their general opinion on DATV overall. Because they're fucking stupid/didn't pay attention.

I don't think it's any surprise that at certain points VG gets a little too exposition-heavy, because apparently just giving people a good storyline with consistent and repetitive narrative that breaches the same narrative points but reflects it differently depending on the character it's about is not enough? Some people will be given the most direct mirror narration there could be without spoon-feeding it and they will still miss the whole fucking point? I'm not shocked that a large bit of "criticism" on VG writing/narrative/what was kept and what was omitted from being mentioned has been genuinely shit. And has consistently offered "fixtures" that would just make the stable narrative of VG a mess without a main theme.

Anyways, Davrin's storyline is very directly about him in every aspect mentioned; every person within his story reflects back on him and fleshes him out.

[starboye]

pairing: loser!simon riley x male reader

request: You up for loser!Simon Riley who's supposed to be studying for something stupid but he wants you BAD, so reader make him rattle things off that he's supposed to be studying for while reader ride him, moans and whines and grunts in between almost every syllable he says, and every time he gets a question wrong reader stops. It eventually gets so hard for him to focus reader gets off of him and make him jerk himself off. Also reader calling Simon "Simey", which he absolutely fucking hates.

warnings: smut, cursing, random math questions, praising, edging, jerking off, unprotected sex

oh he was so down bad right now, simon was supposed to be studying for his upcoming test he had but instead he wanted to study every inch of your body and more, and as much as you wanted to leave him alone to study you couldn't resist that nervous face.

"y-y/n" he whines as you bounce up and down on his lap, cock plunging deeper and deeper into you with every drop down onto him "mhm si" you said as if you weren't doing what you were doing right now "can we just fuck normally" he pleads but you sgut that down.

"nuh uh since you wanted this hole so badly you need to earn it also, now what's the square root of 64" you question him taking a glance the his notebook just to make sure he gets it right "is it e-eight" he stammers out almost unable to even think at this point.

"correct, good boy see i told you you could get it you just have to put your mind to it" you cheer and simons mind was anything but getting it right now, he just knew the question so easily, but right now he was close to falling of the edge as he brain was turning to mush by the second.

and you just sat there looking all pretty while splitting your ass on his thick cock and calling him a good boy was almost the cherry on top to him abandoning the whole studying shit "simon" you yell at him "yeah baby" he answers snapping back to the present "are you even paying attention" you ask him.

"yeah obviously" he lies "so then what did i say" you stump him right there, he feels to good to make up any kind of lie right now "i don't know y/n can you just ride me without the studying" he begs, his hands riding up your sides to try and convince you but you know he needs this more than you do so you have to make him work for it.

"mm mm if you want to get any of this you have to work for it" you say getting off him making si whimper in defiance to your sudden change "no please m'so close, i'll do anything i'll study i promise just ride me more" he begs you put you still get off him.

"if you can answer five of these study question while jerking off i'll consider it" you say to him and he's quick to have his hand wrapped around his slick dick, ready to do anything to have you wrapped around him again.

"whats the derivative of 79" you ask him and watch as he racketeers his brain trying to find the answer "i- is it z-zero" he moans trying to focus on you bu focusing on you makes him want to cum even more "good job simey" you knew he fucking hated the name but it's not like he can do anything right now so why not play with him.

"next what is the first 10 numbers of pie" you say "3.14...1-5926535" he chokes out unable to think straight anymore but you push him over the edge when you lean down so close to his ear whispering a low but seductive "good boy simey"

he may have hated the name but when you said it like that he was feral, unable to hold back anymore he just cums, load shooting all over his face and shirt "who knew match was such a turn on to you" you joke but he obviously wasn't amused "but seeing as you did fail there's a punishment" you say climbing back onto his lap and sliding his sensitive cock back into you "you wont be able to think by the end of the night" you tell him.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[anntrnr]

how i manifested my celeb crush !! ★

(pls don't mind my grammar etc english is not my first language😭)

this story starts in the spring of this year. at some point i got into Arctic Monkeys and i VERY much liked their album "Humbug", which was released in 2009. i started looking for more information about the band, its members, started watching concerts from this era. after a while i realised that i lowkey fell for the frontman of this band, alex turner. i mean this man is pretty i couldn't help myself lmao, especially how he looked in 2009 with long curly hair😭

★ since i had absolutely nothing to do in the summer, i decided to start manifesting this curly handsome guy in my life🤓 of course i had thoughts like "nah tf am i doing" or "this won't happen lmao", especially considering the fact that i was going to manifest a man with the looks that he had 15 years ago💀💀 also i wanted him to be my age, even though he was 23 at the time and i'm like 16 now!?!?!?? and i wanted to change his personality just a little bit.

★ i was affirming whenever i was bored and doing SATS few times a week, so i wasn't paying much attention to this whole thing and was just thinking like "yuh i'm dating that man"

★ honestly, it was kind of joke BUT then i started to see results :))) first i had dreams with my beloved, then i started to shift. it got to the point where I started dreaming about him literally every day for weeks, and now i dream about him almost every night!??!?!?!?

then school started....

i'm still kinda shocked 'cause now in our school we have a boy in our phys class and he has the same haircut, hair length and colour, same curls, same height and figure as alex and like wtf??!?!?!?!?!?! basically an alex turner look-alike... this boy started giving me pretty much attention now and i even heard him telling his mates "girl with red hair (me!) is pretty". also this boy has my desired changes in personality that i wanted to change in alex.

believe in yourself! everything IS possible!

[lucifer-the-fetus-eater]

The deadringer decloak is such a distinct noise, i find it hard to miss even while I'm listening to music. There are however, other ways to detect them. [Assuming you're using default UI.]

The bar at the top of the screen where the round timer sits has rows of class-portrait icons. You can only see your team's lineup, but when an enemy dies, you can see their class portrait greyed out. If you kill a spy, look at the enemy portraits. I'm pretty sure a "dead" deadringer spy will not show.

When you press tab to look at every user on the server, dead people will show up desaturated regardless of if you're on their team or not. If you learn the spy's username, check if their name is desaturated. Like before, I'm pretty sure false-deaths won't affect them.

For Engineers: You can see every kill and assist your sentry gets. if a spy gets killed by your sentry and a kill doesn't show up when you're damn sure it should've, you're dealing with a deadringer. [Noticed this while I was running Frontier Justice today and paying close attention to my sentry kills.]

[DEBATABLE] For Medics: This one I'm least sure of, as I've encountered problems with the übersaw like 'hitsound-no-damage-sound' and 'hit/kill-but-no-uber-gain'... But I'm at least 65% sure if you kill a spy with the übersaw, and you don't get über, they're a deadringer.

This is a broken record statement, but spies are at their pinnacle when you are not paying attention. You will inevitably get backstabbed, deadringer or no deadringer. Use that death to learn about what you're up against, and notify your team if you can. Same goes for the YER.

Speaking of learning, once you get got a few times you start to get paranoid. You'll start checking more. It's sort of a natural counter.

ok ill stop ranting now here is my . dollar n' three quarters.

[xaeoism]

Christmas Baking (scaramouche x gender neutral reader)

A/N - Going into 2025 writing about the same character I've liked since 2020 wasn't on my bingo list.

The smell of dried oranges and rosemary fills every corner of your home, a telltale sign of Christmas approaching. You've always loved Christmas best, the intimacy that comes with the season of snow is enough to make you want to fall in love once more.

You walk into the kitchen and lo and behold, Scaramouche is standing there in all his glory in his pyjamas with a cute apron tied around his waist. You walk behind him before giving him a hug from the back.

