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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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Deal With It (P.2) | Gojo x M!Reader |

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

WC: 4k C/W: depictions of self-harm, depictions of depression, poor mental health, stress, mental illness, arranged marriage, hostile relationships, smoking, language, violence, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts (non-graphic) Tags: SFW, hurt/comfort, drama, canon-typical violence, character growth, eventual romantic feelings, eventual fluff and good vibes, kouhai gojo, senpai reader, plot and lore note: this is lowkey kinda clunky in some parts but I just wanted to get it out there since it was sitting 95% done in my docs for way too long lol...hope it's a fun read! tysm in advance!!

Tag list: @pleniluneg4ze @aizen-lover @easnowpw @tomiokasecretlover @snoweclipsese @mef0rg0r @soulsire @kiiyoooo @reiluvr @fricking-ur-mom @cucumbertoptier @enchantingkitty @mira-la-sol @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @animadi888 @cloudserenity @sageofspades @dietothemusic @prettorett @animadi888 @playboygeniusphilanthropist @chikai-k @starrykie @miakxn @atoriid @ami20019 @lastbreathtaken @drewyumi @stachelrose @jazzyocs

[NOW]

“For this mission,” Gojo announced, voice bouncing with his joyous skipping, “we're gonna meet someone suuuper special!”

“Eh, seriously?” Yuuji asked, power walking to keep up with Gojo. “I thought we met everyone already.”

“There's one more,” Megumi sighed. “He's useful, a good sorcerer, and the only one that can successfully boss around Gojo-sensei.”

“Sounds fake,” Nobara decided, grimacing. “This freak doesn't listen to anyone.”

“That's what I thought, too. But he seriously listens to him. It's weird,” Megumi said. “He's listened to him since I've known him.”

Yuuji gawked. “Eh? Dude, no, wait—how long have you known him?”

“Most of my life.”

“(Name)!” Gojo cried as he threw open the sliding doors. “My honey, are you here?”

The students balked.

“Don't call me that,” your voice called from behind a decorative privacy screen. It was set in front of your expansive desk, shielding you from passersby with ostentatious flair; the piece was a wedding gift from your husband, designed and decorated exquisitely with him in mind so he could always keep you company.

“Mou, you don't mean that!” Gojo pranced behind the divider, leaving the young sorcerers behind. He braced his hands against the edge of the desk and leaned down, trying to maneuver a kiss onto your cheek.

“I mean it,” you said as you swerved his obnoxious, puckered lips. “Your English is horrible. The pet names you choose are even worse, somehow.”

“My English is amazing! You said so yourself!”

“I lied,” you hummed, and Gojo gasped. “Anyway,” you said as you stood, straightening out a handful of papers with a few taps against the table. “Here’re the projections.”

Gojo stared at the papers, head tilted like a curious pup. Then, a swift smile brightened his face, and he leaned into your space even more. You hardly flinched, instead raising your brows in some kind of surprise while glancing across his features, looking for answers despite knowing what was to come.

“You have to pay the toll, Senpai,” Gojo purred. “You know I won’t take the papers unless you pay up~!”

You sighed through your nose—a sure sign you were about to crumble to the man’s demands—and cupped the underside of your husband’s jaw. You pulled him in and left a sweet, short kiss on his lips. Gojo tried to lean in to make it into something, but you, ever wise to his antics, were quick to pull away and press the papers against his chest.

“Now take these. And stop making your students wait.”

“Sure, sure.” He held your hand to his chest firmly, creasing the papers in a way that made your eye twitch. “But you have to come meet the kids first—I’ve told them all about you!”

“That’s not a very reassuring thing to hear coming from you, you know?” You reached up and adjusted the uneven set of the man’s blindfold to suit your nit-picky standards better. “But alright.” —

[THEN]

Gojo heard your voice, frayed and broken, exploding off the walls as Yaga's shouts filled in any chance of silence. Too often did the tones overlap into a disgusting, grating noise that had the young sorcerer on the defensive, wondering if he had to step into the office and calm things down—not that he actually would, however.

“Fuck you,” you spat. “You said they'd—”

“I can't control what they do,” Yaga snapped. “You know that.” Gojo heard him shift and take a step, but your own shuffling and empty laughter dampened everything else.

“You said—you promised they'd listen, that they'd choose the best outcomes and be patient and—”

“There's not always room for patience.”

“People died—”

“People always die.”

“But they didn't have to!” Your voice cracked as it rose an octave. “There was a clear-cut way around this—”

“Get your head out of the past, (L. Name).”

Silence blanketed the room. Gojo almost risked a peek into the office to see if you'd both spontaneously teleported elsewhere, but a deep sigh grounded the scene, and held him back.

“What's done is done. You can't change it.”

Eh? Gojo crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. I thought that was the point.

He didn't know much about you. It was for a lack of trying, naturally, but he didn't see a point in associating with you when he was sentenced to spend eternity at your side. But he knew you had a strange job, one that kept you chained down by the college, and you never took to combat missions like the rest of them (probably because of a lack of firepower, he’d decide). Then again, the question of if your charting involved any cursed energy was unanswered, too.

Still, you made it clear the disaster could've been prevented. You made it clear that there may have been a chance to save more lives, but your projections were set aside for the sake of haste. There was no telling if waiting would have cost them more, but considering your endless, trusted job was creating favourable outcomes, Gojo had measured faith in your competency.

Gross. He made a face, scrunching his nose up until his shades brushed his forehead. Don't give him compliments. Just demand to know what detergent he uses! That's why he sought you out, anyway; you and your linens smelled nice, something like fresh laundry and chamomile, and he would discover your secret.

“No shit,” you scoffed, locking Gojo back into his ‘accidental’ overhearing. Your voice contorted in a strange way, wobbling like a rookie trying to survive their first walk across a tightrope. “Fuck you. Fuck this school. You're all fucking disgraces.”

Footsteps thundered towards Gojo. The thought of running away to avoid getting caught only flickered in the young sorcerer’s mind after the sliding door slammed open, and you trudged past your fellow student.

Phew! That coulda been bad. But Gojo still chose to lean into the open doorway and throw a cheeky grin Yaga's way as the man rubbed his brow. “Uh oh, you're in trouble with the third year~!”

“Gojo, get lost.”

“Aye, aye!”

Gojo followed after you. It'd be easy, he figured; you probably hadn't gone too far, considering how nauseatingly plain and weak you were. It didn't take long to realize he'd bamboozled himself, however; you weren't at the school, you weren't even near it. The place wherein he found you was far away and unexpected, but you were there nonetheless, sitting on the ground, legs threaded through the guardrails of a high-arching bridge. You were shivering, soaking wet, and puffing on a cigarette while the ocean churned below you.

“Eeh? You don't look so good, Senpai,” Gojo cooed as he waltzed up to you, pivoting on his heel to look out at the ocean as well.

You didn't speak. You only took another drag, and sighed deeply as you rested your forehead against the iron bars. The smoke curled and coiled in odd ways, almost looking like it were shifting into little creatures before dissipating with the wind.

Gojo, ever tactful, leaned down, hands tucked in his pockets, and stared at your dismal, gloomy face. His smarmy smile started to wane, losing its childish gusto as your grief refused to waver in the enlightening presence of Gojo Satoru.

“Jeeze, you're not being any fun.” He sat down next to you and wiggled closer until his shoulder pressed against your soaked one, rocking you to the side and back. “How come you care so much if normies die?”

“How could you people not care?” You mumbled around your cig. Gojo followed the shallow bobs of your smoke like a cat enticed. “Aren't we supposed to save ‘normies’? Isn't that the whole point of this?”

Gojo hummed. “Naaah, I think we just need to be the strongest and destroy the baddies! Normies are gonna die, that's just how it is, yenno.”

