#and it's messy and complicated and bittersweet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 8 months ago

Note

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom.

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.)

Word Count: 6.2k

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here) 

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

The Beginning:

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!

That is, until…

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━

The During:

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━

The After — Part One:

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!” Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”

“Adrian,” you warn again.

The next bit happened all so quickly.

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━

The After — Part Two:

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”

You feel your body grow lighter.

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

Beginning Again:

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much�� And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.

Your love has come back for you.

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.

And wait.

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.

“What?”

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further.

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3.

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard imagine #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania imagine #castlevania x reader

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kiszjuli · 4 months ago

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・── love or leave .ᐟ (L.TY)

(태용) ; fem!reader x lee taeyong

──in which love has always felt like a risk you’re not willing to take. but taeyong was someone who makes it feel safe, maybe even possible. falling for him was never part of the plan, and you don’t know how to let him stay.

genre. angst. romance. self sabotage. ; tags. bittersweet romance. slightly suggestive. patient!taeyong x guarded!reader. emotional conflict. ; w.c 3.6k

find part two here .ᐟ

you’re not completely sure when taeyong became part of your daily routine. it wasn’t something you planned, wasn’t something you consciously let happen. but somehow, he’s just… there. always.

it starts with small things.

texting turns into late-night calls, where his voice is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep. casual hangouts turn into hours spent in his or your apartment, legs tangled on his couch as he absentmindedly traces shapes on your knee while talking about everything and nothing. the way he looks at you lingers longer than it should, and sometimes—only sometimes—you catch yourself staring back.

you don’t talk about what this is. you don’t ask if it means anything.

but you feel it.

one evening, you’re at his place, half-draped over his bed, scrolling through your phone while he sits on the floor, leaning against the edge of the mattress.

“you’ve been quiet today.” his voice is soft, but it still pulls you from your thoughts.

you blink, turning your head to look at him. “just tired.”

he hums, unconvinced. “tired, or overthinking?”

you huff a small laugh, tossing your phone onto the bed and sitting up. “since when did you become an expert on me?”

taeyong tilts his head, considering. “since you started letting me in.”

his words shouldn’t make your heart skip, but they do.

there’s something in the way he says it, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. and maybe it is. because you have let him in. more than anyone else.

it’s dangerous. and you don’t particularly like it.

but when he shifts onto the bed beside you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, you don’t pull away.

not yet.

—

the first time taeyong kisses you, you let him.

you don’t think about what it means, don’t let yourself process how natural it feels when his lips move against yours, slow and careful, like he’s making sure you have every chance to pull away. but you don’t. instead, you let yourself sink into him, let yourself get lost in the warmth of his hands cradling your face, in the quiet way he breathes your name like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

for once, you don’t overthink. you just let it happen.

and maybe that’s the problem. because in the days that follow, you realize that one moment, one night of letting yourself fall, has the power to undo everything you’ve built to protect yourself.

you’ve never been the type for relationships. too messy, too complicated, too much of a risk. feelings were unpredictable, and love? love was just another word for inevitable disappointment. you had learned that lesson before, and you weren’t about to relearn it now.

but taeyong makes it hard.

he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand more than you’re willing to give. instead, he lingers; waiting, watching, showing up when you least expect him but somehow always when you need him. he’s steady, unwavering in his patience, in the way he lets you keep your distance but never lets you forget he’s there.

and that scares you more than anything.

because if there’s one thing you’ve always been good at, it’s running. but taeyong?

he’s the first person who makes you want to stop.

—

the room is dim, the quiet only broken by the low music in the background and the occasional sound of traffic from outside. you and taeyong were sitting close on the couch, your shoulders brushing, your legs just barely touching. it’s intimate without being obvious, the kind of closeness that feels more like an unspoken invitation than anything else.

his gaze is focused on you, a little too intense, but not in a way that makes you want to pull away. Instead, it pulls you in. you find yourself looking at his lips for just a second too long, and when you catch him staring back, the air between you shifts.

“you’re thinking about something,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost teasing.

you try to act normal, shifting in your seat to pretend like nothing’s changed. “just lost in thought.”

he doesn’t buy it. his hand moves toward you, slow and careful like always, until his fingers lightly graze the back of your hand. the touch is brief but enough to make your pulse spike. you’re frozen for a split second, but then you meet his gaze, and there’s no mistaking the desire behind it.

“you sure? you don’t seem like you’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice quieter now.

before you can answer, he shifts just a little closer, his knee brushing against yours. it was subtle, but it sends a shiver down your spine. he’s so close, you can feel the heat radiating off his body, his presence surrounding you in a way that feels both comforting and dangerous.

his hand, still resting near yours, moves just a fraction closer, his fingers lightly brushing the inside of your wrist. the touch is soft, testing, and you feel a tightness in your chest. you look up at him, heart pounding, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he feels the same pressure building between you.

“you’re making it hard to focus,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper.

his other hand reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his touch featherlight. you breathe in sharply, your chest tightening at the intimate gesture.

“taeyong…” your voice is barely audible, more of a breath than anything else.

he leans in, his lips hovering just above yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. not yet. instead, he waits, and the space between you feels charged, filled with all the things neither of you is saying.

“i don’t want to rush,” he says, his lips almost brushing against your skin as he speaks. “but i can’t stay this close to you and not feel what you’re making me feel.”

your breath hitches at his words. his hand moves down your arm tenderly, until his fingers curl around your wrist. you feel like you can’t breathe, like the world outside this bubble between you two doesn’t matter anymore.

he leans in just a little more, his nose brushing against yours, and in that moment, you’re not sure who’s waiting for who to make the next move.

the space between you two feels electric now. your heartbeat picks up as taeyong’s gaze lingers on you—eyes intense, searching yours as if trying to read every unspoken word. his hand, still resting on your wrist, feels like it’s grounding you, but at the same time, it’s pulling you closer to him in a way you can’t ignore.

the closeness, the undeniable tension, makes everything seem slower.

his voice is low, almost a whisper. “i’m not pressuring you. but i won’t pretend i don’t want you. do you feel that too?”

your chest tightens at his words, the heat pooling in your stomach. it’s so easy to deny what you feel, to tell yourself it’s all just a passing moment. but the way he looks at you, the way his fingers move so gently against your skin, makes you feel like there’s no turning back.

you meet his gaze, swallowing hard. “and if i do?” the words feel like they slip out before you can even think.

taeyong doesn’t hesitate. he inches closer, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks, his voice a mixture of temptation and certainty. “then don’t fight it.”

and just like that, you stop thinking. you don’t resist. the moment you let go of all your self-control, his lips are on yours, soft at first, like he’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

but you don’t. your hands reach up on their own, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. the world around you fades, the only thing you’re aware of now is the way your bodies align, the way your heart beats in rhythm with his.

taeyong’s hand moves from your wrist to your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the warmth of his body, the way he’s just as eager for this moment as you are. he groans into the kiss, and it makes your stomach flip, that sound of raw desire, the heat building between you both.

when you break the kiss, both of you are panting lightly, your faces close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“are you sure?” taeyong’s voice is rougher now, like he’s trying to keep his composure, but you can see the desperation in his eyes.

you look at him, really look at him, and in that moment, something shifts. you know what you’re doing, what you’re about to let happen. it’s no longer about fighting it, about keeping your distance. it’s about giving into what’s in front of you—the intensity, the connection, the undeniable pull.

you nod, almost breathlessly. “i’m sure.”

and that’s all it takes. taeyong closes the distance again, pulling you to him, this time with urgency. his hands are everywhere, slipping under your shirt, moving to the small of your back, holding you like he never wants to let go. you let him, leaning into every touch, every kiss, as the barrier between you crumbles completely.

in this moment, you stop thinking about the consequences. you stop thinking about the future. all that matters is here, right now, with him.