"Up so early? What are you doing?", you ask, looking over at the scene displayed on the marbled table as you place your chin on his shoulder.

"I'm making tres leches, and I always wake up early. But you, awake at this hour? Astounding.", he remarks, keeping up his mixing of the batter and paying no attention to you.

"It's Christmas, scara. Can I not catch a break from all your snide remarks for once?", you laugh.

"Perhaps for your New Year's resolution, you had better change yourself for the better. Maybe then I'll tone down on the insults."

"Oh? But you love me for the way I am, no?", you tease, turning your head to give him a kiss.

He doesn't respond to your teasing, but what he does is turn his head to kiss you back, and that action alone tells you what his answer is already.

"Whatever, there's apple crumble in the microwave for you by the way, I know you love eating those", he says.

Your heart flutters and a smile spreads across your face when you hear him say he made your favorite dessert. You tighten the hug for a little while, thanking him for his hard work before your hand reaches for the cupboard to pour some Zinfandel to pair with your apple crumble.

The tender slices of the sweet-tart apple, caramel notes of brown sugar paired with cinnamon tastes like heaven on your tongue and you can't stop yourself from stuffing another bite in your mouth. You reach for the glass of wine, swirling it a little before taking a sip. The wine's ripe berry undertones mingle with the sweetness of the desert, creating the perfect balance.

Scaramouche turns to look at your contended expression and feels his heart swell with love and pride.

"Don't drink too much wine so early on, you'll develop health issues faster than you expect.", he comments before getting back to pouring the batter into a pan and putting it into the oven.

"Scara, try this. It's so good.", you insist, scooping a part of the crumble to feed it to him.

Before he can protest, you shove it into his mouth and you see his expression change from annoyance to cringing out at the sweetness of the dessert.

"Isn't it absolutely delectable? All the desserts you make for me are always delicious, I only wish that I could do the same for you, scara", you say as you scoop another mouthful of the dessert to eat.

"If you'd like, you can help me finish the tres leches when it's baked. It'll be like you made it.", he suggested.

✧ ｡ .: * ♡

"Now, pour some the condensed milk mixture over the whole cake, and make sure that you pour it over the holes that I've made in the cake.", he directs, standing beside you to ensure that you were doing everything correctly.

You carefully pour a layer over the entire cake just as he says, making sure that you let the cake absorbs the mixture before you pour another layer over it. Your mouth is already watering seeing the cake turn moist from the amount of liquid it is holding.

"Time for the icing, take some of it from the bowl and gently spread it over the cake."

You look over at the bowl of icing and with the spatula in it, you scoop a dallop of icing and spread it evenly over the dessert. The icing on the cake looks just like the snow outside, soft and perfect.

"Now, you can add whatever toppings you'd like.", he says.

"The treat seems sweet enough as is, I think I'll add some dark chocolate so that you can also enjoy it with me.", you say as you unwrap some dark chocolate from the fridge.

With one hand holding the dark chocolate, the other raises the box grater on top of the cake. You found yourself struggling to grate the chocolate as the grater kept moving above the cake. Every attempt to grate the chocolate down the jagged surface resulted in uneven curls that fluttered onto the cake and stubborn chunks that clung onto the grater's teeth. Frustrated, you sigh in defeat.

Scaramouche watches you struggle the entire time, thinking that you look stupidly adorable for how you chose dark chocolate as the topping as that was the only chocolate that he could tolerate, and for how you tried to grate the chocolate despite never having tried a grater before.

"You're doing it wrong.", is all he says before he goes behind you, hands on your own, guiding you to put the grater down on a cutting board to grate the chocolate, producing perfect looking curls that can easily be scattered on top of the cake. "This is how it should be done."

You can hardly pay attention to what he is saying, in fact, you don't think you hear what he said at all. All you could focus on was the warmth that was transmitted from his hand to your own. You loved it, the warmth of his hand on yours, and the closeness of the both of you. It creates a warmth that spreads throughout your entire being, and you hope that it will continue to warm you until the year ends.

"Hey, earth to you? Are you there? The tres leches is done.", he quips, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

"Oh, sorry. But, oh, the tres leches looks absolutely delicious, scara. Let me take a few pictures and then we can try it.", you say as you whip out your phone to take a few shots of it from different angles.

Scaramouche watches you take out two forks when you finish, handing one to him and signalling to him to eat some of the cake.

You dig into the cake first, stuffing a large portion straight into your mouth. The flavours of the cake and the dark chocolate creates a symphony on your tongue, and you smile in delight.

He helps himself to a small piece of the dessert, however, making sure that he gets all the elements of it in the one piece. He can't deny that the bitterness of the dark chocolate really helps to balance out the sweetness from the moist cake, something that he tethers over constantly.

He loves you, for how you're willing to pick something bitter to top the cake despite your sweet tooth. He loves the thought of it so much that he hooks an arm over you to pull you close for a kiss on the cheek.

"So, was your wish fulfilled?", he asks, arm still hooked over your shoulders to keep you close.

"If you enjoyed it, then I'd say it's a success.", you , turning over to him to give him a sweet smile.

"Consider this a Christmas with fulfilment then. Merry Christmas, darling.", he murmurs, tilting his head to give you another kiss.

[neege]

Thinking about a weird au that takes place during the FWW—after the secret keeper has been selected but before the Potter's are killed and Sirius is framed—in which the marauder's swap places.

I'm thinking S/R would swap, and J/P would swap.

And when I say swap places, I mean they each wake up in the body of the other, with that person's thoughts, feelings, and memories. So instead of James waking up as Peter and acting as he believes Peter would act, it's like he's living as Peter. He has Peter's urges and motivations, memories, personality, but he's still James deep down, like he's observing Peter up-close and personal.

I don't know if I'm explaining this correctly or not, but imagine you wake up as a total stranger, and even though you know you're not quite you, and you're still able to think your own thoughts, you also know exactly how to navigate this stranger's life completely. You have access to their feelings and their habits. Something like that.

So we see a James who wakes up as Peter and slowly goes through the motions of being a secret death eater, spying on his own wife and friends. He's horrified, but unable to stop himself from acting as Peter usually would. He's so unfathomably angry, yet slightly shamed at himself for paying so little attention to his friend that he didn't notice. He's mostly angry.

Same with Peter, who now experiences James's extreme fear for his family's life. He's scared to die while I'm James's body, but it's surprised at how much he grows to fear seeing his own face. He experiences James's full trust in him, but also sees just how much he's underestimated by his closest friends. It's hurtful, but he's mostly ashamed.

Remus experiences the distrust everyone in the order directs at Sirius. He feels the protectiveness over James and Lily, but especially over Harry. He's overwhelmed by the insane amount of conflict that wars within Sirius, and the compulsion he has to save the people he loves most. The helplessness he feels at not being able to do more. He's gutted by the reveal that Sirius suspects he's the spy, but maybe he's surprised at the amount of heartbreak Sirius feels because of it. He wants to beg Sirius to trust him, but finds himself growing frustrated at himself as well for being so secretive and closed-down, knowing how much he's hurting inside.

And Sirius gets a front-row seat to the horrors of being a werewolf, both physically (maybe he transforms one moon), and mentally (the discrimination, the feeling of being helpless and knowing that you will never fully be accepted by your peers. Maybe he's surprised at how much he relates to this.) He wants to beg and scream at Remus to stop hiding, stop pulling away, and he wants to punch himself in the face. He's floored by his own cold indifference towards Remus, knowing how much he feels inside. He wants to shake himself and tell him to trust Remus, to trust his heart. Maybe the sheer amount of feelings and thoughts that Remus keeps inside at any given minute of the day is the most shocking to Sirius.