You scoffed. Something bitter lifted the corner of your mouth. Something even worse gnawed at Gojo's mind.

“You really are the prime example of a sorcerer, four-eyes.”

“Six Eyes,” Gojo corrected.

You graced him with your empty stare. “What?”

Gojo puffed his cheeks up. “My ability—it's Six Eyes, not four. Duh.”

You cringed. “I'm talking about your glasses.”

The younger gawked, his jaw dropping with a choked gasp as though he was some sort of cartoon character. The bridge of his nose flushed a light pink colour, but Gojo himself didn't know what the hell kind of emotion had made his skin betray him. It was probably some sort of primal disbelief. Yeah, definitely.

“Senpai, you're joking,” Gojo squawked. He awkwardly grabbed you by the shoulder and shook you as he spoke. “You can't bully me for having glasses when my beautiful, pure eyes are too sensitive for the world around me! That's rude! That's cruel! And then making a joke about them that's way too easy to get confused with my inherent technique of—”

You exhaled a cloud of smoke into his yapping mouth and the younger burst into a fit of coughs and tears.

“Why have you forsaken me?!” He wailed.

“Because I loathe you,” you said simply.

Gojo stopped his whining. He wiped his eyes under his sunnies before granting you his undivided attention. He watched every movement you made from brushing off the hand on your shoulder, to turning to look out at the horizon, to plucking the cigarette from your mouth. You acted so calmly. Gojo must have misheard your declaration.

So, Gojo rolled his eyes and leaned back on his hands, staring out at the view while keeping a secretive eye on your profile.

“Pah, no one hates the Gojo Satoru. It's clinically impossible!”

“If you didn't exist, the world wouldn't be so out of balance. My life wouldn't be so hectic,” you murmured. You examined your smoke before tucking it back between your lips. “It's just a fact, like it or not.”

Cold swept through Gojo. “And if you could actually drown yourself properly,” he drawled, smiling, vengeful, “I wouldn't be stuck marrying someone who's sooo jealous of me that he decided to hate me.”

You sighed and shifted to stand. “I wish I could, too.” Gojo admired your silhouette as you stood against the pale blue sky, but felt something uneasy rise in his throat as you looked down at the churning rapids. “But I always get pulled back.” You gripped the railing. “Wanna see?”

Ice held the younger in place. His instincts fought, struggling to be serious or make a joke, but yours seemed to sing in harmony from how quickly and easily you threw yourself from the bridge. He knew he should stop you, but you were already falling, and he couldn't move, and—

A burst of updrafting wind toppled the sorcerer, freeing him from his paralysis. He squawked and scampered onto his feet, grabbing at the railing, preparing to throw himself off after you—but then you were there, carried by blustering, smokey spirits, and set down as though you were a priceless artifact.

A new coat of misery had been painted on you with a heavy hand; you were soaked again, and wore a look of annoyance that was far worse than anything you'd pointed Gojo’s way. Part of the younger sorcerer felt a little lighter at the thought. Part of him felt a little darker, too.

The spirits—shikigami, maybe—circled you, whinnying and throwing their large heads in some sort of display of displeasure. Their hooves clacked and thumped against the ground like claps of thunder, but you were hardly off-put by the mighty sound.

“Sorry,” you uttered their way. Gojo's heart did something funny when he saw you something close to embarrassed.

The younger snapped from his trance and marched up to you, walking through one of the great beasts to grab the front of your shirt. Surprise next decorated your features in pretty colors. Gojo never looked away.

“Never again,” he said. “You're not gonna do that ever again.”

The shikigami huffed and snorted, hooves clomping. Gojo figured they agreed. Good.

You swallowed, and sighed. “Why do you care?”

“Like it or not, you're my fiancé—your life is mine, and my life is yours.”

Something complicated crossed your face. Gojo didn't have the ability to decode it.

But he could understand the shallow nod you gave him. He could hate and understand the confused looks you shot at the horses that then flanked Gojo's sides as you reached for his wrist and squeezed, reassuring, albeit unsure.

“Okay.”

---

“I gotta say,” Ieiri hummed between fries, “I didn't think you'd really care if he lived or died.”

Gojo lifted his head from the fast food joint’s table and rested his chin down instead, forcing an exceptional pout onto his face.

“I'll get blamed for it!” He whined. “Yaga'll toootally punish me or smack me around or something!”

Getou sighed. “Then there's the issue of your clans,” he reminded. He reached for Gojo beside him and lifted his chin off the table before tucking a few serviettes beneath his jaw, and setting it back down. “They wouldn't be happy. I wouldn't be happy.”

“Eeh?” Ieiri rested her cheek in her palm and looked at Getou. “You wouldn't be happy?”

“The point of the union is to make sure (L. Name)-senpai, and those affiliated with him, stay on Satoru's side.” Getou shrugged and plucked Gojo's glasses off his face to clean them. “It's important.”

Gojo laid his head down to stare up at his partner. “Huh? Huh? Whaddaya mean?”

Getou sighed and placed the shades back on Gojo's nose. “You really tune out anything you think is boring, huh?”

“That's kind of his specialty,” Ieiri chimed. She smiled and reached across the table, taking her go at the infamous sunglasses, but instead carefully putting neat fingerprints all over the gleaming lenses.

Gojo pouted. “Mou, just tell meee! I probably just forgot! My brain's sooo big, I get stuff lost in there, you know!”

Getou smiled. “Eh? If you have so much space in there, it's probably too empty.”

“Suguruuu—”

“Fine, fine.” The raven leaned back, arms crossed. “The only sorcerer to take out a Six Eyes, limitless user was a shikigami user.”

Gojo snorted and sat up, crossing his arms behind his head as he stretched. “Pft. Yeah, fine, but that? Taking me out? Right.”

Ieiri gasped a tiny oh. “No, wait, that's so true—he's got Zenin blood, doesn't he?”

Gojo frowned. Echoes of horses’ hooves played in his memories.

Getou nodded. “He does. It doesn't mean he's as strong as his predecessor, but the opportunity is there.”

“If he's sooo damn strong like you're saying, then why the hell isn't the college sending him out, huh? Huh?” The chosen one scrunched up his nose in disgust. “He just sits around all day, looking at numbers, doing lame shit and being useless!”

“I don't know,” Getou said. “But sometimes the best way to keep someone subdued is to keep them close.”

“Pah. That'd never work on me. I'm way too un-subduable.”

Ieiri laughed and cleaned off the lenses before handing them back. “Well, he'd probably answer if you asked about it. You're his fiancé, after all.”

Gojo grumbled. “Yeah, maybe.”

—

Gojo did his damndest to interrogate you. Unfortunately for him, you were too focused on getting from point A to point B to stop and humour him for even a moment.

You locked your door, and your shikigami (some cute, little cat-like things with wings and horns) hissed and swatted him away. That didn't stop him from muscling through the scratches and bites to break in and bother you, however. Your stallions took over from there, and Gojo had to deal with the bruise of a crisp hoof in his forehead for a week.

Soon enough, you avoided your room altogether. That's when Gojo found you in the third years’ room, and tried to harass you there. He'd have to deal with another hoof to the chest for that.

Eventually, you disappeared from that spot, too, and Gojo was once again left to search. Yet his nosiness knew no bounds—it even coaxed him into swallowing an ounce of pride and accepting that the curling trails of smoke in the air were his Six Eyes showing him a path of your very real, very potent cursed energy that’d lead him straight to you.

And follow it he did, straight down to the first-year's room.

“...don't understand it,” Nanami's voice rang. Gojo slowed his steps and strained to listen. “A binding vow alone would be sufficient.”

“Seriously!” Haibara chimed in. “Why would you need to commit yourself like that if you can just vow to never hurt him?”