—

it’s been two months.

two months since you let taeyong in, since you stopped overthinking for just one night and let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have something real with him. his touch had felt like certainty, like something you could trust. his lips on yours, the way he held you so carefully yet so firmly, made you think that maybe you didn’t have to keep running.

but you did.

it started slow at first; little subtle things. unanswered texts, turning the other way when you spotted him in the hallway, pretending not to hear when he said your name. you told yourself it wasn’t intentional, that you were just busy, distracted, focused on more important things. but deep down, you knew better. you were retreating, putting up walls faster than he could break them down.

taeyong notices, of course he does. you see it in the way his smile falters when you barely acknowledge him, in the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but stops himself. he’s trying to be patient, to give you space, but you can feel the weight of his unspoken frustration. he doesn’t understand why you’re slipping away—not when things were good, not when he knows you felt it too.

but that’s exactly why you have to pull away. because it was good. too good. and good things don’t last, not for you.

so you shut him out before he can get any closer, before he can prove you wrong. before he can make you believe that love doesn’t always end in leaving.

but the worst part?

he’s still trying. and you don’t know how much longer you can pretend you don’t want him to.

—

in the beginning, you try to ignore it. the way taeyong makes you feel safe. the way he remembers the smallest details about you, like how you can’t sleep without background noise or how you tap your fingers against your thigh when you’re lost in thought. the way he looks at you like he’s already decided you’re someone worth staying for.

but the closer he gets, the more you feel the panic set in.

it’s not his fault. taeyong doesn’t do anything wrong. if anything, he does everything right. and that’s the problem. he makes it too easy, too safe, too real. and real means something to lose.

so your only choice was to pull away like you always did.

you first take a little longer to reply to his messages. you cancel plans with flimsy excuses, blaming school, work, exhaustion—anything but the real reason. you turn your head when his hand brushes yours, pretend not to notice when he hesitates before letting it fall back to his side.

but taeyong isn’t stupid. he notices.

“you’re avoiding me.” it’s not a question when he finally says it, standing in front of you with a look you can’t quite decipher—somewhere between hurt and frustration.

you swallow hard, willing yourself to meet his gaze. “i’m just busy.”

he doesn’t buy it. “you weren’t too busy before.”

there’s no accusation in his tone, but that almost makes it worse. he’s not mad. he’s confused. he doesn’t understand why you’re slipping away when he’s done nothing but be there.

you want to tell him the truth—that you don’t do relationships, that letting someone in means giving them the power to hurt you, that it’s easier to leave before you get left.

but you don’t.

instead, you give him the same practiced smile you’ve given everyone who’s ever tried to get too close.

“things change, taeyong.”

and with that, you turn and walk away—ignoring the way your chest aches, ignoring the fact that he doesn’t try to stop you.

—

it’s late when you finally drag yourself back to your apartment, exhaustion clinging to your bones. you barely have the energy to pull your keys from your bag before the door swings open from the inside.

taeyong stands in the doorway, arms crossed, lips pressed together in something between relief and exasperation.

“do you know what time it is?” he asks.

you blink, startled, still processing the fact that he’s here. “how did you get in?”

“your roommate let me in hours ago. i was about to call the cops.”

you roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes. “dramatic.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t move from the doorway as you step inside. instead, he watches you, gaze tracing over your face, your slumped shoulders.

“you didn’t answer my texts.”

you sigh, rubbing at your temple. “i had a long day. my phone died.”

taeyong exhales, running a hand through his hair. “you could’ve told me you were staying late. i was worried.”

the words make your stomach twist, in the way they always do when he says things like this. like he cares.

you avoid his eyes, moving toward the couch, but he catches your wrist before you get too far. “have you eaten?”

you shake your head, barely noticing the way his fingers tighten for just a second before he lets go.

“sit down.” he doesn’t give you a choice, nudging you toward the couch before disappearing into the kitchen.

you don’t protest. mostly because you’re too tired, but also because it’s him. and when it’s taeyong, letting him take care of you doesn’t feel like a weakness. it just felt like breathing.

a few minutes later, he returns with a bowl of steaming ramen, setting it down on the table before crouching in front of you. he looks at you for a moment before his gaze settles on your legs. his hands find your ankles, gently pulling your legs into his lap as he starts rolling up the hem of your sweatpants.

“what are you—”

“your knee,” he says, examining the small bruising cut near your shin. “how’d this happen?”

you blink, barely remembering the way even hurt it earlier. “tae, it’s nothing.”

he clicks his tongue, reaching for the first aid kit he must’ve pulled from your bathroom. “you always say that.”

you watch as he dabs at the bruise, his touch careful, like he thinks you’ll break if he’s not. the room is quiet, save for the sound of the rain against the window.

after a moment, he glances up, something softer in his gaze now. “you have to stop running yourself into the ground.”

you huff a laugh. “says the guy who forgets to eat when he’s working on something.”

he smiles, small but fond. “yeah, but i have you to remind me.”

your chest tightens. because sometimes, in moments like this, when he’s looking at you like this, you almost let yourself believe it could be easy.

but you know better than that.

—

falling for taeyong was never part of the plan.

it wasn’t supposed to happen—not to you, not with him. you had always been good at keeping your distance, at keeping things casual and untangled. love was messy, love was unpredictable, and you didn’t do things that had the power to hurt you

“you act like you don’t care, but i think you do,” he had said once, leaning against your doorframe, eyes warm with something you refused to name. “i think you just don’t know what to do with it.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “i don’t do relationships, taeyong.”

“yeah?” he tilted his head, lips twitching. “then what do you do?”

you opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come as easily as they used to.

because by then, it wasn’t so simple anymore.

it was him showing up outside your class just because. it was the way he remembered the little things you told him, the things most people let slip through the cracks. it was how he never pushed too hard, even when he knew you were running—he just stayed close enough to catch you if you fell.

and you hated it.

hated how good it felt. hated that it made you want things you’d spent years convincing yourself weren’t meant for you.

so you buried it. ignored the pull, brushed it off, acted like none of it mattered.

but taeyong saw through it. he always did.

“one day, you’re gonna have to stop running,” he told you, voice quieter than usual, gaze steady. “and i just hope i’m still here when you do.”

you laughed it off back then. called him dramatic. but the weight of his words settled somewhere deep, in the part of you that wondered if he was right.

and now, standing in the rain, his words cutting through the air like something final, you realize.

that day might already be here.

the rain starts slow. soft droplets pattering against the pavement, catching the glow of streetlights. you barely notice it at first, too caught up in the suffocating weight of your own thoughts, in the way your hands shake as you cross your arms over your chest.

taeyong stands a few steps away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are the only thing you can focus on. dark, searching, pleading.

“you’re really doing this?” his voice is quiet, but it still cuts through the night air.

you don’t answer right away. because if you do, if you try to say anything, you might break.

taeyong exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “you can’t keep doing this. pushing me away, acting like i don’t—like we don’t—matter.”

your throat tightens. “taeyong, you knew what this was from the start.”

his eyes darken. “no. i knew what you said it was. that doesn’t mean i ever believed you.”

you turn your head, staring out at the street, the neon reflections in the puddles. you wish he didn’t know you so well, wish he couldn’t see the cracks forming in your walls.

it begins to rain a little harder, your clothes darkening with the water droplets.