And if you want this to have a happy ending, somehow they're able to change the course of that Halloween night! Or maybe not, and maybe they have to watch everything burn down.

Would love to hear anyone's thoughts on this!!

[arget-star]

red 'cause i'm shy, you're my angel in white

Sakura Haruka x F!Reader

A/N: Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrates! I hope they are a joyful time <3 Title unashamedly taken from Christmas Love by Stray Kids This is set within the By Any Other Name verse, but you don't have to read that first :)

tags: none! just fluff :)

wc: 2k

about: Sakura has never experienced a traditional Christmas Eve. He wants to make is special for you

For all the mystery surrounding Sakura, he can be surprisingly easy to read. There’s no hidden agenda with him—what you see is what you get. Even his angry outbursts are easy to decipher, once you get to know him.

Something’s weighing heavy on his mind. That little crease forms on his forehead when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and you’ve caught him texting more than once over the last two weeks. His phone never stops buzzing, courtesy of Class 1-1’s group chat, but he usually scoffs and ignores the thing. Replies from him are a rare thing; a text conversation actually holding his attention is unheard of.

When you asked him about it, an offhand little inquiry over dinner one night, he’d shrugged. “Umemiya’s plannin’ our next captain’s meeting.” But he couldn’t meet your eyes as he said it. Sakura went as far as shoving his phone in his pocket, face a charming shade of pink. You didn’t push the matter; Sakura will tell you when he’s ready. It’s not like you’re concerned he’s cheating or involved in some nefarious matter. He’d struggled enough asking you out for your first official date. Not to mention, if he ever did try and pull some nonsense, Suo and Nirei wouldn’t hesitate in knocking sense back into Sakura’s head.

A day or so after you’d asked him, the texting stopped. He was more engaged than he’d been recently, so you considered everything done and over with. Whatever was going on sounded like Bofurin business.

The odd behavior starts up again a week before Christmas. This time around, along with the increased texting and furrowed brows, he keeps opening his mouth, like he’s about to ask you something, then closing it just as suddenly. You remain patient, despite the worry niggling the edges of your thoughts. Sakura’s demeanor towards you hasn’t changed. If he was upset about something you did, he’d be straightforward enough to tell you.

You both opted to stay in tonight—Sakura’s patrol ran late because everyone in town, according to him, needed help shoveling snow away from their storefronts. It’s sweet, how much he cares, and equally endearing how hard he tries not letting it show. You didn’t mind a lazy evening in yourself. End of term exams consumed your school hours, leaving you exhausted by the time the final bell rang.

You have a sneaking suspicion Sakura prefers lounging around his apartment. There’s no chance of anyone in town purposefully riling him up when they catch sight of the two of you together.

Curled up on the secondhand couch, you lean your weight against him, holding out a volume of some new manga Nirei had recommended. Sakura’s only half paying attention; he keeps asking you to go back a page, or who that character is, or why they’re at that other guy’s house. You’re in the middle of summarizing the last chapter when the cushions vibrate.

Sakura jolts. Fingers scramble for the phone laying underneath his thigh. You trail off mid-explanation, watching Sakura’s expression. A blush creeps up his neck despite the prominent frown curling his lips. The phone buzzes again, his knuckles tightening around the device. Yikes; whoever’s on the other end is in for it next time Sakura seems them in person.

One more buzz. His eyebrow—the white one—twitches. You close the tankōbon, setting it carefully beside you and shifting so your body is facing him. A charged silence settles around you. Patience can only go so far; you’re worried, and a little irritated he’s not making even the smallest attempt at communicating. More messages arrive in rapid fire succession. With each, Sakura’s cheeks turn darker, emanating a heat you can practically feel. He keeps sneaking glances at you, little flashes of gold from beneath a fringe of white bangs.

“Sakura, what’s going on?” You ask gently, daring to rest a hand atop his knee. Physical affection is still a gamble with him. The rules change depending on where you are, who you’re with, his overall mood. Figuring them out is a bumpy, ever evolving road; one you’re proud to navigate so long as it’s with him.

“Hah?” Nothin’!” He says, far too loudly, jumping both at your voice and touch. (Too late, he realizes you didn’t use his first name.) You remove your hand. He fumbles with the phone, finally turning it off and letting it drop unceremoniously into his lap.

Now you frown. Sakura isn’t the type to keep secrets. There are things he doesn’t discuss, like what led to his arrival in Makochi, and that’s fine. You don’t care about any of that. You do, however, care about what’s currently going on in his life, especially as it pertains to your relationship. “It’s clearly not nothing,” you reply, with more bite than you intend.

Mismatched eyes meet your own for what feels like the first time all evening. Gold and blue widen in momentary alarm; he’s caught, and you both know it. His throat works as he swallows back an undoubtedly angry retort. In any other circumstance, you’d be proud of him. Right now, you’d take his misplaced anger over whatever this is.

You’re rarely truly upset with him. Huffy over petty squabbles here and there, like any couple, things that blow over in an afternoon. This time, there’s genuine hurt flickering in your eyes, and Sakura notes how you’ve stopped touching him completely. A sigh escapes his nose a split second before the cursed phone buzzes again.

“They never shut up,” Sakura grumbles. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, turning his attention to the floor. “I asked ‘em for advice.”

You pause. The admission halts your rising annoyance in its tracks, makes you reconsider the situation. Christmas Eve is around the corner. Judging by his unspoken past, it would not surprise you to learn he’s never celebrated the holiday properly. Your heart skips a beat. You’d love to give everyone who ever made Sakura feel less an incredibly loud piece of your mind. Perhaps a taste of your fists, for good measure.

“Advice about what?” You prod softly. His phone remains untouched in his lap. A lengthy pause follows your question. You’re about to encourage him again when he finally, finally, catches your eyes.

“…D’you wanna go out on Christmas Eve? With me?” Using every ounce of will in his body, Sakura forces himself to stay put. A faint tremor runs through him with the effort. His brain screams at him to run, that old irrational fear of his that you’ll wind up laughing in his face overriding any reasonable thoughts to the contrary.

He knows he’s terrible at this. But you always take it in stride, smiling at him like he’s somehow worthy of being loved.

You’re smiling now. “Haruka,” you say with a surprised exhale—or perhaps it’s relief—cradling his burning face in your cool palms. “Of course I do.”

He’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name. He can’t take it anymore; he looks away, shoulders dropping as the tension leaks away. Dammit, when he tells everyone, they’ll blow up that stupid messaging app all over again. If he waits until he sees them in class, then he’s just asking for them to all pile on him in celebration. Which isn’t so terrible anymore, all things considered.

What a study in contradictions, you think, watching the gears turning in his head. The brilliant blush of his has yet to fade. He’s subtly leaning into your touch, and you swear you catch the faintest hint of a smile tucked in the corner of his lips.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” Initially, you’d planned to spend another quiet evening with him, laughing over homemade karaage while watching the snow fall outside.

“Yeah, well, I did!”

Honestly, you’re impressed he lasted this long without letting off some steam. It’s an improvement from the day he’d asked you out, officially—after barely getting the words out through gritted teeth and a blush to rival this one, he’d stalked off without waiting for your response. Later, you’d heard him yelling at who you assume was Suo-chan. You never did give Sakura a proper answer; just showed up at the agreed restaurant five minutes early and that was that.

Laughing, you release his face, settling back down on the couch. “Please tell everyone I said hello.”

“No.”

(It’s the first thing he does upon entering class the next morning.)