Gojo leaned against the wall beside the doorway. They weren't wrong; he'd asked the same questions before and had been given a multitude of answers that he disregarded as soon as they were spoken. There existed no good reason for any of it. You didn't get along, you hardly could stand each other—

But then, you laughed, and a tremor, or maybe a voiceless growl, echoed through the hollows of Gojo Satoru's bones. Your voice was so different. He wished he could have seen your eyes crinkle, or your lips tilting upwards. He wished he could catch the scent of chamomile again, too.

“It's more complicated than that,” you said, tone still rich with mellow fondness. “My bloodline, it's—”

“You're a Zenin!” Haibara cut in. Gojo heard the sharp sound of his hand clasping over his mouth, muffling a quick ‘sorry!’ while Nanami no doubt shot him a look for cutting their superior off mid-sentence.

You laughed again. Gojo chewed the inside of his mouth.

“It's fine, it's fine, don't sweat it. But it's a bit more complicated than you’d think.” There was the sound of the chair creaking, of your clothes shuffling as you shifted. “My bloodline is more Zenin-adjacent than true Zenin,” you said. “We just go along with the rumours to make life easier.”

Nanami grumbled, troubled, and Haibara gasped. Gojo’s grimaced at the grating sound of chair legs shrieking against the floor as Haibara no doubt scooted in and leaned closer to you.

“I had an ancestor,” you continued. “His mother was mortal, and his father was supposedly Amatsu-Mikaboshi, or closely related to him.”

“Amatsu-Mikaboshi,” Nanami repeated slowly. “An obscure name.”

“Yeah, preeetty ominous,” Haibara added. “I mean, ‘Dread Star of Heaven’? Totally bad news.”

“A god of chaos,” you said. “Sometimes referred to as Kagaseo. A rebel kunitsukami—not often mentioned, not often spoken of, but prayed to as a landlord deity these days.”

Haibara cackled. Nanami scoffed. Gojo pursed his lips.

“But back then, he was chaos incarnate. He objected and acted against the amatsukami during the kuniyuzuri—the transfer of land and rulership from the earthly kunitsukami to the heavenly amatsukami. He was supposed to have been slaughtered, but, well, gods have their ways.

“He somehow came to be with a noble sorcerer woman who bore his child. Apparently, she was an elusive criminal of sorts, but only revealed that truth on her death bed. It’s probably why chaos sought her out and courted her.”

“And she was a Zenin?” Haibara asked as Gojo wondered the same.

“Not by blood,” you said. “But, like I said, Kagaseo favoured her, and he adored his son who proved to be a true, human embodiment of chaos—his son conquered and burned the legacies of other clans, he manipulated political powers, he destroyed whatever he pleased from the inside out, and stole whatever secrets he wanted.”

“Including cursed techniques,” Nanami pondered. “I see.”

“But—but how could that guy just take someone’s cursed technique? Doesn’t make sense, ‘specially if it’s inherent!” Haibara objected.

“It's said he indulged in other magicks, and drank their blood to consume their abilities,” you said, far too casual while your kouhai gawked. “I mean, how else would you steal a bloodline’s technique?”

“S-So, if you, y’know, went all vampire on one of us,” Haibara started, “Could you steal our techniques?”

“Potentially, sure.”

“The marriage is to protect limitless and the Six Eyes, then,” Nanami sighed. “And, additionally, to ensure you won’t use the Zenin’s techniques against him.” “More or less. But we don’t know if it’s possible for me to be a threat like that. Better to be safe than sorry, I guess.”

A thrill raced up Gojo’s spine, sparking and igniting excitedly in the back of his skull. His fingers pricked with energy and the urge to move to go to you and—

“Hear that, Gojo?” You called, and the sorcerer held his breath like it might help him disappear. But it wouldn't. So, he confronted the matter head-on while trying to keep his acute, you-centred furor in check.

“Bah,” he scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood in the doorway and turned his nose up at you, and subsequently the first-years. “I'm not impressed! Like I said, you're never gonna be better than Suguru!”

You didn't look too impressed in turn. In fact, you quirked a brow on that plain face of yours, and Gojo wanted to yell at you to smile or laugh or—or do something.

“Your tactless words never cease to amaze, Gojo-senpai,” Nanami droned.

Gojo wheezed and crumpled. “Tactless…how can you be so cruel to your senpai?!”

“I lack respect for you.”

“Nanamin!”

“Alright, alright, cut him some slack,” you warmly scolded as you rose from your seat, gathering your scattered papers. “He can't help being an idiot.”

Haibara shot Gojo a sympathetic look. Nanami sighed, but kept his judgement to just a cruel stare. Gojo withered away.

You said your goodbyes to the first years, they said theirs, and you took your leave. Gojo followed along, face caught in a crude pout and hands stuffed further into his pockets.

“How come you never told me any of that crap, huh?” The menace asked.

You hummed. “Your clan should’ve told you. They probably did, actually, but I doubt you listened.”

The younger whined and slouched more as he walked. “Stuuupid. It's probably all bullshit anyway! You're just trying to—”

Thud.

Gojo swallowed involuntarily; you'd turned and slammed your palm against the wall by his head, caging him in between yourself and the building in a cliché kabedon. You leaned in close, too, and that earlier roil returned to Gojo's stomach as he met your no-nonsense stare.

“Listen up,” you said lowly, “I don't care what you say about me. I don't care if you think I'm useless and weak. But you're gonna need to think twice about badmouthing my lineage.”

Gojo managed a smirk. “Oh? And why's that?” He wondered, head tilting. “You gonna throw hands if I talk shit?”

“No,” you said, a smile threatening your calm and softening your voice. “But others in my family and in the Zenin clan won't take to it well, alright?”

The younger scoffed. “You think I'm afraid of some geezer clansmen?”

“You should be.” You leaned back, letting your hand drop to your side as you affixed your partner-to-be with a concerned look. “Please, just listen to me for once. I'm trying to make your life easier.”

“Since when?” Gojo huffed. “Since you tried to kill yourself in front of—”

You raised your hand, and he fell silent.

“Yes,” you conceded, brows knitting together. “Look, I'm sorry. I just—I spiral sometimes and, I don't know, get destructive, I guess.”

Gojo crossed his arms and pouted. “Maaajor understatement.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. Gojo found it somewhat endearing.

“Yeah, I know. But trust me when I say giving you a warning about my clan is making it up to you. I was going to let you incur their wrath naturally,” you said.

“You think that's enough?!” Gojo balked. He jabbed a pointer finger into your chest a few times, grinning when you hit him with an annoyed look. “You owe me more than that!”

You closed your eyes and muttered under your breath before nodding. “Fine. Name your price.”

“One of each Kit-Kat flavour from the convenience store!” He declared, still poking at your surprisingly well-built chest.

You grimaced. “Are you five?”

“Don't question me!”

“Fine. I'll buy you candy.”

“And!” He crossed his arms again and turned his nose up at you like a snobbish brat. “I wanna know what detergent you use.”

Your expression contorted. “You're a freak, you know that?”

“Hey!”