“you always do this,” he continues, stepping closer. “every time things start to feel real, you pull back. you tell me it’s nothing, that it’s not serious, that we shouldn’t—” he stops himself, running a hand through his damp hair. “but then you look at me like this, and i know you don’t mean it.”

your breath stutters.

because he’s right. you don’t mean it. but saying that would change everything.

“i told you from the beginning that i don’t do relationships.”

taeyong lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “yeah? and yet here we are.”

here. the place you never let yourself reach. the part where things start to matter, where things get messy and complicated, where someone has the power to hurt you.

you’ve spent years convincing yourself that love was never meant for you; not in the way other people experience it. it’s unpredictable, uncontrollable. a force that pulls people in, only to let them crash. you’ve seen it too many times before. you’ve felt it before, the sting of expectations unraveling, the weight of good things turning sour.

so you set rules. you keep your distance. you keep things easy, temporary, untangled. and taeyong was supposed to be the same.

but he isn’t. he never was.

taeyong is patient, steady in a way that makes your chest ache. he looks at you like you’re something worth waiting for, something worth believing in. and that scares you more than anything.

because what happens when he realizes you don’t know how to be what he needs? that you don’t know how to hold onto something without eventually ruining it?

“if you’re scared, just say it,” he says, voice softer now, almost pleading. “if you don’t know what you want, tell me. but don’t stand there and pretend like i’m the only one feeling this.”

you swallow hard. you want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come.

so you do what you always do.

you take a step back. just one. but it’s enough.

taeyong’s jaw tightens. the rain is falling harder now, soaking into his sweater, dripping from his hair. still, he doesn’t move.

“if you walk away now,” he says, quieter this time, steadier, “don’t expect me to still be here when you come back.”

your breath catches.

because for the first time, you realize—he really might mean it.

—

▸ no longer valentine’s day so here comes the angst :)

▸ may or may not make a part two….only if you guys want it !

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aliensunderstoodmyzombiebites · 2 months ago

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Dream About Me — Spencer Reid X Reader!hurt

Reid and you get into an unspecified argument on the phone. Reader struggles with insecurities and spirals after being hung up on.

pairing: Spencer Reid X hurt!Reader (situationship) genre: vent fic // angst + unedited content: VENT FIC! hurt, bittersweet comfort, arguing, situationship, anxiety,self doubt, anguish, spiraling skin scratching, mentions of lacerations, unedited a/n: park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me :/ this fic's comfort aspect is very bitter sweet. I know this isn’t what I wanna be known for but a writer will write when premonitions present. Fluff + Requested work coming soon. w/c: 1197 *unedited*

You closed your eyes and imagined stroking your fingers through his hair. His sorrowful eyes still dove into your mind and pierced your soul. He wasn't really there. You were in your messy bed in your un-kept apartment.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you”, your words echoed through the phone onto his end of the line. He had no words. Nothing mustered from his mouth. His brain had no plan for a scenario cued in his mind. He had no hypothetical, no way to turn. He didn’t even change the topic, he just stared at his phone, dumbfounded and heartbroken. You couldn’t help but feel guilt seep in but this wasn’t all his fault. You were confronting him about his lack of emotional availability, but when you turned the mirror around, you had plenty issues.

"Can I go to bed", he softly asked. "I can't help. I can’t pinpoint how I feel right now… I feel sad. This conversation made me sad." with an ache in your heart, you let him sleep. He has a big day of work tomorrow.

The lack of better wording, never communicating when the feelings first occurred, and starting all these argumentative phone calls at night. After all of your long arguments you cuddled with him in your bed.

“I love you, Spencer”.

The root issue was never a problem with him, it was you and your messed up way of thinking. Your suppression, your lack of admission, and the fact you didn't face your feelings. You couldn't help but feel lost and ashamed. You'd cling to your own empty fantasies, quirky characters, nerd culture, heaps of pinterests boards, and accessories galore. Deep down you felt hollow. You were scared and felt like a husk, and this argument with Spencer made it no better.

What are we? Ran through both your minds that night. You both wanted more but held each other back. Yet the two of you couldn’t help but land face to face, arms wrapped around the other. He was your love, your savior, your knight and shining armor. But you were the dragon of your own story, and you needed your own saving.

The worst part of all of this was the fact you never could sort out what the two of you were. The BAU made real relationships tough to commit and come by. At first the both of you thought the night you two hooked up as friends was the best decision ever made. Until Reid confessed his feelings for you, and you too after. The co-workers with benefits ordeal slowly faded it’s facade. How real did it get when he held you skin to skin in the dead of night. Sleep was the only time you kept your guard down, and the fact you trusted someone, especially him, speaks measures.

Meeting his family, cooking together, sneaking away and going on hangouts that were really just dates. You two thought you were smart, creating a platonic intimate relationship but you both landed in a complicated web of confusing romance. This feeling wasn’t committed love, but it was a friendship trying so hard to be. The two of you would see the spark flicker every night when he held you, but your emotional capacity and the way things were drifting in life couldn’t handle another person to loose.

The hung up call after the argument made your stomach feel deprived, it dropped as you watched his online status go dark. You stared at your screen, longingly at his profile picture. Your sweetheart.

What hurt the most out of all of this was the fact, this stress made him tired, falling into his own daily coma. You felt offended but sleeping is only apart of humane nature. It wasn’t his fault you were inhuman and you couldn’t sleep. Stress clawed at your eyes every night forcing you to think, running your mind circles. Your scratching habit was present through your skin. Red and brown lacerations wounds forming on your skin, dead skin crusting on your neck, where hickey’s of him should be lying. A tiny bit of skin cracked and blood pooled ever morning, you tried to fix it but nothing helped. It all stemmed from stress.

3 notification sounds blurted in your ear. Retracting you from the spiral, you grabbed your phone thinking it was him. It wasn’t. Spencer’s word was always gold, and when he said something, he meant something. You knew he’d be knocked out for good.

You itched and stood up knowing work was tomorrow, that you’d have to drag your empty shell back to the headquarters who hated you, who stared you down. Working for newly hired higher ups who asked you to do their dirty work while random floor agents took your spot. Running minuscule tasks, meaningless, because technically you didn’t work for Hotch, you worked for his floppy lead. You were never happy, you were always tired. You didn't even go out with the team for drinks anymore, even when Spencer begged you.

You didn't feel like yourself anymore except when you were in Spencer’s arms, yet even the genius boy couldn’t figure you out. Even though he’d known you for years, he had a PhD, he’d known you the best. You felt alone, unhappy, a prisoner in your own body, the guard to your own mind. That wasn’t his fault. You couldn't help but feel sick. You just wanted to be helped, to be saved, but that wasn’t spencer’s job that wasn’t anybody's job. If anything it was yours, but how? You dug into your skin pondering the question.

You were so terrified of getting hurt. You built a fortress around yourself, letting nobody in including yourself. Your spirals never helped but you had one consistently bright thought running throughout. You didn’t know what you needed right now, except a hug from the man you called home.

Next thing you know you were starting your car and driving towards his apartment in the middle of the night. You parked your car. You stood at his porch, his room was on the first floor, the window right next to the door. You watched the moonlight creep into his draws. With no hesitation, you rang his doorbell.

A drowsy Spencer, rubbing his eyes, loomed towards the door. After unlocking the it, he finally realized it was you, and why you came.

“Angel..”, he yearned.

He locked eyes with you, you couldn’t read his exact thoughts but they were full of love and concern. He dropped his phone. He held onto it after he'd hung up, he was on speed dial and he was going to call you before he got sleepy again. You both grabbed each other. Falling into a loving embrace, holding each other tightly. He spun you into his house and he guided to your hand into his room.