Sakura keeps his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as you stroll along Tonpu Street. Something as simple—as normal—as threading your fingers together is out of the question among the crowed streets. Too many eyes on him, too many people liable to say the wrong thing and set him off. Part of discovering his unspoken rules about physical affection required learning it’s not just how Sakura feels while doing it; it’s how others affect his overall feelings.

Put plainly, he doesn’t want to give anyone more ammunition to start a fight with him.

So you’ve found little ways to compromise. He maintains his dignity and you can still satisfy the urge to be affectionate with him. A desire you know for a fact he also feels. One day, you’re sure he’ll overcome whatever mental hurdle prevents him from doing so in public.

Tonight, you wrap your left hand around his right bicep, both of your shoulders brushing with every step. You prefer this arrangement to holding his hand, truthfully. Not that you’d ever tell him that—you don’t want to risk ruining his carefully built-up comfort.

“We helped put some of these up,” Sakura says, tilting his head at the many strings of lights crisscrossing the street. Their golden glow turns the snow the same burnished bronze as his eye.

“Beautiful,” you reply. Predictably, his cheeks redden, though you don’t think he caught on to the fact you meant him instead of the lights.

You steal glances at him as you wander down the street. Lights reflect off his hair, highlighting the snowflakes stuck to the black strands. He’s scanning the streets with the same purpose he does while on patrol, but you catch him lingering on all the Christmas displays. Beautifully decorated trees adorn various shop windows. Little kids all bundled up in jackets and beanies weave between the crowds, giggling as they clutch boxed up pastries in their gloved hands. A few couples pass by; Sakura misses the first pair, but he makes a surprised noise when the second one stops a few feet in front of you, the girl placing a kiss on her partner’s cheek.

Sakura’s arm tenses beneath you. Muffling a laugh, you tug him along, following the pervasive scent of fresh bread. “Come on. I think Cactus made Christmas cake!”

He follows for a couple steps without protest, if only to get away from the affectionate scene playing out in front of you, and then his brain catches up with your statement. “Christmas what?”

Again, you’re struck with the urge to pummel everyone who ever ignored Sakura. He’s rubbing off on me.

“Christmas cake!” You repeat cheerfully. That doesn’t answer his question, but he appreciates how you never make him feel like an idiot when he unintentionally reveals just how little he knows about the world. “Sponge cake with strawberries and whipped cream. It’s delicious.”

Sakura considers this. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth—all that sugar gives him a headache—but the last thing he wants to do is kill your enthusiasm. “If you say so.” It’s petulant, because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s trying, even if it doesn’t always seem that way.

You squeeze his arm and lead him through Cactus’ front door. One of the bakers snaps his head up from behind the counter to greet you and Sakura, recognition breaking across his face. “Oh, you’re one of the Furin boys! Hold on, please!”

What a difference it makes, being singled out for something other than his appearance.

A handful of other customers begin whispering to each other. You catch a faint thank you! from someone that goes unanswered. Sakura’s tensing up again, scowling through another blush. Another five seconds and he’ll start throwing punches. “Tch, I’m just takin’ care of business.”

You’ve stepped into his line of sight, prepared to calm him down should he need it. Pride glows warm in your chest instead; he’s looking off to the side as he says it, though you consider the fact he said it at all a victory. You smile, a soft, sweet thing, the type of smile that makes Sakura feel all weird inside. Weird in a good way, he determined all those months ago—because now he has the oddest impulse to smile right back.

The baker returns with a box in his hand. “Enjoy the cake, you two!”

Sakura’s almost-smile drops. He swipes the box, then pauses. “Ain’t this a bread place?”

“He means thank you,” you sigh. Tactful as ever, your Sakura. The baker, to his credit, looks unbothered. He waves before darting behind the counter to assist another customer. You usher Sakura out of Cactus, the little bell above the door chiming in time with your exit.

“It was a genuine question,” Sakura states, hands curled carefully around the box.

“They’re allowed to make other things. Like a special cake for Christmas.” A pause. “Ready to go home?”

You say it so casually. So easily. He doesn’t understand how you’re able to do that. He also doesn’t understand what’s so important about this damn cake, and why it makes your eyes sparkle, or why it suddenly matters to him that this is the best slice of sponge-strawberry whatever you’ve ever tasted.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice suddenly a little hoarse. “Let’s go.”

Truthfully, you would not have minded enjoying the Christmas lights a little longer. Everything felt more magical this year. Most likely due to the boy sitting on the tatami across from you, staring dubiously at the slice of the expertly crafted treat on his plate.

You’ve never spent Christmas Eve in love before.

But you could tell his already wire-thin patience was fraying down to practically nothing. The clear thought and effort he put into this entire evening is more than enough for you.

Sakura cuts off a piece of cake with his fork. You watch him eagerly, your own dessert momentarily forgotten. He chomps down on it, lowering the fork as he chews. A crumb clings to the corner of his lips.

“Well?” You prompt when he swallows.

“It’s…why’re you starin’? It’s good, alright?” There’s no anger behind the words; they’re just a reflex at this point.

Triumphant, you cut your own piece of cake, raising the fork in a mock toast towards him. “Merry Christmas, Haruka.”

That weird feeling returns. He almost—almost—wants to run away, or start shouting, but the reaction is delayed. Distant. Whatever you’ve done to him, he doesn’t hate it. Finding comfort in someone else isn’t the worst thing in the world. His expectations of other people have changed. Slowly. He’ll never completely shake what the lessons of his youth taught him, but he is grateful that tiny shift allowed you into his life.

“M-merry Christmas,” he replies, spearing another bite of cake onto his fork.

[iloveelliefanfics]

um... wuhluhwuh? part 2

a/n: heyy loveliest ellie fans thank you so much for loving the first part of this, i wanted to start by thanking you. here's the second part, if you haven't read part one here it is: part one, so yeah enjoy it and thank you for all the support!!

synopsis: it takes place a day right after, you ask her out to go to the Winter dance together :p (i saw a cute dellie edit and i thought I'd go with this)

proofread! wc: 1,6k

pairing: awkward ellie x reader

What the hell even happened yesterday? You question yourself at 2:13 am. You couldn't sleep. She was all over your mind, you tried to crush the imagination of her in your thoughts. Tried to get rid of how good you fit in her arms, how good it makes you feel hugging her. You can't even imagine how it would make you feel if she had the courage to kiss you yesterday. You thought to yourself "maybe I should've made the first move", there were a lot of maybe's and what if's. That didn't change anything even though you wished it would've. Does she sleep well? Does she even sleep? All you could think of was Ellie and the way she smiles at you, the way she makes you laugh, the way she makes you feel things you never thought was possible. You made the decision that you'll be brave. You'll ask her out. You'll ask if she'd like to go to the Winter dance. You knew she wasn't fond of these things but maybe spending time with you and being with you would make her want to go to that "stupid dance" as she liked to call it.

In the morning you woke up with four hours of sleep, tired but excited with a mixture of being nervous. You were excited for the dance but nervous of what Ellie would say. You did your morning routine, ready to go to Ellie's place to talk to her, -about the dance, about yesterday- you also had the feeling she wanted to talk to you. As you walked through town in the morning, greeting people, it reminded you how good it is to be a part of a community. Sometimes the days you spent outside and the feelings, the memories came back. You tried to think of something else on your way to your so-called friend. You wished those days never happened. You happened to have talked about those days to Ellie, in "exchange" she told you her story. You two were so similar it hurt. As all these thoughts were running through your mind, you arrived at Ellie's garage, hesitating before knocking. "C'mon Y/N, don't be a fucking coward, it's just a dance."