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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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OH SORRYEEEE!! I didn't want to impose something that you don't want to write, it was a silly idea I had at the time, so. About ABO I really agree with you!! The Abo universe always puts the bttm as "feminine and fragile/weak" and I really HATE that (that's why I love your stories with that dynamic) I love the omegas that have balls! About the obscenity, I didn't want something explicit and that would make you uncomfortable, sorry again!! It was just for the script. And about ME WRITING, I wouldn't be able to do that LOL I don't have balls my creativity ends in the first line (it really doesn't work, like, shit) ANYWAY like I said it was just a silly idea, I would really like it if you could find a conclusion for another story, or whatever you want, kisses 💋

It's all good! The nsfw doesn't make me uncomfortable or anything as I'm generally sex-positive and tend to imagine smut scenarios quite often, but I just don't find it entertaining to put it on paper ig? It's p boring to write for me now that I've written a lot loool

Again, it's more that I don't find a lot of joy in writing ABO these days, and I'm more into writing abt the human experience ig? Or the romantic/emotional smut than the physical boinking kekw. And writing about a literal lack of autonomy and the threat of abortion and the "sin" of abortion is tough considering what's happening down in the states 😬 Idk! I feel like there are fem reader inserts that cover that, and there are way more interesting avenues to explore in terms of conflicts and motivations. Just wanted to give my POV on it, not looking to bash and certainly didn't say it was a stupid or silly prompt

Also! Creativity and writing is a selfish thing that anyone is capable of. Most people don't do it for a fear of failing, but failure doesn't exist in the creative realm. I encourage anyone who has story ideas to write them ourt, even if it's just for themselves 💫

#ask

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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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please never stop writing for sukuna I keep rereading your sukuna fics i love them sm

AAAAAH THANK YOU SO MUCH DUDE I AM SDJFKL;WEF MY HEART IS FULL!! I'm really glad you like reading them! Ik it can be really tough to find a fic writer that writes in a way you like, so I'M GLAD I CAN BE THAT NERD ASDFJKL; I'm so thirsty for Sukuna fics but I never find ones that intrigue me OTL thus...I write for myself...and then share lmao so I'll always be writing these!!

TYSM AGAIN I'M ALL GASSED UP FRFR

#ask

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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH I just thought of a PERFECT idea!✨️ ABO dynamics Alucard alpha x omega reader 💋

I mean, Son of a SUPER RELIGIOUS priest who is also, but who one day met Alucard and fell in love at first sight, since the old vampire is — 🔥🔥!!!! practically Alucard seduced (even if unconsciously) our little MC (a recreation of Eve being seduced by the snake 🐍 ) and so they meet in the midnight moonlight in the cathedral practically every day without anyone in the church knowing. Since the fruit is delicious (if you know what I mean 😏 ) he and Alucard do the famous 18+, and our little sinner after that thinks he's going to hell, so he prays every night for forgiveness (even doing it again with the vampire). One day our Alucard disappears (maybe to look for the goddess Sekhmet??) and our Mc gets sad, but life goes on normally, until his father, the priest, starts to notice that his son is different, without energy, sleeping a lot, eating little or only strange foods and vomiting…

Strange…

Until he finds out that our Mc is pregnant??!!? Yes, he tries to immediately expel his son from the cathedral, but after a lot, I mean A LOT of religious fighting between them (the priests and bishops) they decide to hide this information from everyone and make our Mc abort the child so he won't be expelled. BUT HE DOESN'T WANT TO, since "taking" a life is a sin according to the Bible. Alucard has to go back before something happens to his beloved (and future child he doesn't know exists)

The anguish would perhaps be the child being born a vampire and our Mc being afraid that he might die in childbirth (?) or the super religious people trying to kill them both when they find out that it is the famous Alucard's… that will be a problem… (how would Alucard hide them from Doltra???!)

so many stupid ideas… sorryyyyyyyy (and sorry for the bad English, it's not my first language 😗)

GADDAMN it a whole sparknotes summary 💯GOOD SHIT BROTHER

I don't really write smut much anymore (I got it all out of my system w Sukuna and Miguel fics I think LMFAO), and I don't really write ABO much anymore (lowkey bc I don't write smut much anymore lol it's all c o n n e c t e d) sO I'M NOT SUPER SURE IF I AM THE BEST PERSON TO WRITE THIS ASDJKF;L There are other Alucard x Male!Reader writers on tumblr and I don't doubt they'd do a brilliant job with such a prompt!! Or, if you are down and feel inspired, I totally rec writing it for yourself too bc it's so satisfying to write the exact kinda fic you wanna read ajsdkfl;wjiej IT'S SO FUN DUDE I HIGHLY RECOMMEND

ALSO, for future reference for myself and other folx who may request!: I also don't necessarily know if I want to touch on abortion/religious guilt or anything considering the goings on of the world rn asdjfk;l additionally, I'm more interested in making the m/c masc, even if they're leaning more flamboyant rather than dude bro man type shi, if that makes sense. These days, my perception of ABO is that it kinda enforces fem qualities onto one party or the other, which is not really what I'm keen to write as of late. It's low key why revisiting my ABO fics is so hard rn 😭😭😭why did I have to evolve my interests!! I hate it here!!

BUT TY FOR THE PROMPT REGARDLESS!! AGAIN I KNOW THERE ARE OTHER M!READER WRITERS HERE WHO CAN DO IT JUSTICE FRFR!!

#ask #male reader insert

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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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MORE SUKUNA X M! READER PLSSS😭😭💔💔

WAAAAAAAAAH ABSOLUTELY HOMIE, I'M ON IT, DON'T WORRY!! I'm just a bit distracted but recent media that has sparked my THIRST and such (Hades II, Nocturne S2...I'm looking at them intently...), BUT I DO HAVE SOME WIPS THAT I CAN SHARE HERE (THEY ARE UNEDITED PLS HAVE MERCY LMAO):

WIP 1

The building caught on fire in the midst of tearing the place apart. Some wannabe sorcerers decided to try and intervene, and Sukuna gladly blamed the following carnage on them, though they’d never be able to refute such a statement in the end. He didn’t know how people like that could call themselves sorcerers when they could hardly make him bleed, or talk convincing enough shit. Ah, well, good riddance.

Bland food, bad service, shitty opponents. Sukuna sighed dramatically, but grinned as he walked away from the inferno. What a fucking disappointment. Can’t even keep me entertained for a second.

A faint pulse of cursed energy caught Sukuna’s attention. He paused and looked back at the blaze, eyes wide with primal anticipation, waiting for something or someone to explode out of the wreckage and take him on. If they survived that, they must have been at least a little interesting.

Instead, he spotted a strange curl of smoke betraying the breeze of the wind. It coiled into an opaque mass, churning and skittering across the ground in the final form of a squeaking mouse.

Sukuna raised a brow when it looked at him. “Where the hell did you come from, shikigami?” It stood up on its hind legs and tilted its head. Part of Sukuna wanted to step on it, but it quickly scampered away before he could decide to.

It stopped and turned back, as if watching him. The sorcerer clicked his tongue. Did it really expect him to follow?

“Piece of shit. Fine.”

He wandered after it, not noticing the panicked crowds avoiding him and running towards the burning hostel. A frenzied beehive was nothing more than a busy beehive in Sukuna’s world, and he didn’t much care for the stinging stares and remarks that came with poking the nest. That happening would be inevitable, but he was busy following a mouse through alleyways and streets, towards a fancier part of the city that rested higher above most else.

The little beast waited for Sukuna before skittering up a high, richly-coloured wall, using ivy and other flora to its advantage as it climbed and—

“I saw what you did back there.”

Sukuna glanced up further, catching sight of you lounging on the ledge of a window, a long, slender kiseru held in your hand. You smiled, and exhaled a long, steady stream of smoke when Sukuna’s eyes met yours.

“Destroying that restaurant was kinda wild,” you continued.

“Ho? You wanna do something about it?” He called back, itching to cause another disaster. But all you did was laugh, and not even in a mocking way. Sukuna didn’t know what to do with that.

“You’re funny.” You took another deep drag and tilted your head back on the exhale. “What’s your name?”

Sukuna frowned. Either you were taunting him, or you somehow dodged every whisper and muttered rumour about him. “Who the hell’s asking?”

You gave your first name without a care. “Your turn.”

The sorcerer crossed his arms. “Tch, that pipe’s draining your fuckin’ braincells, ain’t it?”