The two of you laid on his the carpet, not saying a word. You laid on his chest while you strung your fingers through his messy locks, he held you. He etched sweet circles into your back, tracing your arms and lower back. Slowly he dozed back off and, letting his mind go to nothing. You two fell asleep on his floor dreaming about what life could’ve been, what it will be.

💚 💜

#vent fic #spencer reid x reader #angst #unedited #i love you #if you find this you are my muse

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sturniololover005 · 11 months ago

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Chris Sturniolo - Can't resist

Warning ⚠️: smut, small amount of angst, f!masturbation, oral (m. receiving),cheating (Chris),

Summary: You and Chris used to fuck buddies, that is until he gets a girlfriend - but can he really resist you?

Words: 3.2k

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

You and Chris had a complicated history. There were good times, like when you two hooked up, and bad times, like when you confessed your love for him. He rejected you, and everything changed after that, especially when he got a girlfriend a month later. She was beautiful, exactly his type, and it hurt you deeply. You saw every Instagram post, every comment, and every TikTok they shared. You tried not to let it get to you, even though you spent sleepless nights dreaming of being in Chris’s arms.

Despite your best efforts to move on, the memories lingered. Each social media update was a painful reminder of what could have been, and it seemed like everyone but you was moving forward. Your nights were filled with a mix of longing and frustration, remembering the intimate moments you had shared and the connection you thought you had. It was a struggle to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could have been different. Your nights were filled with longing and frustration, thinking of the intimate moments with Chris. Letting go seemed impossible, each memory a bittersweet reminder. Alone, you touched yourself, reliving the passion you shared.

Your favourite memory was the time you did it in the car where he and his brothers filmed their videos. You wore his forgotten shirt, his favorite panties, and escaped into your own fantasy. You missed his long fingers, the way he curled them inside you, hitting all the right spots.

Toys couldn’t compare, only making you more desperate. That’s when you decided to see if he could really resist you. You would wear his shirt, the scent of him still clinging to it, and the panties he loved. You needed to remind him of your nights of passion, make him remember.

Could he really resist you? You were about to find out.

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

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, trying to steady your nerves. To your luck, someone opens it almost immediately. Unfortunately, it’s not Chris, but Nick, standing there with a wide smile. "Hey y/n! I haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been?" he asks, his cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to your anxious state. "Oh, I’ve just been busy," you reply, attempting to match his casual tone. "Is Chris here?" The question escapes your lips with an almost desperate edge. "Yeah, he’s in his room. Come in, I’ll go get him." Nick steps aside, opening the door wider to let you in. "This is my chance," you think, heart pounding. "Oh no, it’s fine. I’ll go myself," you say with a reassuring smile, trying to mask your nervousness. You walk down the familiar hallway toward Chris’s room, each step making your heart race faster. Your sweaty palm curls into a fist as you approach his door. The closer you get, the more you feel your heart beating in your ears. Your breathing becomes unsteady, the wetness from your palms sticking to your fingers, sending warm shivers through your body. Finally, you raise your hand and knock. The door creaks open slowly, revealing Chris standing there. His hair is messy, and he’s wearing a wife beater and pajama pants that fit him so well it’s almost criminal. For a moment, you’re both silent, just taking each other in. "Y/n?" he says, his voice filled with surprise. Hearing him say your name again brings back a flood of memories. You realize just how much you’ve missed him. "Why are you here?"

“I missed you,” you say, using the sultry tone that always made him go weak. You had used it often in the past, and it worked every single time. Chris clenches his jaw the moment he hears your voice, fully aware of your intention. He hated that it was working—it wasn’t supposed to. He had Isabelle now, but God, did he miss you. He missed the way your soft giggles would escape when his hair brushed against your thighs, how your fingers would tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He missed the sound of your gasps, the way your grip would tighten on his wrist when he found that perfect spot. He missed the sight of your lips, swollen and bruised from your own teeth as you tried to stifle your moans. He missed the electric connection, the raw passion that ignited between you two every time you touched. He missed the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other.

Chris struggled to keep his composure, his mind torn between loyalty to Isabelle and the undeniable pull he still felt toward you. The memories of what you shared were vivid, almost tangible, and resisting you felt like trying to hold back the tide. Despite everything, the intensity of his longing for you had never really faded. His internal conflict was palpable, and you could see it in his eyes.

“Stop that, Y/n,” he says in a low tone, but he doesn’t realize it only makes you want him more. You step closer to him, a slow, deliberate move. “You know you miss it too, Chris. Don’t lie.” He turns his head, avoiding your eyes, but you see the conflict written all over his face. You close the door behind you, sealing you both in this intimate space. Still stepping closer, you watch as he retreats, his steps unsure until he backs into the bed. Seizing the moment, you climb onto his lap, straddling him. You reach out, gently turning his head to face you. “Look at me,” you command softly, your voice a mixture of desire and determination.

His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly, and his hands grip the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. He’s trying his best not to reach for you, to maintain control, but you can see the internal struggle. The tension between you is palpable, a magnetic pull that neither of you can ignore. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his voice strained. He’s battling his own desires, trying to stay loyal to Isabelle, but the longing in his eyes betrays him. He wants you just as much as you want him, and it’s taking everything in him not to give in.

You lean in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Chris,” you whisper. “And I know you want this too.” His breath hitches, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands leave the sheets and rest on your hips, his touch igniting a fire within you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, but his grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the undeniable chemistry between you two reigniting. “Maybe not,” you reply, your voice barely more than a breath, “but we both know this feels right.” He hesitates for a heartbeat, then he moves closer, pulling you into a kiss.

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

You respond instantly to the feel of his lips on yours, your body reacting with a shiver of anticipation. Your hands move up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw and feeling the slight stubble there. His skin is warm beneath your touch, grounding you in the moment. His hands are not idle either, traveling over your body with a sense of urgency, as if he’s been longing for this moment as much as you have. His fingers press into your back, pulling you closer, as though rediscovering the way your body fits perfectly into his hands. You can feel the heat radiating from him, matching the growing fire within you. Every touch, every movement, feels electric, heightening your senses. The world outside fades away as you lose yourself in the kiss, the only thing that matters is the connection between the two of you. You bite his bottom lip gently, eliciting a low, guttural growl from him. The sound sends a thrill through you, a spark of excitement that makes your heart race even faster. Taking advantage of his reaction, you deepen the kiss, your tongue tentatively exploring his mouth. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of familiarity and desire. He responds eagerly, his tongue meeting yours in a passionate dance. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve and contour as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away.

His touch is both demanding and tender, a combination that leaves you breathless. He pulls you even closer, his hands sliding up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss further. Your bodies are pressed together so tightly you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest, a rhythm that seems to sync with your own racing pulse. The intensity of the kiss grows, a fiery exchange that speaks of all the emotions you’ve both kept bottled up. His hands drift lower, finding the small of your back and pressing you even tighter against him. The sensation of his body against yours is almost overwhelming, a heady mix of comfort and desire that leaves you yearning for more.

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

You slowly begin to pull away from the kiss, savoring the lingering warmth of his lips against yours. As your eyes flutter open, you become acutely aware of the firm pressure of his hard cock pressing against your ass. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a deeper desire within you. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, attuned to the intimate connection you share in this moment.

With deliberate slowness, you rise from his lap, the heat of your bodies momentarily parting. Your breath quickens, anticipation building with each passing second. As you drop to your knees on the floor, you glance up at him, meeting his gaze, which is filled with raw, unspoken desire. The intensity in his eyes makes your heart pound even faster, your skin tingling with excitement. Your hands tremble slightly as they reach for the hem of his pants, your fingers curling around the soft fabric. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, before tugging gently but firmly, pulling his boxers down along with his pajama pants. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tantalizing tease that only heightens the anticipation.