You knocked on the wooden door, with shaking hands, hearing loud footsteps from inside. As Ellie opened the door you noticed that she definitely had just woken up. Her hair was a mess, tiredness visible on her face that had come along with a big yawn. "Good morning Ellie!" You welcomed her with a big grin, trying to play off your nervousness.

"Morning Y/N." She said between yawns. You giggled at how sleepy she was. "Didn't sleep much last night huh?" You asked, mischievously.

"Couldn't sleep at all, but I'm guessing you didn't get much sleep either." She looked all over you, taking every inch of you. "Anyway come on in!" She stepped aside so you could walk through the door. "Yeah I... I couldn't either.." You mumbled while going inside. You sat down on her couch looking at the current comic she was reading. She sat down right next to you.

"So um, i kinda wanted to talk about something, specifically two things." You looked at her hoping she's willing to have the talk. "Yeah, Y/N, I'm all ears, wassup?" She asked and leaned closer to you, paying full attention to what you had to say.

"Basically just about yesterday... and today. I was actually wondering if you'd like to go to the dance with me... I know you said it's some stupid dance but i thought it would be great hanging out and y'know, ju-" You couldn't finish, she put her hand on your left thigh and gave you a reassuring smile.

"Of course I'd like to go with you" You looked at her tattooed arm that was resting on your thigh now, feeling flushed. "N-nice! Um... and about yesterday... uh, y'know the almost kiss..." It's like she can read your mind, she finished your sentence. "It didn't happen cause it wasn't the right time. I hesitated because i didn't know if you'd want it, if you'd want me. But now that you're bringing it up, I have a feeling you would've wanted it." She was now caressing your thigh. She never showed this side of hers. It was bold and just not that Ellie awkward who's all about her comics. What demon took her? You questioned.

"Okay first of all, when did you become so fucking bold and straightforward about kissing me or even wanting me? Second of all, of course I wanted it, third of all, what is happening??" It was like you panicked, she sensed how tense you were and placed her left hand on your face, forcing you to look at her.

"Hey, it'll happen when the right time comes. I want it to be special. I want it to be so fucking memorable because that's what you deserve." She was now caressing both your thigh and face, making you feel relaxed and safe.

"O-Okay... Um, so what do we do now?" You placed your hand on hers, pressing your cheek to her palm.

"Let's watch a movie, then we could find out later what we could do." She smirked at you, which made you flushed even more. But she seemed to be really smitten by you and her face was all red. It was adorable.

The two of you spent your time until the dance with watching movies, playing games, and Ellie made you read some comics with her. She was actually just explaining the lore of her current comic while you tried to read it. It's been a while since you laughed this much. You were glad it was with her. She always made you smile, and always made your day brighten up. You were so thankful that she is your friend. Or maybe soon to be girlfriend. You two now started flirting, and getting closer, the stolen glances lasted longer. It was really a matter of time now. Before the dance the two of you separated to get ready, both of you agreed to meet later on.

At the dance

You arrive to the dance feeling nauseous from how nervous you are. You walk in and see your friend Dina dancing around and Jesse and Ellie talking at the bar table. You wipe your hands in your jeans, and walk towards your friends.

"Hey guys, wassup?" You try to be casual, but can't stop grinning when Ellie looks at you and walks up to you to hug you.

"Heyyy Y/N" She hugs you tightly, taking your scent in. "I'm glad you're here" She pulls away from the hug, setting her drink down.

"I'll let you two talk." Jesse nods towards you and Ellie then winks at her, he walks away, leaving you two alone.

"Let's go dance!" You try to yell over the music that was playing and you pull Ellie towards the dance floor. She smiles at the way you intertwine your fingers with her. She puts her arms around your waist, pulling you closer to her. You put your arms around her neck and tuck a strand of her behind her ear.

"Sooo... did you miss me in those very long hours we spent separately?" You chuckle while asking it as a joke, but her expression doesn't soften, it hardens and her face turns from happy to serious.

"I very much missed your joking ass." Her tone is serious and tough but still has a hint of mischievousness. You were left speechless. As you dance with her it feels like it's the best night of your life. The memories you made together so far, and how far you've overcome your fears with her. So deciding it is the right time you lean closer to her face.

"I think this is the right time." You whisper and kiss her. At first she doesn't kiss you back, surprised by your sudden move but when she comes back to Earth she kisses you back.

Ellie's pov:

She thought to herself that she can't believe you wanted to go to this dance with her, She never thought you'd want to be with her.

"How the fuck did I win this gorgeous girl?" She mumbled as she put down her journal. You only ever lived in her journal, the sketches she made of you, the songs she's written about you.

"Maybe I could play one of them tonight after the dance if it goes well with her." She said to herself again, lost in thoughts.

"Okay Ellie you can't fuck this up, if you fuck up, you fuck up your friendship too." She mumbled to herself as she put on her outworn converse sneakers, ready to go to the dance.

At the dance; Ellie's pov:

She's at the bar with Jesse talking about you.

As the two of them were talking she sensed your presence, as she turned around she saw the biggest grin on your face that she could ever imagine. As she hugged you tightly she wished she could stay in this moment with you. You felt so good between her arms, your scent was the best thing she had ever taken in, you were mesmerizing. You invited her to dance, she was thinking whether or not would be the time to finally take matters into her hand and kiss you. She was so nervous but happy. Happy to be with the girl she's had a crush on from the very first day. You took the first step and kissed her, taking her off guard, but she kissed you back. After this you can be sure as hell that her journal pages will be dedicated to you even more, and a song will be played for you tonight.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms #5

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Taglist open: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan @polytheatrix

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, mentions of blood.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

April 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.  

The melody played with your senses, in a way that when you turned you could only hear it with one ear at a time. And you turned and turned, and his hand guided you through the room, occasionally pressing his chest against yours. It wasn't so bad, his warmth was unbearably comfortable.

Without warning, a nauseating smell of tobacco and liquor filled the dining room, coming from a door you didn't recognize behind the stairs. "Don't pay attention to the door, darling." Alastor's voice was distorted and sounded like a broken gramophone. "There's nothing a doll like you should worry about," you recognized that voice, as well as his breath smelling of blood and seafood. 

The realization and the whole heavy atmosphere crushed you. Alastor's thin, calloused hands were exchanged for larger and fat ones, with cold rings that sent shivers up your spine. 

As soon as you tried to move away from him, multiple hands broke the wood under you, trapping your body in place. 

The only thing you could hear between the laughter of the wretch behind you was your desperate attempts to push your way through his fingers. You managed to take a few steps towards the door, but when your fingers were about to touch the handle, black water began to rise from between the wooden floorboards.

Sobbing and screaming, you fell into the water, unable to hold on to anything. Is this how you would die? Consumed by fear and darkness? 

Y/n?

Y/N!

- Y/N wake up! It's just a nightmare! - you heard something in the darkness, away, very far away. A lady’s voice calling you from a speck of light floating in the void. - You’re safe, open your eyes, please - the voice pleaded, a thick accent more present in it.

You struggled to open your eyes, even more so to adjust your vision to the street lamp post shining just outside your window. Your chest heaved up and down as the cold air burned down and out your lungs. 

Your body was heavy and drenched in sweat. Unclenching your muscles and hands from the tense state they were was a very unpleasant sensation, although the word falls short. As you let go of the sheets your hands clicked and cramped, provoking you letting out puffs of air through your nose, teeth gritting given the pain.