You shrugged. “Probably.” You puffed out some smoke rings before blowing a stream through their centres. “Might be for the best. Still pretty sure I don’t know your name though, stranger.”

“Sukuna.” He saw you tilt your head, thinking on the name. There was no way you hadn’t heard it—his antics had been spreading far and wide in both effect and legend, so much so that people started to think he was something of a myth rather than a real man. You knew him. You definitely knew him.

“Sounds familiar,” you droned. It seemed like you were about to say something more, but the sound of a sliding door clacking open diverted your attention. He watched you look over your shoulder as someone called your name, apparently beckoning you to tend to chores, from what he could hear. You gave a shallow mini-bow, and the mystery person left you alone.

You looked down at him again before starting to shuffle back into the room. “I like your whole ‘four arms’ thing,” was the last thing you said before slipping back inside, and shutting the window.

WIP 2

For a while, Sukuna tried to forget about everything after getting discharged. He tried to dismiss the dreams, the familiarity, the aching longing that weighed in his chest like a frigid, burning star.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he still couldn't find a way to get to you; Ieiri didn't help, Uraume and Yorozu didn't know where to start, any other chucklefuck he knew didn't know anything about you, and thought his fixation as a passing fancy, even if it was anything but. His reputation was finally starting to screw him over, and, for once, he didn't enjoy it.

But the seasons changed. The earth got darker and burned from bright greens into molten oranges and yellows, and Sukuna's mind wandered. You'd always be in the back of his thoughts, in his dreams, but the rest of the world needed his attention, too. Granted, it was a bit difficult when Jin did everything in his power to keep Sukuna hyper fixated on your intangible existence.

Dumbass 5:04PM how's the quest to find the nurse going???

Sukuna grimaced when he looked at his phone. He tucked it away again, sighing deeply as he looked over the rows of different sorts of proteins. Not much was left, to his chagrin, and he'd put off grocery shopping for way too long. He'd just have to make do with whatever was left.

Ping!

Sukuna ignored it. He read over the butchers specials—

Ping!

—but, well, speaking to someone was not exactly in the cards after a shitty day of work and—

Ping! Ping!

—and—

Ping ping! Ping! Ping! Ping—

With a growl, Sukuna ripped his phone from his pocket and resisted the urge to break it. His thumb smashed the green button when Jin's stupid contact popped up on his screen with a picture of that snotty little runt he adored so much. Yuuji was the only thing saving Jin from his wrath.

“What do you—”

“Finally!” Jin sighed, exasperated. “Why weren't you answering? You can't be that busy with—”

“The hell do you want, dumbass?” Sukuna cut in.

Jin sighed in the way only annoying older brothers could. “Well, I was gonna ask how your nurse search was going—”

“None of your damn business.”

“---but I know you're gonna be an ass about it. So! Instead, can you grab some diapers for Yuuji? I'm running out and can't make it to the store today and, well, you know what he's like.”

“Yeah, he's a real shit machine,” Sukuna huffed, turning on his heel and wandering toward the baby section. “Fine. I'll drop ‘em off on my way back.”

“Thanks, Sukuna-chwan, you're a lifesaver!”

Sukuna's eye twitched as Jin ended the call. He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at his disgusted expression mirrored back at him.

‘Sukuna-chwan?’ That freak's dead to me.

He sighed and stuffed his phone in his pocket. Sukuna ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it up as he wandered through the baby aisle—a place he'd gone far too many times as a child-less bachelor.

Child-less.

Bachelor.

Sukuna frowned. Those words, though never spoken aloud, reverberated through his skull, down his spine and through every single rib encircling his heart. Having a kid would be easy, technically, but caring for one was a completely different story, and that story had a needlessly complex beginning, middle and end that needed the right partner to plan it all out with him. Sukuna didn’t have that. Sukuna couldn't find that.

Sukuna rubbed his face to clear his mind, and tried to lock in on all the chubby, cherubic faces smiling back at him, taunting, mocking.

“Stupid fucking bullshit,” the alpha growled, phantom hackles rising as he glared. “Waste of fucking—”

“Hey—”

“What?” Sukuna's head snapped to the side, his carmine eyes blazing from boiling envy. And he met a familiar gaze, one that was stoic and calm, but could crease at the edges so readily at the smallest thing. You had crows feet, Sukuna remembered. You must have worn a trillion smiles before he met you.

You blinked at him owlishly. “Scary.” You pointed to the package of diapers the man had been scowling at. “Can I grab that, or do you wanna keep mad-dogging the baby on it?”

Sukuna’s nostrils flared and his eyes drifted downwards. “Why the hell do you need—” Then he saw it—the faint bump hidden beneath your sweatshirt. A bump filled with a pup. A bump filled with a pup he didn't know.

You cleared your throat, and Sukuna's eyes shot up to meet yours again. Your own were shifting, seeking a place to land safely but finding nowhere. Sukuna didn't know what his expression told you, but it couldn't have been good.

“So,” he started, forcing his tension to ebb as he grabbed the package and handed it to you, “how does a nurse find the time to get knocked up, huh?”

A smile broke through your unease. “Well, we all have our needs.” You took the pack from him and plopped it into your basket. “And I just so happened to run into an old fling a while back. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sukuna hummed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and circled you, curious. “So, what, you and that rando're together or some shit?”

“Nah.” You looked at the list on your phone and checked an item off. Your posture remained loose, and your scent stayed mild and pleasant despite the other's antics. “Just an accident. I've always wanted a kid, though. The dad doesn't really mind. Seems kinda happy about it, honestly.”

Sukuna hummed deep in his chest and peered over your shoulder, reading the list: rice, instant ramen, cabbage, carrots—

“No meat?” The alpha scoffed, cutting off whatever it was you were saying. “You vegan or some shit?”

You huffed. “First of all, rude. Secondly, I can't stand having raw meat around.”

“Hah?” Sukuna circled to face you. “How the hell else is that little runt supposed to grow if you're not giving it meat, huh? It'll turn out all shitty and scrawny like you.”

“You were a lot less shit when you had a serious concussion, y’know?” You complained as you pocketed your phone before crossing your arms with a sigh. “Meat has parasites, and just touching and cutting it freaks me out.”

“Pussy.”

“Parasite-free pussy.”

“I'll cook for you,” he blurted, and your eyebrows shot up. “I mean—” Sukuna sighed and ran a hand through his hair while he looked away, his eyes looking anywhere but at you. “If you're gonna be such a bitch about it, I mean.”

“Okay,” you said quickly, like he'd offered to help you a million times in the past. “But, uh, can you cook?”

“You think I'd offer to cook for you if I didn't know how?”

-----------

THESE ARE THE TWO I AM ACTIVELY POKING AT SO THEY WILL HOPEFULLY BE WHAT GETS POSTED NEXT FOR HIM unless something random comes for me personally and inspires other shite ig LOL. BUT THERE IS STUFF IN THE WORKS, SO FRET NOT!!!

#ask #sukuna x reader

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phyrestartr · 2 months ago

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I need... I need an Alucard/Adrian Tepes with a human reader!! I beg you on my knees... 😭🙏🏼

fluff 🌸

anguish anguish anguish anguish anguish anguish anguish anguish

ANGUISH

(I finished Castlevania Nocturne and my god... what a man...)

BROTHER YOU SO GOT IT 🫡 I have been stuck on the exchange of:

Richter: "Have you ever been in love?"

Alu: "Countless times."

And it has hurt my heart so much ruminating on it 😭 💔 MORTAL LOVE HURTS SO GOOD!!

My instant thoughts are making the m/c either a blacksmith/forgemaster that makes silvered weapons, a student of the church that has since abandoned it post S1 of Nocturne, or a doctor/practitioner of medicine 😏 I think those all have interesting lil plots and moral dilemmas that could be v interesting!! IF U FEEL STRONGLY ABT ONE LMK AND I CAN PRIO THAT OFC!!