As the material slips down, you watch with bated breath as his cock is gradually revealed. It stands proud and erect, rock hard and pulsing with need. The sight of him, fully exposed and waiting, sends a fresh wave of excitement coursing through you. Your eyes linger on his length, taking in every detail, the way it throbs with every beat of his heart. You feel a surge of heat between your thighs, your own arousal growing in response to his. The sheer intensity of your desire threatens to overwhelm you, but you revel in it, embracing the passionate energy that crackles between you. Your hands move with a mind of their own, fingers lightly grazing his skin, eliciting a shudder from him. His breath hitches as you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his inner thigh. The touch is feather-light, a whisper of what’s to come, and you feel him tense beneath you. You smile to yourself, knowing the power you hold in this moment, the ability to drive him wild with just a touch.

Your eyes lock onto his, and you see the storm of emotions flickering there—desire, anticipation, and a hint of frustration. You maintain that eye contact, letting the connection between you deepen, before you let your lips trail teasingly to the tip of his cock. Your kiss is feather-light, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make him shudder. The soft gasp that escapes him as his head falls back is music to your ears. You know that his dick hasn’t been teased like this in a long time, and the realization sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You continue your slow, deliberate exploration, your lips pressing gentle, lingering kisses along his cock. His reactions are intoxicating, his body responding to your every touch, his breaths coming faster and more ragged. As you reach the tip again, you flick your tongue out, just barely grazing the sensitive head. His response is immediate and intense, a deep groan rumbles from his chest, and his hips jerk involuntarily. You smile against his skin, knowing that you have him right where you want him. The power you feel in this moment is heady. You glance up at him again, taking in the sight of his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggles to maintain control. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to take control, to guide you, but he holds back, letting you lead. The trust he shows in you only heightens your desire, making you want to drive him even wilder.

You continue your teasing, alternating between soft kisses and gentle licks, keeping your touch light and playful. His reactions are everything you hoped for, his body trembling with need, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven gasps. Finally, you take the head of his cock fully into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it with deliberate slowness. The sensation is overwhelming for him, and he lets out a guttural moan, his hips bucking up towards you.

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

Just as you’re deep in the moment, lost in the sensations and the heat between you, his phone rings. The sound is jarring, cutting through the intensity of your connection. You glance at the screen and see the name flashing: Isabelle. Fuck. You can feel Chris’s body tense with nervousness, his muscles tightening under your touch. The change in his demeanor irritates you, the intrusion snapping you out of the passionate haze. With a sigh, you reluctantly take his cock out of your mouth, looking up at him with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. "Just pick up," you say in an irritated tone, rolling your eyes as you sit back on your heels. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches for the phone, his hand shaking slightly. He answers, trying to sound casual, "Hey baby." The words infuriate you, a sharp pang of jealousy and anger flaring up inside you. You listen as her cutesy voice chirps on the other end, "Hey babe, what are you doing?" The sweetness in her tone grates on your nerves, and you can feel your blood boiling. But then, an idea forms in your mind, a wicked smile curling your lips as you remember a particular night not too long ago.

It was a night when you had gone on a date with another guy. When Chris found out, he had stormed into your place, furious and possessive. He had taken you roughly, fucking you raw, all the while making you call the other guy to cancel any future plans. The memory of his dominance, his need to claim you as his, sends a shiver down your spine. Now, it’s your turn to take control, to make him feel the same jealousy and possessiveness. With a devious glint in your eyes, you lower your head again, taking his cock back into your mouth. You hear him suck in a breath, his body tensing even more as he tries to maintain his composure. You start slow, teasing him with your tongue, your lips sliding over his length with deliberate slowness. His hand trembles as he holds the phone, his voice strained as he tries to keep up the conversation.

"I'm just... hanging out," he says, his voice faltering slightly as you take him deeper, your mouth working expertly. Isabelle’s voice continues, oblivious to what’s happening on the other end of the line, "Oh, I was just thinking about our plans for tomorrow. Maybe we could go to that new restaurant?" Chris struggles to keep his voice steady, his free hand gripping the edge of the bed. "Uh, yeah, that sounds... good," he manages, his breath hitching as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips twitch involuntarily, and you feel a surge of satisfaction at the control you have over him.

"Are you okay? You sound... out of breath," Isabelle says, a hint of concern in her voice. You smirk around his length, the idea of her suspecting something making the moment even more thrilling. Chris clears his throat, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a bit tired, that's all." His words are clipped, strained, and you can tell he's struggling to keep up the facade. You increase the intensity of your movements, your head bobbing up and down, taking him as deep as you can. His free hand tangles in your hair, a silent plea for mercy that you have no intention of granting. As you continue, you slide a hand between your legs, touching yourself, feeling your own arousal heighten with every reaction you draw from him. The sensation of pleasuring both of you at the same time makes the moment even more electric.

Isabelle chatters on, her voice a background noise to the symphony of pleasure you're creating. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I've missed you so much. It's been too long since we've had a proper date night." Chris’s responses become more monosyllabic, his concentration split between the conversation and the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body. "Yeah... me too... tomorrow... sounds good..." His voice is a mix of breathlessness and barely contained arousal. "Chris, are you sure you're okay? You sound really weird," Isabelle’s voice cuts through, more insistent now. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes, and you see the desperation there, the need to keep it together. "Yeah, I'm... just really tired," he says, but his voice breaks slightly, a low moan escaping despite his best efforts. Isabelle falls silent for a moment, and you can almost hear her suspicion growing. You suck harder, taking him deep into your throat, and his body shudders violently. "Chris, what's going on? Are you sure everything's okay?" Her voice is sharp now, almost demanding. "Isabelle, I... I have to go. I'll call you later," he manages to say, his voice strained and breathless. He hangs up quickly, the phone dropping from his hand as he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, his body shuddering with the release of the tension he had been holding back.

You smile around his cock, feeling a sense of triumph and satisfaction as you continue to pleasure him, driving him closer and closer to the edge. As you take him deeper, your movements become more urgent, more demanding. You want to push him over the brink, to make him come undone completely. His hands tighten in your hair, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth, and you can feel him getting closer and closer. The power you feel in this moment is intoxicating, and you revel in it, knowing that you’ve turned the tables, that you’ve taken control. When he finally comes, it’s with a raw, primal intensity that takes your breath away. His body convulses, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he spills into you. You take it all, swallowing every drop, savoring the taste of his release. As he collapses back, spent and panting, you pull away, wiping the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smirk.

