#and i think the movie too does wonderful things with death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 9 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

6K notes · View notes

evilminji · 1 month

Text

Broadway :3c

And I hear ya. (Insert spooky joke here) There is a sprawling WEB of central hubs, for The Arts. For trade. For getting drunk and having a good time. The Zone is large and it is endless. You'll NEVER reach the far end. It can never reach you.

All things, in gentle sweeping waves, across eternity.

So when folks want to have "a market" or "a movie theater" or "the waterpark"? You gotta PICK a point on the endless map. Figure if you are close or far enough away for others like it, to make it worth the effort to build.

You might even be the first to do it for GALAXIES in any direction! People might fly for WEEKS to come to your place! Move their Lairs to be closer too it. Like dust gathered by gravity, slowly creating planets and stars. A mega Lair. A CITY.

They rise, they fall, the Zone shifts all the while.

But!

Does the dead starlet stop singing? Does getting gunned down, stop the show?? I think NOT! Where is her STAGE? What musicals? What dramas? What operas and tragedies and forms unknown to human kind??! Ballet dancers who CAN defy gravity! Singers who have no NEED for air! The haunting blend of instruments, that could never in life have met! From empires long turned to ASH!

The greatest show in DEATH!

Ember was a world wide hit. Yes, her voice was hypnotic. But that could be FOUGHT. It was SKILL that carried the game. And she was hardly "I was Literally The Greatest My Planet Ever Produced" skilled. She was good, great even. Not "I was Born For Greatness" Excellence.

And like?

.....eventually? Danny's gonna ask after "cultural-y" Culture stuff. Clothes and food. Music and the arts. To help his parents get used to the whole "our son is half-dead" thing. To show he's not some mindless monster now.

And? Ghostwriter? Probably an absolute legend. Does he know where you can find some CULTURE? Oh THANK ZONE! He thought you'd NEVER ask! You unsophisticated-! *fist fight in a library* Still a dick, though. Always and forever.

And just? Imagine Broadway stretched out into a floating city. That never sleeps. Never stops. Shows ever changing. Some on a cycle, some only once. Dream-like. Beautiful. Eye catching.

And yeah, Danny didn't think he LIKED musicals. It was more of a Jazz thing. But? This was important! Gotta get the whole family in the Speeder. We're going to see a play, guys! We'll pick when we get there! Family road trip! Educational! We can make notes!

His parents are trying to be supportive. Big, fixed, strained grins. Trying to pretend to be excited. But they... DO seem reluctantly intrigued? And Jazz is all but vibrating in her seat. It's basically her "before you go away to college" present. And she is THRILLED.

The longer she excitedly speculates? The more into it she gets their folks. This IS gonna be new! Exciting! Never before seen Ghost Culture! Music! As a FAMILY! Think we could find souvenirs? Ooooh, wonder if they sell CDs??!

Then? They GET there. And it's... it's like seeing the Las Vegas strip for the first time, except multiplied into a city. Made of even MORE styles and eras. At angles gravity would never allow.

The air filled with laughter and excitement, people rushing to shows or humming bits of tunes. Street stalls. Fountains. Flowers growing everywhere.

They could stay for months and not even reach a fraction of these buildings. His parents are taking countless photos. His sister squeeling with joy as she races for an information kiosk like they just arrived at Disneyland. He, at least, remembers to lock up the Speeder. Grab their day bags.

When did HE become the responsible one?

The argue over shows. Obviously. Wouldn't be Fenton's otherwise. HE wants to see the alien one. It's from mars! But it's his sister's trip, as his dad points out, so she gets to choose. She picks a musical set during the Fall of Krpton. He's... reluctantly kinda interested. I mean, EVERYBODY likes Superman, right?

It's... it's amazing. Terrible, but amazing. I mean? A coming of age story cut tragically short? Oof. Hello, massively projecting then getting FEELS about it! Yeah, sure, rip my heart out why don't you? He's fine. No, really! Just drowning in his own emotions over here. The refrain of "A Life Well Lived"? *gargling dying whale noises* he's FINE. Not grappling with anything! Go on without him!

Thankfully?

They DO sell CDs.

He... he may end up, kinda, getting a bit of a collection. Going on the weekends, hoping show to show. Wandering to whichever catches his eye in the moment. Buying the CDs for one's he likes. Which? Honestly is a lot of them. Even though there's all sorts of genres and languages. Cause it... it RESONATES you know?

The grief. The anger. The "I have died but I wasn't FINISHED. It isn't FAIR.". And? Something about ghost speak flows so BEAUTIFULLY in song? It's hard to explain. But he... he needs them.