And bro I am FROTHING at the mouth at how well Alucard's character has evolved. He was little baby boy in the original series, and now he's an old, beautiful man who has learned much and matured greatly 😭 I absolutely ADORE him to hell and back. He is so stunning in Nocturne S2!!!

#alucard castlevania x reader #ask

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phyrestartr · 3 months ago

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Sacrosanct | Adrian Tepes x M!Reader | (PT.2)

Part 1 | Part 2

W/C: 4.4k C/W: mentions of emotional abuse, blood and gore, canon-typical violence, religion, religious abuse, religious themes, death, mentions of death, depression, alcohol abuse Tags: PLOT!, SFW, eventual NSFW/sexual themes, drama, repressed romantic feelings, slow-ish burn, childhood friends, starts s4 (eventually moving into nocturne), mutual pining, angst and drama, hurt/comfort, reader is kind of an ass lol summoning: @vr00m-vr00m

2. Say Thine Name So I Might Repeat It

Dreams weren't meant to replay malady of the flesh. They were to ache spiritually, emotionally, psychologically; they reopened wounds of the mind and heart, forcing one to wake, trembling and wide-eyed.

Your dreamscape didn't abide by such rules. Instead, it afflicted every bit of your being and punished you for your sheer audacity to exist; pain bloomed wherever hungry claws and spiteful blades punctured; your lungs thought themselves ruined by sour, sulfurous smoke; your muscles ached and burned as though you ran through scoured, unhallowed grounds once more. Yet when you'd wake, you'd find no injuries, no visible effect the forgotten world had left on you, but the pain would stay. It was the sole thing that vowed to never leave you.

On those nights, the ones ruined by nightmares, you'd wander through the halls, rubbing your skin raw to rid yourself of the phantom pains. You'd coast to the same place, eventually, to the one room you knew you shouldn't go to but couldn't stay away from.

Carefully, you opened the door to Alucard's chamber and sauntered inside, footsteps nothing but a whisper beneath bare feet. You avoided spots where floorboards creaked as you crossed the room and sat yourself down in the chair set beside the window, perfectly angled for you to peer at the sleeping beauty dozing in bed.

You pulled your legs up to your chest as you watched him. He deserved peace. He deserved to benefit from the sort of vengeance he wrought upon his father on behalf of humankind, though he'd never see it that way; that view was too factual, too void of emotion. Young immortal things didn't do well when it came to seeing the bigger picture.

“Though, I should give you credit,” you whispered to yourself. “You put aside those useless feelings to protect humans, didn't you?”

You took a long, deep breath and gazed out the window, staring deep into the moon-dappled forest.

“Affection,” you continued, "It's such a pathetic, weak thing. It betrays. It's a beautiful falsity of human needs and desires, yet it is not real enough to be worth the turmoil and grief it curses living things with.”

You rubbed your face and forced your shoulders not to tremble, to instead stay still. Yet your gaze wandered back to Adrian and his moonlit complexion, his rich golden hair, his familiar, otherworldly features.

You went to his bedside. The soft scent of wine, leather and rosewater—the fragrance that followed the vampire like a smudging spectre—beckoned you closer. It reminded you of that wretchedly warm past you shared, back when you were both foolish and young, when you wholeheartedly got along.

You sat with him on the wide sill of the library's most towering window. His knees were pulled up, and his face was buried into his arms as he lamented, “Mother's gone again.”

You looked at him, brows furrowed from the chronic annoyance and confusion you'd been made with.

“Tsch, don't mope. You're ten already.” And you were only eight, yet you knew better than him, you'd decided long ago. “You should be more of a man.”

“Pft, like you know how to be a man,” Adrian mocked. He lifted his head and peered at you with eyes of mirthful topaz.

Your cheeks puffed with defiance, and you kicked him.

“Ow!” Adrian rubbed at his shin and blocked your next attack. “Keep your stupid, stubby legs away from me!”

“Stubby legs?!” Your face flushed molten hot. You kicked at him with reckless abandon, and Adrian had the gall to laugh. “They are certainly not stubby!”

“They are.” He caught you by the ankles and yanked, sending you, and consequently himself, tumbling down to the floor where he scrambled to hold you down while you squirmed to get free.

Quickly, like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws, you gave up and melted into the floorboards, letting the little blonde menace pin you with a smug smile. You mustered the fiercest pout you could in retaliation.

“I gave up—you didn't win,” you whined.

“No, I've won, fair and square,” Adrian said. “Did you even try?”

“I said I gave up!”

Adrian rolled his eyes and got off, flopping onto the ground next to you.

“It's not fun if you don't even try,” he sighed.

“I don't caaare.” You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled closer to him again. “You're a dreadful winner.”

“You're an annoying loser.”

You huffed. “Horrible wretch.”

With as much care as a child could muster, you combed out the tangles in Adrian's blonde mane. The boy made a show of each ‘ow’ with every knot you worked free, but you ignored him, too intent on starting a new collection of braids in his long, lovely hair.

“Don't make them too small,” Adrian hummed, voice sleepy and warm. “Mother'll get upset again.”

Your mouth turned downwards in a rainbow of a frown. “I’m not daft! I listened to what your mother said, Adrian!” You shifted on your elbows and ran your fingers through his hair again. It carried the soft scent of rosewater. “You're incredibly horrible, you know.”

The other snorted, but otherwise fell silent, content to let you do whatever you wanted.

Your eyes buzzed. Every inch of your skin vibrated when that forgotten, sealed-away thing yawned awake inside of you. It found what bound it and gave a lame tug, testing, pushing, but not yet attempting to break free in pursuit; there were too many unknowns, too many uncertainties, and answers did not yet lay in sight.

You swallowed. You straightened your posture and fixed creases and crinkles in your clothes, paying close attention to imperfections over your heart.

“You've just come back,” you whispered. “Don't make things complicated, you fool.”

But our mere existence is complicated, that horrible, caged creature lamented. It's all so, so complicated, isn't it?

You clenched your teeth and turned sharply away from Adrian's bed—but your boot caught something, giving you pause.

You followed the sound of leather skidding across hardwood and spied a book: leather, antique, worn. It boasted embossed, flaked gold text and symbols that summoned festering terror and wonder like a flesh-eating disease.

Ars Goetia.

Your lip curled; you hated that thing. You hated everything associated with Solomon. You hated the fact that his wicked knowledge had granted you the illusion of salvation.

Everything in your being willed you to take the grimoire, to forget the pleasant past and shake Adrian awake to demand answers. The unholy terror you still lived with wanted to take control and erase all evidence of Hell and its acolytes—

But Adrian shifted. Just a twitch, just the most minute, kinetic pulse in a still person.

And you stared. Holding your breath, clenching your teeth, refusing to blink, you watched and waited, hoping you hadn't just seen evidence of wakefulness. But you had. It was too clear.

So you left, resisting the childish urge to lash out; you could ask questions tomorrow, you could destroy that God forsaken book tomorrow, you could deal with everything tomorrow.

—-

“So, you're a demon, then?”

Alucard saw you jolt. You cursed colourfully as your teacup and its saucer clattered against the kitchen countertop, sending a wave of scalding Russian Caravan onto your shirt.

“Fuck,” you hissed, smacking at the spot like a man posessed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—!”

Alucard almost pitied you. Almost.

“What kind of stupid fucking question is that, hm?” You bit, though the trembling lilt of your voice dulled your fangs just a bit.

Alucard tilted his head with a smirk. “Oh, just a thought that came to me. Those markings on your skin sparked some inspiration, I suppose.”

You pulled the cuffs of your sleeves down further. You didn't turn his way and spew vile words, though; you only wiped clean the counter and refilled your cup, quiet.