“I know you can’t resist me”

#sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris smut #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic

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the-badger-mole · 23 days ago

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sorry if this is weird, i've been reading through some of your posts specifically about azula and a (hypothetical) redemption arc and yeah. you have the best take i've seen so far.

she's a very compelling character, but honestly the fandom kinda ruined her for me. i'm not exactly opposed to a 'redemption' arc, but so many (maybe even most? idk) posts just assume that zuko, mai, ty lee, or the gaang are obligated to help her. like they should be the people coddling her and fixing her, instead of her doing the work herself.

despite not being huge fans of mai or ty lee, both of them were manipulated and humiliated by azula. whatever friendship they had was toxic from azula's end. same for zuko - i don't know how people can watch atla and insist that they're just "normal siblings" or that zuko's the one who's the problem. and i don't think i need to explain why the gaang is obligated to help her when she's tried to kill them (and did succeed in killing aang).

it's just.. unacceptable, to me, to suggest that it's your responsibility to help your abuser and change them. it's not better to suggest that leaving, or even hating, a toxic person/relationship is bad. it was a good thing to leave! even if they are also abused, even if they are hurting, even if they might care about you.

ps. and tbh a lot of times even post-redemption, her character is just no longer there. i don't believe anybody is born inherently evil or good, and i don't think azula is completely irredeemable. i just don't think it's fair to expect any of the people she's hurt - the gaang, her former friends, especially zuko of all people - to just gloss over all the shit she pulled. i also don't think she'd be bumping shoulders and being goody goody (at least not right off the bat) - yeah, azula could realize ozai was a shitbag and a loser, but that realization would not make her become a "good person". she has feelings, and that doesn't mean that she's suddenly going to gain a moral compass. and don't get me started on putting her back into government - iroh voluntarily forfeited being firelord because of the siege despite working against ozai; why would azula, the person who directly caused the fall of ba sing se and was the threat second only the ozai, be any more welcome? not to mention the fact that so much of her entitlement and hubris comes directly from being better than everybody else (sans ozai).

i'm not too good with words, i guess what i'm trying to say is, i really do like your draft for azula's long journey to quiet redemption. it feels in-character and bittersweet, perfect ending for her arc imo. i do think a quiet life would bring her some inner peace; she's been pushed all her life to be perfect, to be the best, the strongest. she needs an identity outside of that.

I'm glad you like it! I don't know if I'll ever get around to writing that story (but I do hope to someday), but I'm happy to hear that my little (okay, maybe not so little) synopsis struck a chord. I don't mind the idea of an Azula redemption, but it would have to be messy and complicated because of all the people she affected. I hate that that rarely, if ever, gets addressed by fans and fic writers.

I'm a firm believer that people can change, but only if they want to. I have never seen an Azula redemption arc that gives a good reason for her to want to change, outside of mental health issues (which is not my favorite for her, tbh). I could buy that she deep (waaaaay down deep, deep, deep) she loved Zuko, actually, but she was also ambitious, arrogant and power hungry. That doesn't just go away because you love someone and/or they love you. Female villains especially get treated that way. As if their villainy was all the product of external circumstances completely out of their control, and not also the product of decisions they actively made, and love just makes it all go away. What about the people she hurt who she didn't love and didn't love her? Their feelings about it don't matter? I get people want Azula to be 100% completely redeemable because she's a girl and she's young, but the way people go about it is extremely reductive and, to me, often reads as deeply sexist.

#atla #azula #azula redemption would be complicated if it was posssible at all #and THAT'S why it would make a good story

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the4almighty · 8 months ago

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It's been 5+ years since I've been on this blog but I always wanted it to be here, I always wanted to know I could come back to it. I don't know who is still around from back in the days when I would post, not sure if anyone will see this, but I wanted to be here to send my love. This is a difficult, complicated time full of so many bittersweet feelings that it's hard to really know what to say. So much has changed over the years but I hold my memories of 1D so dearly. I always held out some hope that someday, we'd see them back on a stage together.

It's hard to process what's happened and grasp the gravity of the situation. We grieve people and we also grieve what's lost when they leave. What could have been and what could have changed. Grief is complicated and messy and challenging.

I'm sending my love to everyone. I will forever be so grateful to One Direction and this fandom. When I think back to my years after college, at a time when I was really lost, I found a home with this band and this community. I'm so thankful for that.

Rest in peace, Liam. Thank you for the music and the memories.

#1d #one direction #liam payne

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prisvvner · 16 days ago

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ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ɪᴛ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ

word count: 746

content: complicated romance, unspoken feelings, tension, bittersweet moment, slight angst, forbidden connections, mild language

author's note: hey there. this one’s a little different—think of it like a glimpse into something that almost happened, but didn’t. it’s messy, it’s tense, and it’s full of moments hanging on the edge. sukuna and you, caught in that weird space between teasing and truth, where timing’s always playing tricks.

this is my interpretation for tv girl's song "it almost worked". thank you so much for letting me be part of your collab @prosypepper <33 congrats to 2k and i hope you enjoy !!

The city was a ghost tonight, draped in shadows that seemed to swallow sound and light alike. The air hung heavy with the faint scent of rain and rust—an acrid perfume that mingled with the cold creeping beneath your skin. You pressed your back against the cracked stone wall of the abandoned warehouse, its rough texture grounding you even as your thoughts spiraled.

You crossed your arms tightly, folding yourself in an attempt to hold steady the storm inside—nerves, anticipation, the foolish flutter of hope that never quite settled. Waiting wasn’t your thing. Waiting for Sukuna was the worst kind of torture. And here you were again, chasing a feeling that danced just beyond your reach.

The dull hum of the city felt miles away, swallowed by the hollow silence of this forgotten place. Your eyes traced the fractured pattern of light from the broken windows above, weaving a kaleidoscope of dust motes drifting lazily through the stale air. You fought to quieten the quick beat of your heart, but the memory of his last touch, the almost-brush of his fingers against your skin, throbbed like a pulse beneath your ribs.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying this waiting game,” you muttered bitterly, the words sharper than you intended. Sarcasm was your shield, a way to guard yourself from the crack in your voice betraying your nerves. You hated how much you wanted this. Wanted him to cross the line you both danced around.

Slow, deliberate footsteps broke the silence. You didn’t need to look. You knew. You always knew.

Sukuna emerged from the shadows like a dark flame, impossible to ignore. His pink hair spilled over his forehead, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mixture of mischief and something deeper. Something that dared you to look closer. That smirk, that dangerous tilt of his mouth—it was a challenge, an invitation, and a warning all at once.

“Oh, I’m enjoying it. The chase suits me.” His voice was low, smooth, the kind that made your skin prick with awareness even as your pulse quickened.

He stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him brushed against your arm, and then his hand lifted. The faintest touch of his fingers swept a loose strand of hair away from your face, grazing your cheek. The contact was light, barely there, but it struck through you like a bolt of lightning.

Your breath hitched, a sharp intake that you barely stifled.

You jerked back, fighting the rush of heat blooming across your cheeks. “Keep your damn fingers to yourself, Sukuna.”

His laughter was soft, amused, like he’d won some private game. His eyes sparkled with a teasing light. “But then how would I know if you’re paying attention?”

You scowled, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, tugging up in spite of yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, voice dropping to something that felt almost tender, “still letting me get away with it.”

For a moment, the banter faltered, and something real flickered in his gaze—raw and fragile. You wanted to reach out, to close the small distance between you and say the words you’d been choking on for weeks. But fear pinned you still. Pride wrapped itself around you like armor.

“Why do you do this?” Your voice softened, barely audible. “Always the tease. Always just… almost.”

He shrugged, but the smirk wavered. “Because timing is a cruel joke.”

And suddenly, you understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. It was that the world never let you have it—never let you both be enough at the same time.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to reply, to tell him how you felt, how every teasing smile and half-touched hand left you aching. But before the words could escape, a sharp crack shattered the stillness. The unmistakable flare of cursed energy, like a storm tearing through the night.

Sukuna’s eyes snapped to the shadows, alert and lethal.

“Duty calls.” His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of regret you caught before he turned away.

His hand brushed yours once more—lighter this time, almost a promise—before he melted into the darkness.

You remained where you were, heart pounding in the sudden silence. The cold seeped back in, but this time it was colder... emptier.

And you realized, with a bittersweet ache, that once again, it almost worked.

✧･ﾟwritten by @prisvvner ⊹ dividers by @hyuneskkami ⛓️ do NOT repost, steal, translate, or claim as your own. 🖤 reblogs are love — theft is not.