The clock marked one o’clock in the morning. Not that you cared, it wasn’t the first time that it happened. You took one pill of methaqualone every two days, for insomnia. It was prescribed that way because it causes addiction and severe withdrawal symptoms, and Rosemary thought that given your story with opium and aphrodisiacs, you’d had enough of addiction related issues. 

Taking one more pill would do you more harm than good, so you thought a glass of water and a short walk in the garden might do the trick.

It was nothing new, you just did what Rosemary did the first time you had withdrawal attacks. With a damp towel you wiped the sweat off your body, gagging several times as you lowered the towel down your torso. The cold helped a lot to contrast the heat of your body, without actually numbing your skin.

You quickly looked at yourself in the mirror, the reflection of your sunken eyes and prominent facial bones passing through your eyes. However, after opening them again, you could notice some pink tones on your cheeks, your face was definitely fuller and healthier. You no longer looked like a ghost. 

For many years you couldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror, so you avoided them. Now that you were slowly getting better, could you? Or did the you before the brothel die with no way to get her back?

You decided not to dwell on it too much and changed your nightgown and sheets, walking with both to the laundry basket, prepping them for cleaning at a more appropriate hour. 

On your way down, you noticed Alastor’s door was open, and he was clearly not inside. Down in the kitchen, his plate was still inside the fridge, untouched. So it was obvious to you that he was doing his secret activities and he was running awfully late. You grabbed a glass of water and sat in between the laundry room and the steps to the garden. 

After a few minutes you heard the rattling of keys and the main door opening and closing. Then Alastor's footsteps, slow, almost dragging his feet against the floorboards. Without even looking at him you could tell he was exhausted.

When he was next to the kitchen, the shape of your morning robe at the end of the way made him freeze in place. He had no explanation of why he wasn’t home yet, he assumed you’d already be asleep, so he didn’t need one. 

But he also couldn't hide the fact that he hadn't just arrived home, stinking of blood and sweat, so he tried as best he could to make his voice sound like he was simply returning from overtime at work.

"Good evening, Y/n, I thought you would already be asleep" the casual tone and your name on his lips indicated a danger sign, so you weren't going to turn around for anything in the world.

“I woke up, couldn’t go back to sleep…here I am” Your body was still shaking from the overwhelming dream and the pat down, the water didn’t wash down the taste of bile in the back of your throat, and to top it all the stench of blood Alastor carried, made you sicker.

“Give me a minute” you heard him run upstairs, then he came back down around fifteen minutes later. 

“Can you give me some room?” you scooched a little to the edge of the entrance. “Here, warm milk and honey” you grabbed the mug welcoming the tenderness and the sweet vapors. “Holy shit” you looked at his face, seeing a cut over his lip and a dark bruise on his cheek. 

“Don’t mind it” his voice was stern, firm. It was so filled with an accent that was not his usual transatlantic one, as he once put it. It was raw, to put it simply. 

You reached a hand towards him, getting yourself ready in case he wanted to slap your intent away. He didn’t, his gaze was fixed on the garden fence, aware of your sudden touch. 

“Can I at least clean it?” your thumb barely caressed the edge of the cut, it wasn’t a deep one, but it definitely took a couple hits to make it. “No, thank you anyhow, ma chére” he smiled, weakly leaning against your touch, then making a strange displeased face and taking your hand off his face. 

You took one big sip of the sweet beverage, relaxing with the warm feeling traveling down your chest. “Did you have a nightmare again?” you almost spit out the milk when he asked, “Again?” you coughed out, a hand in your chest for support. “I’ve figured they are nightmares for the way sometimes I catch the sound of sheet rustling from your room” he had made a pitiful look towards you, also seeing your hand grab the hem of your robe, and twist it between your fingers.

“Shit, I’m-” you tried, but he interrupted you, taking one of your loose strands of hair into his index and thumb. “Not to offend you dear, but don’t apologize. Never apologize for the things you had to do to survive, and how the very same affect you afterwards” he let the strand slide from his finger and fall onto your shoulder, before patting his knees and standing.

“Now, how about you finish your milk before it gets cold and you take a crack at sleeping again?” he took a few steps towards the laundry and then offered his hand to you, which you took, now more at ease, he noticed. 

As he helped you up, you gathered enough courage to ask, “What happened that made you come back so late?”. It did make Alastor think of a proper lie, but whatever he could think disintegrated like ash in his mouth. “It was my turn to dust off the equipment” which if you wished to verify with your cousin you’ll find that it was indeed true. 

But that didn’t explain the bruises. He followed your gaze and guessed you were still fixed on his small injury. “And I ran into an unpleasantry. But don’t fret, everything is just fine and dandy, as always” with your hand still in his, he placed a kiss on your disfigured knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Okay”, He knew you were no idiot and you didn’t swallow his half-told lie, but for the moment, it would have to do. 

For you it didn’t, it just piled up to the suspicions you were taking notes of. 

Four months had passed since the wedding. During that time you knew that something was awfully wrong with your so-called husband. It all became clear with the stench of blood, and how Alastor only returned home late the days the police weren't outside to make sure you didn't break the agreement. 

The first couple of times you thought it was a coincidence, but after two months, that had to be a pattern. 

Then - a few days after - a horrible smell began to spread through the house. One day you finished cutting some weeds from between the buds of your flowers. You searched like crazy for the source of the smell throughout the house, the bathrooms, under the kitchen sink, and so on.

You followed the stench until you came across an all too familiar space under the stairs. A space with wallpaper that was too new compared to the rest of the wall. Newly pasted and stuck to a hollow space. When you removed it, there was a door.

After ripping the fake layer and pushing the wooden door open, a thought burned from the depths of your mind, just like the disgusting smell that escaped from the basement, death.

You knew how it looked. 

Bloated limbs, a pale hue around the eye sockets, blue lips, veins popping. Scratched fingertips, purple patches of skin, red abrasions.

How it smelled. 

Vinegar-like smell, sour, pungent. The smell crawls under your skin, making you remember it for weeks. It takes your stomach in its grip and twists mercilessly. It stings your eyes, even your tongue as you breathe.

You know how it made you feel. Just never experienced it, not physically.

It didn't take you long to understand, the frozen hand among the butchered meat was a horrifying fact.

You married a murderer. 

What would have been the best way to react? A normal person would have probably packed their bags, alerted the police and left the house immediately.

But it was as if you were frozen in place, the little bit of lunch you had earlier, threatened to rise up your throat with every breath.

If your husband went to jail, you'd be in even more trouble than you were already in. You'd be even more unprotected, you'd end up either back with your cousin or worse, back at your father's house and then sent away again. 

That's what they would do unless the mobsters found you first. They say a bird in hand is worth two in the bush, in this case, two killers in the house against ten mobsters and thugs. Keeping him close perhaps...would be better than pushing him away.

But if that were the case, what would become of you after the year of arrest had passed? Would you end up on the same bloody steel table in front of you? Cut into pieces in a refrigerator?

Thinking about that, why would he have cut parts in a freezing unit? Unless. You checked the type of cut on one of the pieces defrosted by the malfunctioning machine, it was similar to the ones he brought from the butcher shop.

Either he was a cannibal or a seller. In this dire situation, you hoped for the latter. 

You moved the heavy container, it rattled and screeched, but you managed to move it enough until the back of it was in view. 

Against the concrete wall was a charred corpse of a rat, it must have chewed through the wires, ruined the equipment and lost its life in the process. “Sorry, but you should’ve known better, buddy" you pushed it away to bury later. 