The dhampir shifted. “Are those why you left?”

“You'll have to be more specific.”

Alucard stifled a sigh. Always so difficult. “Fine. Did you leave to get those, or did you get those after you left, for whatever reason?”

You spared a glance his way before evading again. “A little of both, I suppose.”

Alucard hummed. He watched you turn your cup with small, fidgety pokes. You used to do that when you were younger, too. The dull grind of porcelain against porcelain was soothing to you, you once said.

“I've always had these,” you continued, “you simply couldn't see them.”

“Really.” He tried to think back. “The marks on your back and stomach?”

You crumpled a bit, shoulders falling with your proud head, degrading your posture into that of a soaked beggar.

“Yes,” you said.

Alucard dared a few steps closer. He could almost get a clear look at your profile. “Why would a child have Solomon's symbols engraved onto them?”

Your expression shattered out of dismal gloom and into your usual, ticked-off state. Sharp eyes jabbed at Alucard's, but luckily couldn't pierce too far.

The dhampir smiled. “You're like a feral cat, you know.”

Your lips parted and your brows rose and a phantasmal force trembled against Alucard's ribcage. You breathed with such unbelievable brilliance for that one, short moment. Inevitably, you'd return to the purgatory of incessant acrimony, but while you shone, Alucard couldn't look away.

“A cat?” You squawked, indignant, awfully charming.

“A cat,” he agreed.

“You fucking—do you take anything seriously? I'm standing here like a fucking idiot giving you answers to questions and—and you—!”

“Would you prefer to be compared to a rabid squirrel instead? Or, I don't know, a manic woodpecker?”

Your eye twitched. Alucard snorted.

Your mouth snapped shut with an audible clack of your teeth. You picked up your cup and saucer with angry care and stormed off, muttering blasphemies and curses all the while.

Alucard let himself chuckle when you disappeared around the corner. He rubbed his bare chest beneath his jacket to smooth away the prickling warmth teasing his skin, and then he paused.

“Ah.” He stared at where he'd last seen you. “He didn't answer my question.”

–

Lisa's home was quaint. It was small, but held a sort of humble grandeur with its collection of herbs, medicines, instruments and the like that aided in her practices. The house was warm, too, filled with swathes of earthy colours and wooden structuring that was so, so different from the cold bricks of that dark castle.

You quite liked it there. Adrian liked it, too, but often got bored of such a small place with little to do; oftentimes, he'd choose to stay home to pester his father whenever you accompanied Lisa to her work—that which suddenly revolved around you.

“Fascinating,” she whispered, tracing a hexagram's lines on your back with a soft touch. “You don't remember how you got these?”

You shook your head and stared hard at the hearth across from you. “No. I woke with them.”

Her touch left you, and you froze still as she walked around you, stopping and kneeling before you. “I'm going to ask you something a bit strange, alright?”

You focused on picking at a stray thread on your pants, but nodded.

Lisa pursed her lips and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. A strange look muted her for a long, tense moment where everything seemed too loud but so dull and distant at the same time. Your heartbeat filled your throat with words of rejection and remorse, but you kept such things locked away behind clenched teeth.

“You're not entirely human, are you?”

You rubbed your face. How could it be that both Lisa and Adrian would figure it out so quickly?

“Stupid question,” you decided. You paused, looking around the boiler chamber, through the forest of copper pipes, seeking company. “Isn't it?”

You know we can't hear your thoughts, a gruff whisper answered.

Another voice sighed, heart-wrenchingly fond. There's no need for that and you know it. Let's not make life any harder for the boy.

The “boy” is a man, the other huffed, indignant but weakening in resolve.

Your knee started bouncing, and you rubbed your face again. It wouldn't make them quiet down, nothing ever did besides asking them to leave, but solitude wasn't something you were ready for just yet.

You should speak to Adrian, she said. Tell him what's happened to you. He'll understand.

You gripped handfuls of hair and tugged lightly, grounding yourself. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll think I'm lying. There's nothing to prove my…affliction.”

At least give him a chance.

You let go of your hair and got up in a huff, suddenly intent on busying yourself with the boiler.

“With all due respect, I don't think you understand how badly this'll end; he's a dhampir from a devilish lineage and I am—” You held your breath, then sighed. “I didn't come here to relay my pathetic story to him. He has much on his mind. I won't add more.”

“Well, you're certainly going to if you keep talking to yourself like this.”

You cracked your head on a pipe as you turned. With a loud, agonized groan, you stumbled and leaned against the main water basin, holding your head. “Fuck.”

Adrian whistled from beyond the wall of twisting pipes. “Are you alright?”

“I'm—yes, I'm fine.” But the glisten of crimson against your palm when you took it from your forehead suggested otherwise. “What is—what do you want, stupid beast?”

“I smell blood,” he said instead of answering. “You're sure you're alright?”

You scoffed and found your way out of the chasm and back into the engine room. “It's just a cut.”

“Oh.” Adrian nodded, his eyes a little big, his lips pursed. “Just a cut.”

You felt wetness curve against your nose and seep down your neck, and you twitched. “It's not just a cut, is it?”

“I'd call it a stab wound, more like.”

“Fucking Christ.”

Somehow, in a way only Adrian could manage, he convinced you away from your project so he might actually treat your flowing wound. He talked you into it with such refined finesse and ease, you had to wonder if you'd always been so easy for him to boss around.

He took you to the place like the one from your daydreams, so like the place Lisa learned the truth and vowed to keep it hidden until you were ready to confront it all. You were glad; the doctor's workroom, though not as warm as her old home, calmed your wild soul.

“Would you stop making that face?” He asked as he pressed a cloth to your wound. He sat close to you, beside a long table filled with components. “I'm not torturing you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but instead sucked in a sharp breath. “It hurts, you idiot.”

“I'm the idiot?” He pulled the cloth back and looked over the wound. “You're the one who headbutted the pipes and is shocked with the outcome.”

You glared childishly at the side of his face when he turned to prepare an ointment. The sun dappled his cheekbones and made his eyes glow from within, sending a wild array of warm, prismatic shards dancing across his cheeks. It was hard to look away; for all the divines you'd seen, a half-mortal was still the most transcendent being in existence.

“Are you listening to me?” Adrian said, and you watched his lips form each and every syllable. The teasing flash of pointed fangs lit wildfires in your imagination.

You looked up from his mouth, finding his unimpressed gaze. “Hm?”

He clicked his tongue. “I said, the ointment should help with the wound, as should resting until tomorrow.”

You scrunched up your nose. “I'm not a child, Adrian, I don't need bed rest.”

“I know you're not a child.” He turned to you, fingertip raised and ready to apply the tincture. “But a little bit of help and rest never hurt anybody. Besides, I can't have you passing out somewhere I can't find you—the rats might eat you before I even know you're missing.”

You rolled your eyes but stayed very still as he treated the wound. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“I'm serious. We have a rat problem.”

“We must burn this place down.”

“I’ve thought about it.” Alucard pulled away and cleaned his hands before unravelling a measure of gauze. “But I still like it here, despite everything.”

“Hm.” You watched him unspool enough bandage, too, no doubt meant to secure the gauze in place by wrapping it around your head. He was neat and meticulous about it, sometimes whispering under his breath words and lessons his mother had taught you both in the past.

Speak to him, that sweet voice beckoned. It whispered through the ajar window, like a pleasant spring breeze. If not now, then when?

You shifted in your seat. Your eyes flicked from his face to the outside and back again before you found the humility to talk.

“What happened here, exactly?” You asked. “After your mother passed. What happened?”

“I thought you'd know,” he said. “Wasn't that why you came back? Because of what happened?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times like a useless, landbound fish. “Well, I—yes, I was told Dracula passed and that the castle was here, but…”

Alucard stopped what he was doing and affixed you with a hard stare. “You were told? By whom?”