#who really cares collab ⋆˙⟡#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna

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wttcsms · 2 years ago

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i can walk you home and practice method acting ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 1.3k synopsis saying goodbye. content contains hurt/probably no comfort, bittersweet ending, allusion to character death, jjk 236 leak inspired author’s notes gege needs to sleep with both eyes open, no sweet dreams 4 him >:(

“You know, some people consider coffee dates as not real dates,” you point out. “Very cheap—”

“—your coffee was eight dollars, don’t start with me—”

“—low-effort—”

“—you don’t even wanna know what I just went through before meeting you here—”

“—shows no interest—”

“—I’ve been interested in you since before I even knew you.”

You pause your half-hearted attempt at teasing him. The truth is, there is nothing cheap, low-effort, or uninteresting about Satoru Gojo. No one has ever held your attention and your affections for as long or as strongly as he does. The world is reduced to nothing more than the cafe the two of you spent a lot of time frequenting beforehand. It’s why everything is in such startling, vivid detail. Some of your best memories are here, and it shows from the warm scent of coffee wafting in the air, and how you got his complicated frozen coffee order just right.

“Smooth. You use that line on all the girls you buy coffee for?”

“Oh, other girls exist?” Satoru’s bright, cerulean eyes widen in mock surprise. If there’s one thing that your fiance is good at, it’s committing to the bit. No one gets into character as well as he does.

No one ever will.

Trying to keep your darker thoughts at bay, you try to think of a retort but fall short, settling for, “How can you even be interested in someone before you even know they exist?”

“Because everyone was boring to me ‘til I met you. All my interest was reserved specifically for you.” He hums. He doesn’t tell you the really sappy stuff he holds inside his heart, like how he thinks his soul knew that it belonged to you and that’s why he could never connect with anyone else. He figures, foolishly, that he still has time to bring it up later.

Later, when he’s not choking on his own blood and lost in the illusion you have shrouded the both of you in.

My beautiful, delusional girl.

He says it to tease you, but the fondness with which he laces the words in only further proves how completely, utterly whipped he is for you. Somewhere deep inside of him, he’s well aware that he’s in your domain. That he is not sitting inside the cafe he nervously took you to the first time he got the nerve to ask you to hang out. He knows that this is nothing more than a cleverly crafted illusion used to make saying goodbye a lot easier for the two of you.

Everything is just so vivid. The colors, the scent, you. He knows it’s selfish to want to drag out this process even longer. It must be tiring for you, to have to mentally strain to maintain this realistic illusion while also tricking his mind into ignoring the pain he’s actually in. He can see it in your eyes; the ones that never seem to want to leave his face, almost like you’re scared you’re going to forget him the moment you blink.

He stretches, fakes a yawn. “It’s getting kinda late, don’t ya think? I should probably head home.”

“I’ll walk you there.” You say, getting up from your chair.

“You think a man like me can’t defend himself?” You want to remember Satoru like this: messy hair, eyes brimming with mischief and life, cocky grin. Maybe it’s your heart acting on its own accord, altering reality for your own benefit, but Satoru looks younger in this lighting. Happier. At peace.

“I think you’re the type of man people need to be defended from. It’s my civic duty to make sure you’re not wreaking havoc.”

You know that time is limited. You know that neither of you really want to acknowledge what’s truly happening. Satoru has to go, and all that he’ll be leaving you behind with is the aftermath. If you try hard enough, you can manipulate your minds into thinking that these seconds are much longer than they actually are, but—

—he deserves to rest.

That’s why walking him to his front door is an ordeal that lasts a total of two seconds. One blink, and the cafe has vanished. Now, he’s standing in front of his apartment door, still smiling, still bright, still alive.

“So, you going to invite me in?” You tease him, keeping your tone lighthearted, as if he doesn’t know you well enough to know how you’re truly feeling.

“After just the first date?” He pretends to look offended. “I don’t know what kind of man you take me for, but I don’t let just anyone spend the night, especially only after a coffee non-date.”

“Fine.” You pretend to contemplate, the smile on your face perhaps the only real thing here. “Will you let me hit on the second date, at least?”

“I’ll think about it.” And then, Satoru cocks his head to the side. “I’ll see you the same time next week?”

You don’t want to think about the real world. In this world, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.

You swallow back any sadness; Satoru swallows back any blood.

“Text me where, and I’ll be there.” You say this, knowing that you would gladly follow Satoru right through the door that beckons for him. He’s smiling, like he knows what you’re thinking about.

“I’ll pick you up when it’s time. But, uh, if I don’t text you back soon, sorry in advance.” He gives you that boyish look of his, the face he always makes when he’s about to make an incredibly stupid joke. “I have a bad habit of ghosting people.”

A kind of guttural sound leaves your throat; a choked up laugh and a barely concealed sob. Ghosting, really, Satoru?

“It’s okay. I have a bad habit of liking guys that are bad for my health.”

“If you don’t hear from me, just know that it’s me and not you.”

“I love being fed cliche lines like this. Tell me some more.” Tell me everything, you want to beg him. Let’s just stand here forever, and you’ll drag out the time, and he can talk for as long as he wants to about anything and everything.

“Feeling a bit sleepy. The cliche lines will have to wait until next time.” He clears his throat. “Hey, I know we just had our first date—”

“—coffee doesn’t count, you still owe me a real first date.”

He sticks out his tongue, childishly, at your interruption. “Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you? I don’t normally move this fast, but I really do love you. Hope this doesn’t scare you away.”

He could never scare you away.

You should tell him that, but something in his eyes and in his smile let’s you know that he’s already aware.

“Is it too soon for me to tell you that I love you, too?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy. Lucky for you, I like crazy girls.”

“Please don’t go to sleep yet, Satoru. You haven’t even walked through the door yet, and I already miss you.” In the illusion you’ve created, you can take away that door from him. It won’t change the truth, but it can certainly prolong the pain that comes with it. You don’t, though. Even if his hand wasn’t already reaching for the doorknob, you would never take the choice away from him.

“Yeah, I have a lasting effect on women, what can I say?” He laughs, but there’s none of his trademark humor woven in it. The world goes quiet. “I’m feeling really tired, [Name]. I’m gonna head to bed now.”

“Goodnight, then. Sweet dreams, Satoru.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s trying to embed the memory of your visage on his pupils, to have it so permanently etched in his mind that he’ll still be able to remember you every time he closes his eyes.

“As long as you’re in every single one of them, they will be.”

He opens the door.

a/n: reader's cursed technique is the ability to use cursed energy to "manipulate" reality; in all actuality, you create illusions, able to trick others into seeing whatever you're crafting. it helps in trapping curses, and letting gojo say goodbye to you without making you look at him choke on his blood

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk 236 #jjk x reader #angst #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo x reader #one shot #drabble #imagine

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traeumenvonbuechern · 1 year ago

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If you like The Locked Tomb, listen to these podcasts!

Where The Stars Fell:

Dr. Edison Tucker is having a very weird life. Not being able to die tends to color things that way. Lucille Kensington is the literary scene’s biggest enigma. That’s just the way she likes it. When the pair find themselves sharing a cabin in the strangest town in America— Jerusalem, OR— they’re prepared for a housemate situation from hell. What they’re not expecting is tidings of a stranger sort: Ed is the antichrist, Lucy her guardian angel, and if they can’t find a way to work together soon, the rapture is set to take first the town, then the world… but neither of them know that yet. Welcome to Jerusalem, OR, where what doesn’t kill you is just another mystery.

The creators have a whole post on why WTSF is perfect for The Locked Tomb and Griddlehark fans!

Malevolent:

Arkham Private Investigator Arthur Lester wakes up with no memory of who he is or what has happened, only a nameless, eerie voice guiding him through the darkness. Blind, terrified, and confused, his journey will lead him towards a series of mysteries in the hopes of understanding the truth of what has transpired. As cosmic horrors seep into the world around, Arthur must ask himself whether this entity truly seeks to help him, or are its intentions more… malevolent?