Luckily Alastor had enough tools around to do a temporary rewiring. Although you knew you shouldn’t do him any favors, you figured it would atone his rage if you fixed it and saved whatever you could, rather than do nothing and add that to the fact that you broke into his space.

You burnt your fingers with the energy left in the cables after disconnecting them. Having finished the repair, you then set to separating what was tender and what was still frozen, salvaging what you could. There were two different coloured meat, one with a caucasian hue, - definitely not pork - and another darker, deer. You marked each with a different symbol to keep yourself safe. 

Even though you sealed the cause of the bad smell in a garbage bag, the stench was still in the air. With tears in your eyes you cleaned the entire basement, with all the cleaning chemicals you could find in the basement, until there were only chemical fumes.

For the first time in months you had to use the cream that Rosemary gave you, the chemicals burned through the gloves and bandages, to avoid the itching and burning you thought the ointment would be better, it didn't improve but it made it less strong.

After moving the meat in 'good conditions' to the freezer upstairs, you prepared a piece of human flesh to make meatballs. He had a meat grinder and a frying pan designated to that kind of business, so you simply followed the recipe, without tasting what you cooked, for obvious reasons. You had the pasta and sauce ready, so all you needed was for him to come home.

“Darling, you won’t believe it, the sponsors came to the station” you heard the door and the stumbling of the coat rack at the entrance, while Alastor was excited and happy. “They gave me the news segment, to talk about crimes and the Axeman!” you shouted ‘kitchen’ as he spoke to indicate him where to go.

“That’s amazing, welcome home” you congratulated him, sort of, setting up his spot on the table. “You didn’t need to wait for me” sometimes you did that, so you could indulge him, but most of the times you ate without him, (a portion a little less lady-like) and then served him, “I didn’t, but you worked all day, I wanted to have something warm for you”.

Alastor sat as you handed him a napkin to shield his white dress shirt and crimson vest from the red sauce. “Well how nice of you, my dear, much appreciated” he was truly thankful to have someone to cook, now he could ‘work’ until late hours without going to sleep without dinner. 

But his happiness would not last because when he put a piece of meatball in his mouth, and recognized the flavor, his eyes gave him away. ‘Fuck’ he thought, making it seem as if he closed his eyes because of his enjoyment and not stress.

“How is it?” you saw the change in his demeanor before turning to hide the ‘special’ frying pan in the sink to clean it. “Let me know if it has too much or little salt” oh he saw what you were doing, but two can play this game. “It’s perfect” How did you raise the gut to do this for him? What are you going to do next, immediate confrontation or just go ahead and cut off his head? Oh how excited he was to find out. 

Alastor had a chill of adrenaline run up his spine when you circled him as he chewed. He noticed a change in your walk, it was more secure, confident. Your hand slid across the table, then up his arm to his shoulder in a slow pace, agonizingly slow. You continued until he felt your breath hit the back of his neck. He bit his lip as soon as your arms were around his shoulders.

"You said you didn't have the need to lie to me" you began, with your scarred side softly pressed against his temple. 

"I did" your skin was dry, rough - he noted - but that didn’t matter, your new attention got under his skin, deeply. He was barely paying attention to your words, watching your fingers undo his bowtie.

"Yet you failed to mention the busted freezer in the basement, or that you even have a basement" Your voice was soft, calm and accusatory. It made Alastor nearly choke on a piece of meat. 

"I managed to save most of it, whatever was not tender enough to be bad" you heard him breathe, his chest rising up and down slowly. "Thank you, my darling, it was mostly venison" he had a hard time swallowing a piece of meat, his voice breaking as he spoke. 

"You and I both know that it's not, unless there’s a new kind of deer with hands instead of hooves" you pressed your lips together, only to make a pop sound next to his ear. "I cleaned everything downstairs, every single tool, even the blood behind the counter". You showed him you took off your gloves, so he could see your reddened skin because of the cleaning products. 

"I know what you are…Am I going to be next?" Despite your skills, you couldn't help but shiver at the thought of how he stalked and killed his victims.

"No, of course not" he made it seem as if it was obvious. Sure, if he wanted you dead, he probably wouldn’t have waited so long to try something. But every psychopath, like animals, taunt their prey differently. 

Everything was going fine within your plan to squeeze the truth out of him, but something very deep in your mind snapped, and thoughts started spirling through your mouth. 

"I should've seen it coming, I mean, why would you have said 'I do' in the first place if you weren’t insane?" you wanted to keep your calm stance, but your breath hitched, a couple of sweat drops fell from your brow. 

"A murderer and a man eater- uh no, that sounds wrong" a sudden feeling of repulsion forced you away from his warmth. "It only makes sense, why does it make sense?" you paced around the kitchen, reaching the edge of the sink, since your head started spinning, you rather have your head somewhere easy to clean. "I don't feel well", you pressed your hand to your chest, like that was going to stop your racing heart.

"Darling-" he stood up, like an instinct. He made his way towards you, just to see you draw a butcher knife from the sink, to hold it in the space between you. "Step back" you warned, at that he chuckled, his stare unmistakably challenging. 

"Are you going to kill me, my darling?" how could he maintain a smile in such a moment? one reason, you thought, he believed you frail or weak. "Can't, a life in prison is not worth your blood on the floor", and also you’d probably have to clean that too.

"Can't say I'm touched" in reality, he’d be lying if he didn’t think you incapable of harm in your bandaged state. He mused, keeping his eyes on yours, watching them drift anywhere but his stare. 

"Yeah? Well me either, I didn't even want to marry a sociopath, or anyone for that matter!" raising your voice after so long felt painful, like you were pulling a strain more than you should.

Everything should’ve been under control, but of course you had to start hyperventilating to top it off. "Why can nothing be easy? NOTHING! I get out, to be trapped again" Alastor watched you now with a concerned look, making no move to aid you, and to not get accidentally cut. "But that's how you like it, right?" you murmured, eyes filled with rage.

The walls darkened, the smell of rust hit you like a tidal wave. Everything was damp, or was it just you? The air felt heavy, your knees trembled and threatened to give out. Nothing made sense, at least you had that in the midst of the mental fog, you had to find an anchor to get out of the horror, because there was no way you were going to be in the cell again. Right?

"Y/n" he called you, but his voice didn’t reach your ears. "Just another one of your games, because of course you must like games" Alastor felt your words, you were staring at him, but somehow he felt as if you weren’t talking to him directly, "You're a hunter, you must see people as prey" you joked to ease yourself, but the moment your eyes went up to his eyes, you saw how he agreed wordlessly.

Your back hit a wall, which one? You didn’t know. 

"You know what? I've had it” you waved the knife, causing him to step back. “Do what you must, just bury me with my eyes closed or I'll come back to haunt you" Again, were you talking to him? He felt as if you were looking at a ghost, or many people at once given the speed your eyes moved around. 

He backed up to rest his hip against the counter. Thinking of a way he could ground you back from your fright. 

"I see it as a calling" he began, eyes closed as if he was summoning back that thrill. "It's like a magnet, it pulls something from within me, and... I follow it” and quite a strong pleasant pull, it always leads to a rotten soul who deserves to be eliminated. 

“That look on your face, the day we met" he got your attention with that memory, "That raw hatred, fear, that alert state, permanently making your body jump, keeping your mind awake" your brow moved closer, showing just how confused - or rather disgusted - you were.

"Tormented, yet so alive, I was drawn to that, in an unusual way" Now, he had absolutely no idea how to ground people with ptsd, but his monologue got you out of the cell, and dissipated the rusty smell. 

"My miserable self?" there you were, your defensive stance was back. 