You shifted. “The news has spread. Most know.”

“Most think Dracula is a myth. Fewer know where the castle ended up.”

“Adrian—”

“Who was it that told you?”

You scowled. “Tch. Forget it.” You stood and turned on your heel, eager to put distance between yourself and the lab. “This is a waste of time.”

But the world blurred and your head felt empty, yet stuffed so full of cotton it nearly popped your eyes from their sockets. Fuzzy blackness filled with sparking colours encroached on your vision, threatening to eat it whole as gravity yanked you by your chains back towards Hell.

You didn't collide with the ground, though. Instead, you found yourself hooked in the arm of your favourite dhampir. His arm was solid and firm against your stomach, and did so much to ground your whirling mind in that tumultuous, dizzying moment.

“Now do you believe me about needing rest?” Alucard murmured, voice far too close.

Your brows furrowed and you looked aside, glaring at the wood grain of the floorboards. “Perhaps you have a point. For once.”

The dhampir chuckled and helped you stand straight before guiding you to sit again. He grabbed the bloodied rag and dabbed at the fresh gush of blood from the aggravated wound, fuelling your humiliation further.

“I tried to stop my father,” Alucard nearly whispered. You held your breath, too mindful to interrupt for once. “He put an end to that quickly, as you've already seen.”

You glanced at his chest, still bare beneath his jacket, and followed the jagged, bright path Dracula had left.

“I took time to heal. Woke up to a Speaker and a Belmont trying to kill me.” Alucard huffed a smile. “We became close, I guess. They helped me put a stop to my father.”

You chose to ignore the part about Alucard having met new friends. That was completely irrelevant and, frankly, annoying.

“Do you loathe him?” You asked. “Your father. Do you despise him for what he's done?”

Alucard sighed softly. “I hate what he's done, how he punished the world for the pain he felt.” His eyes flicked to yours. “But it was the love for my mother that pushed him to the edge, and his love for me that pulled him back. I can't see him as evil. I can't feel remorseless for what needed to be done. He was my—”

“He was your father.” You looked down, gaze boring through your thighs, remembering a long, lost memory. “I understand. I did everything for mine. Anything He asked, I accomplished, even when my siblings could not. I was rewarded, but swiftly forgotten when things went awry, and yet…” You frowned and closed your eyes with a sigh. “I cannot hate Him, either.”

“Seems we're quite unlucky with our fathers’ temperaments,” Alucard chuckled. He tilted your head up with a finger under your jaw to fasten the gauze and bandages. “At least they don't hate us, I suppose.”

Your scowl softened with the stabbing in your chest.

At least they don't hate us.

“Well, we can't know that for certain, Adrian.” You winced as he tightened the bandage. “Though I know Dracula loved you incredibly.”

“And you don't think your father loved you?” Alucard wondered. He let his hands fall into his lap after his work was done.

You reached up and fidgeted with the strip of linen serving as a headband. “I don't know. I know they say He loves everything he creates, but I've never heard the words, no. I'd be surprised if anyone has.”

“Well, some think professing love of any kind is a show of weakness,” Alucard sighed. “It's a shame, but…well, we can't change our fathers, whether they be an immortal devil or God himself.”

Your gaze locked onto the dhampir's, searching. He met yours just the same.

“One seems much worse than the other, actually,” you mumbled.

“Which? Mine, or yours?”

“I was speaking of the devil and God.”

“My question still stands.”

You scoffed. “You'll have to be more—”

“Is God your father?” He asked, finally.

You grimaced and leaned back in your seat. “Did you decide that because of some nonsense drabble you read in Ars Goetia?”

“Ars Goetia helped rule out some possibilities, yes.”

“Don't tell me you truly thought I was a demon.”

“The markings are quite suspect,” Alucard said, flippant and smiling. “They leave much to the imagination.”

You pursed your lips then sighed, looking everywhere and anywhere but at your interrogator. “I suppose I cannot fault you for that. Though it does make you much more annoying and nosy than I previously thought.”

“You still didn't answer my question,” Alucard reminded, careful. “Is God your father?”

“Isn't God everyone’s father?” You retorted.

“The avoidance only makes me more suspicious, you know.”

You shifted and squirmed in your seat. Your hands, the infernal things, needed to do something, too, and so reached towards the dhampir, fixing the somewhat-off crease of his lapels while letting your knuckles brush against his bare chest. His skin was cool but warm, like riverstones basking in sunlight. You wished you could find the hubris to touch more.

“Why do you want to know?” You asked slowly, unsteadily.

You swore Alucard leaned into your fidgety touches. “Because I want to know you properly,” he said. “Because I'm realizing I might not have asked enough back then.”

Your face burned. Your fingers trembled. You didn't trust your voice, but spoke anyway. “You were a child.”

“So were you. But you were full of questions for me,” Alucard recalled. “‘What's your favourite colour? Do you like your hair braided, or down? What season do you like the most? Why can you—’”

“Why can you walk in the sunlight?” You asked, voice stuffy and crackly from whatever cold you'd been facing that Autumn. Plein air in the chill perhaps wasn't the best idea.

Adrian looked at you, raw citrine eyes glimmering like the sun. His nose and cheeks were rosy red, so unlike the way his father's skin reacted to the cold. A little colour made your friend look quite cute.

“Because of Mother's blood,” he explained with a shrug. He focused back on his painting.

“So, because you're half human, you can walk in the light?” You reiterated. “Why doesn't every vampire try to be half-human?”

“Well it's not like they can choose to be so, you know. I got lucky.”

“Perhaps,” you hummed, staring hard at your pigments. The yellow ochre was your favourite. “Or you're just better than them.”

A faint smile sparked before dimming just as quickly. Words evaded you, still, too lost in the easy rhythm of conversations passed. It was so simple back then.

Alucard took your hand from his chest and held it with both of his, lowering the collection to his lap as he leaned in toward you, ochre eyes blendable and transparent.

“Would you ever tell me?” He asked. “Who you are?”

“No.” You swallowed. “It’d change too much.”

“It wouldn’t change anything.”

“You say that without knowing anything.” That beast in your chest roused again, much more frantically than the last time. “I’ve changed.”

“You still call this place your home,” Alucard murmured, his thumbs ghosting over your knuckles. “Like I do. You came back when everything fell apart, and you’re trying to put it all back together.” He chuckled lightly. “I can’t help but feel you’re fixing more than just the house, too.”

You scoffed lightly. “Don’t be dramatic.” The chair creaked as you squirmed. “And that has nothing to do with—”

“Even if you’ve changed, your heart hasn’t,” Alucard interrupted, tone sharp and quick like a whip, but fond. “That’s all I care for.”

Your face immolated. The caged secret exploded with life, wings fluttering, eyes widening, purr ripping from its mighty chest as it thrashed against its cage and filled your sore head with the heavy beating of excited drums. You couldn’t tame it that time. You didn’t even try.

“Azrael,” you wheezed. You cleared your throat and pulled your hand from Alucard’s to press it against your pulsing wound. “He called me Azrael.”

“Azrael,” Alucard repeated like a prayer. His brightness made your head hurt more. “I don’t think I’ve—”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.” You stood. You had to. Sitting still and staring at that wretched dhampir was no longer an option. “That name is not written in many places.”

“There are normally multiple versions of the same name, isn’t there?” He asked, a frantic, or perhaps desperate, edge to his tone.

You scoffed and straightened your clothes with aggravated finesse. “I suppose there should be.” Sharply, you turned on your heel and made for the exit, being sure to clack the hard leather soles of your shoes against the hardwood, drowning out the secretive whispers trying to reason with you. “Good luck figuring it out, vampire.”

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