Dathen says it perfectly here: "The relationship between the investigator and the voice is by far the #1 sell of this story. It’s messy and ugly and beautiful and complicated and terribly, wonderfully intimate. It ended up overlapping a lot of my feelings about Harrow and Gideon, and lyctorhood in general."

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, a cosmic narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

If you like Gideon Nav, you will love Riot Maidstone. Just look at this fanart!

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #tamsyn muir #where the stars fell #wtsf #malevolent #malevolent podcast #hello from the hallowoods #hfth

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edandstede · 2 years ago

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some of you see an ounce of angst in queer fiction or plot that isn’t 100% fluffy and neatly resolved and cry homophobia instead of embracing works that allow for messiness and nuance and actual complicated feelings. i love miscommunication, i love cliffhangers, i love when characters tremble and shake and doubt and question, i love slow-burns, i love when it takes time to get to a certain point, the bittersweet and the yearning and a whole broad array of emotions and context and backstory that influence decisions, good or bad. it makes the journey so fucking delicious to see play out. it’s so interesting and also imo so important that queer stories get to exist with all the same tropes and tribulations as the rest, to occupy the grey areas and the spaces that aren’t black and white or clear-cut. you don’t have to be a fan of these things in the media you enjoy but don’t label them badly written or problematic or homophobic because it’s not sunshine and rainbows or because it didn’t live up to extremely specific expectations. some of us enjoy queer people being messy and fucked up and whatever the hell else.

#quill to paper #personal #btw this wasn’t about good omens but #if the shoe fits i guess

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lokorum · 1 year ago

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what would you say is your favorite jonmichael fic..... im very curious and love to reread anything in that tag

oh but how can i pick only one when they all are so good??? (,,•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ,,)?

aaaaaa can i make the several honorable mentions of the fics that made me scream and roll on the floor?????? pretty please???

scheherazade was one of the first jonmichael fics that i found while going through all of the cher's works because, evidently, they have no fics that are not worth reading!! (i'm sorry if and forty feet down only confirming it!!!)

sleep inertia has one of the best dialogues i ever read!!! the way cruelzy writes michael's lines??? aaaaaaaaa its so delicious and believable and never for a second i thought i'm reading something out of canon?? its just that good.

carousel is the only one fic (from what i found) that i set in the last season and its adds a lot of layers to that big jonmichael onion that torments my eyes for a while now ldkfjgkdfjg also it's messy?? i mean the whole situation in the fic?? its so humanly complicated and it does not gives you the chance to experience any of the feelings clearly and i love it!! screechfox somehow captured all of the complicated stuff in one fic, blendered it together and for the whole time i just couldn't take my eyes away from it.

five times michael saves jon's life and one time he doesn't have to - is here to sooth our pain and heal our wounds. i reread it so many times!! the dynamic between jon and michael in it is one to live for!!! sometimes you think 5+1 kind of fics can't surprise you anymore and then the coolest author like paisleycowboys enters the room and proves you wrong.

to be like super honest, the 100 ways to say i love you series, when i first saw it, made me think im not gonna like it? i love my fanfics long and scary and bittersweet and with a bad-very-not-good-endings, so the title of this one made me go "hmmmmm HMMMMM hmmmmm hmmmm?" but ive started to read it anyway, theres not that many fics on the ao3 for jonmichael, we cant afford to be capricious and gosh GOSH i was so fucking wrong!!! its sweet AND sad AND scary AND awkward (in a best way!!!) AND it made me giggle so many times!!! NeedsCaffeineRightNow can make even the edgiest of us enjoy the soft kinds of fics (its not hard when they are written with so much care and love.)

POSSESSIVE!! MICHAEL!! COMBING!!! JON'S!! HAIR!!!!!! what else do we need from life?

transition, every time i reread it or think about it, makes me painfully aware of how many things should coincide for something to work. it's not one of those fics that completely encompass you; nor its the one that leaves you with new headcanons or in a good mood, no, i think it's the one that leaves you in dissoray, making you want to argue with author, to ask them what were they thinking about, pointing on your weak sides like this?, giving you something precious and then stealing it away? pushing your old bruises? that is to say, i have nothing but deep respect for indefensibleselfindulgence. to write fic that makes you want to engage in conversation? thats powerful

Our 'Angel' of Static and Bone is written so inexplicably good, that more than once i wondered, how NeverwinterThistle was able to do it? and then i realised they are one of my fave bg3 and dishonored authors phpphp but really, the care, the effort that went into this fic? they are literally visible! you can feel the amount of time and brain juice that went into writing it. and the neighbor character? they appeared like two times?? and still their addition left me speechless with how clever it is, how different!! absolutely amazing work.

adjective noun has jonmichael chapter (11) that destroyed me as a person i swear i laughed so hard i dropped my phone and just kept giggling face-into-the-pillow style!!!!!! its rare for the fics to bring you this childish kind of pure joy; the little in-between moment of forgetting about everything, good and bad, and just have a good time. this chapter is definitely one of those rare things and it also made me wish there would be more jonmichael fics from cuttoth. somehow they nailed everything that should be nailed about this ship and did it in a couple of pages, what a magical work!!

and well, now here's my fave fic, the one that took my head, shaked it like it's a soda can, and then left it open, fountaining at first and then dented and empty.

I ask for nothing, but maybe I'm lying is the work that made me grateful for the fact that i know how to read in english. its....mmmm, you know that feeling when fic makes you go through literally everything? and then, as a bonus, through all stages of grief as well?

first you get hooked up by the beautiful writing style and so you know the fic is gonna be good and you get comfortable and you turn yourself off from the rest of the world and you read.

you love pov, you love mood shifts, you love pacing, you love when scenes are short and you pause to think about what happened / you love when scenes are long and you get overloaded with the simple things that make you feel complicated emotions, you love it all.

then you start to wish it would never finish; you look at the scrolling bar from time to time, a little bit too aware of how much there's left to read, a little bit too anxious about it. and at the same time, the fic starts to make you feel safe, confident, that at least it's gonna be alright, its gonna be that one work that will replace the canon events for you. it was the

“Oh. Oh, Archivist, no. That’s not right at all,” you say to yourself as you watch him march into artefact storage, both hands clamped around an axe.

On a whim, you decide to save him."

line for me for sure uhhh it still hits as good as the first time too

and then you get to the ending and you just stare at the screen. that hollowing feeling slowly spreading inside you. *sigh* its the best sort of inspiration im sure, but its the worse one too. i have no idea how possessedradios and authors like them are able to write something that kills you, then reanimates you and then makes you sit in front of the tablet drawing hours non stop. ''I ask for nothing, but maybe I'm lying" is so beautiful its scares and fascinates me, just like the podcast did. hell, better then the podcast did. i know its silly but i even named my fisrt fanart of michael as the title of the fic 👉👈

ahhhh SO i rumbled again SORRY!!!!!!! every time someone asks something from me its either "i'll reply later" (replies 10 years after) or "tolstoy, hold my fucking beer". but i really hope that fic writers, not only those who are mentioned here but like in general? know how much they affect other people!! how their work creates safe spaces for others!! how they make readers smile or cry, even if those readers (im not pointing finger on myself idk what you talking about pgphpphph) are little gremlins that leaving comments once in a decade....................

have fun time reading!! <3

btw im working on a little fanart rn............. (expressing my deepest grattitude to ao3 johmichael writers 😳🔪)

#jonmichael #jondistortion #tma michael #tma jon #tma #fic rec #optical illusion

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