"Your anger. Made me realize you're not different from me" you shook your head before answering, without knowing what truly led him, you knew you had a different motivation, "I disagree".

He only took a step forward when you dropped the knife. "Look me in the eye, tell me that you haven't had someone else's blood on your hands" he smiled, making you swallow a lump of saliva. "You read the file" he didn’t answer, nor did you ask really. "Answer me, please" how he said it, was so insistent but soft at the same time, it coaxed you to be honest, "I have".

He smiled, for the first time in four months he was having a conversation with you in his same language. "How did it feel?" you shook your head as soon as the rust threatened to come back. "Just nod if I'm right".

"You had your first scream, it ripped from your vocal cords out. With the first punch came the second, then the broken nose, blood and saliva on your knuckles. Every grunt of pain from them, released a knot from your stomach. Your mind was in a haze. Bolts of electricity jolting your every nerve. You wanted him dead, so you made it a reality" he had you cornered. His hand under your chin to maintain your eyes on his. 

"Have you ever had a moment when you felt truly alive, like that day?" his lips were so close, his nose touched yours softly, was he going to kiss you? Right now? "When I made it through the enrollment test" you whispered, taking Alastor by surprise, with new information.

"What?" he was taken aback, and so he turned to the drawer in which the file was stashed. "I knew it" you smiled, "You didn't read the file" ever so matter of factly you victoriously declared. He stepped back, eyes on the drawer, "I will, eventually". 

"You should've read it beforehand" without warning, Alastor’s head hit the ground. Lights out almost immediately. 

Almost. 

After a while of patching him up, you called Howard to his house, to explain, lousily, that your husband wouldn't be in conditions to go to work in a couple days. "Sorry Howard, is there anyone that can cover for him tomorrow?" luckily the next day was a friday and the news segment was on mondays. "He raised his hand, I reacted" you defended yourself. 

"He'll be fine" Howard asked you if he hurt you, "He didn't, he was just raising his hand and I...it was a reflex" an innocent accident. But he was in a good mood and swallowed your big fat lie, so he told you it was okay and hung up.

Seconds after you heard him, a groan of pain echoed through the hallway. "Sorry" you walked to his side, wrung out a small towel in a bowl of water, wicking away excess sweat and cleaning an accidental cut on his torso. "I had it coming" he certainly did, but he had you right where he wanted to, angry, truthful. 

"No", you cleaned the side of his face that hit the cabinet earlier - well, that you smashed against the cabinet earlier-. "You aimed at my gut, knees, and eyes. Even the back of my head, but never my throat, why?" Well, if we were being truthful, "You like the broadcast, I hear it everytime you talk about it" and also it would raise suspicions and probably his anger. 

He chuckled, a smile ear to ear on his face. "I don't know how you can smile after what I did..." you remembered he still doesn’t know what you did, "...To you" and given that, you corrected yourself. 

"How did it feel?" he took your hand, making you flinch against his flesh. "You wanted to teach me a lesson?" he caressed himself with your hand, still smiling as if he had won. "To show me just how much pain you can inflict" you didn’t respond, just rolled your eyes. 

"Honestly, I thought you'd rather stay in jail than with me, after finding out" the thought of it made you uneasy. "You knew I would?" he nodded in response, "One way or another. You're smart, you know that, hence why you don't let others see that" he kissed the cuff scar on your wrist. 

"People don't like smart-mouths" you watch his subtle touches on your hand, as your free one washed the remaining blood off his chest. "Men, as you noticed, don't like blunt and rough women" his look, his so arrogant grin and glint in his eye. 

You coughed out a high toned laugh, "HA! And you're going to tell me you do? And, that you find it attractive? Turns you on?, or are you going to take pity on me?" you hummed defiantly,  "That I'm special, pretty, that you can help me? Release my bindings and take me over the green hill?!" with one strong yank, you released yourself from his touch. 

"We're in this situation because my cousin doesn't want to deal with me, and because you need a social cover to not seem suspicious, and now I know the real reason why!" when your voice started rising, it took a couple seconds to lower it down again. "You don't even like me, and I certainly don't like you". Having finished cleaning the blood on his head, you rinsed the towel and threw the filthy water down the bathroom sink.

"I marked the meat that isn't deer, and rewired the freezer, but please buy a new one, I don’t like the stench of death" you couldn’t face him, not with his bruises and not while feeling the cramping that your own strength made on your hands, "I'll come check on you later".

"I thought you didn't like me" for his smug tone, you yanked one of the pillows supporting his head making him fall down to the first one with a yelp, "You're my husband, taking care of you is the only way I can pay you back for supporting me". 

"You have a beautiful smile" you were about to leave, but his words made you stoop in your tracks. "What?" he pointed to his head as he explained himself, "When you began banging my head against the floor, you smiled".

It was none but a deranged smile, but it made him so happy to see something else but sorrow in your face. "I know you don't like me, but I believe we at least understand each other". And then it made sense to you, "You allowed me to hurt you, why?" he nodded once, "You needed it, I saw it, and if I have to be honest…I enjoyed it".

Your puzzled look, trying to find some sense into the whole evening made him laugh, "Me seeing through your walls scares the living shit out of you, doesn't it?" he continued to chuckle. "And that amuses you" you arched a brow, hands to your waist not believing what you had in front of you.  

"Like you have no idea" his smile, you wish you could sew it shut and rip it off. “Ugh, you’re impossible" you groaned. “On another note” you turned to see him, “It is beyond lovely to see your true expressions” your grossed out expression had him on the verge of breaking in a fit of laughter. “You’re so weird” he gasped, “Because I love your true self? Darling I’m hurt” he pressed his hand to his chest, in dramatical pain.  

“Shut up” you closed the door behind you, hearing him chuckle to himself still, “Poetry”.

[tales-of-wocdes]

Happy holidays!

You watch all the goings on at the orphanage. The kitchens are so busy....

Something is happening.

You can smell it. Literally. All the food smells really good.

You dash from the door of your own room, and make your way towards the kitchens.

You peek behind the corner....

It's too busy, too many people are working right now. You won't be able to sneak in easily...

"Here, kid." A hand with something awesome in it appear before you. "Try that. It's some kind of puff pastry and plum jam. The kitchens are cranking them out in the hundreds. They are pretty good."

You barely glance at Lexia and bite into he pastry... while it is still in her hand. Your are bad at holding stuff anyway.

You munch down happily. It is crumbly, warm and tasty...

Lexia chuckles at you. "Good?"

You nod and eye the little pieces of pastry left in her hand, considering if you should eat those too...

"Lexia, did you steal pastries?" Havard was walking down the hallway, eyeing Lexia. He is carrying a basket of something.

Lexia lifted her hands, making the crumbs fall to the ground.

You watch, disappointed. You should have gone for them when you had the change... You eye the ground.

"I did it for the kid!" Lexia says.

Your gaze snaps up. Is she pushing the fault onto you! You were just eyeing the kitchens, you didn't sneak in yet!

Havard's smiles at you. "Don't worry, MC." He says and actually pulls out another pastry from the basket! "I was coming to find you anyway." He says. "Careful, the jam is hot."

"Hey! Don't I get any!" Lexia demands.

"Depends, how many did you steal?" Havard asks, eyeing her.

"That has no bearing on the current matter." Lexia says. "I shared with MC anyway."

You pay no attention, devouring the second pastry with gusto. Crumbs and all. So tasty!

Havard and Lexia keep talking about something...

You just follow Havard and stare at the basket...

He might have more pastries in there.

You have no idea what all the fuss is about, but you like the pastries.

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I am traveling/on holiday and not actively online! This was pre-written.