A pair of headphones, a CD, and a clear night sky? Nothing touches it. It's like a trance made of light. Like he can just drift.

The problem? Is the CDs are kinda... Zone made? They're radioactive, for one. Nothing a Fenton CD player can't handle. But... they? Also? Kinda fuckin GLOW? Like... very, very noticeably. And not in a "ha ha, cool glow in the dark paint!" Sorta way.

.........but like FUCK is he leaving his music behind when he goes to college. Gotham will have to deal. It's already a burning shit-nado, it can handle this. Probably. He'll put um in a lead lined box. Actually, speaking OF.... he needs to get a few more of those... *goes back to packing*

Which? Is how? The Bats are treated to some of the most HAUNTING music they've ever heard, belted and crooned from Some Guy's speakers, out an open window, on the "stop for a mid-patrol drink of water and a snack" building. It's one of the intersections of their patrol routes. And THAT? That is some dude listening to a Romani ballad about death and the circus. Now it's a musical about the trenches of an obscure war.

Okay, that was DEFINITELY Kryptonian. Like... coherent Krypto- *Bruce gets a call from Clark on his "work" number DEMANDING to know where that is coming from. Who is that voice Bruce?!* huh.... Well Then.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @spidori @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing #broadway of the Zone au #Danny's music au

700 notes · View notes

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

Text

TAKE YOU DOWN A PEG ─── neil lewis ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me." — Beau Taplin.

pairing. sub!neil lewis x reader

summary. gumshoe video’s got a rude customer who neil can’t seem to ban…

warnings. swearing, voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, breathplay, oral sex (m), cockwarming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 5.3k

a/n. the hardest thing about writing this was scouring letterboxd for obscure films that i think neil would foam over. pls don’t beat me to death if my film references miss the mark 😭

Neil loves his job. Seriously, seriously, he does. It's completely self-satisfying, his personal passion project that’s taken up a large amount of his life, and brings him the uttermost joy of allowing him to do what he does best: recommend films.

Gumshoe Video is like his fucking baby, and he takes care of it, immensely; he wipes down every tape every Sunday, he sweeps the floor and rearranges the furniture, he organizes the tapes almost constantly, and he does his hardest to provide stellar, passionate - if almost annoying - film advice. He wants the reviews up on this place, alright, otherwise it feels like he’s letting his baby down.

Now, if there’s one thing Neil hates about his job, just one minor, teensy weensy thing, it’s probably you. You, the rude customer who came in three months ago and has come in everyday since.

The day you and Neil Lewis met was one just like the rest. Gumshoe Video was promoting old spaghetti westerns; Neil was wearing a cowboy hat and opening deliveries from a video tape shop in Calabasas that had closed down; you were coming off work and were daydreaming, dizzily entering shops to get your mind off the irritatingly mundane job you had. Unlike Neil, you fucking hate your job.

You had entered Gumshoe, browsing lazily through the Film Noir section, when Neil sprung up like a weed behind you, speaking animatedly about how the best film noir’s had to be Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, or Double Indemnity, and if you’d ever watched them before.

As Neil blabbered on, your left eyebrow became increasingly raised. Finally having enough of him, you spoke. “So, are you one of those guys that talk all over the girl and ask them if they’ve ever seen Citizen Kane, or if I can even name five Ingmar Bergman movies for you?”

Neil spluttered, flustered with being confronted about his obsessive cinephile talking habit of carrying the conversation away like a track runner in a relay race going off with the baton in the wrong direction. “What? I was just —“

“— name dropping film noir’s, ‘cause I’m some ditzy, uncultured bimbo bitch who mistakenly walked in, right?” You said, rolling your eyes. Later, in retrospect, you’ll wonder if you were too rude; then, you’ll remember you don’t give a fuck, you were having a bad day, and Neil Lewis had one hell of an annoying face.

Neil’s face grew offended, an irritated furrowed brow wiggling onto his features. “If you don’t want to watch what I recommend, you don’t have to!” he exclaimed, arms up placatingly in the air.

“Uh huh, okay, and you don’t have to shove your pretentious cinephile knowledge up my ass.”

He just stared at you, boring his bright blue eyes into your own, face contorted so exasperatedly you might as well have climbed up to the stars, plucked the moon from the sky, and used it as a pillow.

My god, Neil thought. Are you just a rude customer? Or did you get off on berating small businesses like a sadistic freak?

After a moment of you two staring each other down in the fluorescent artificial light of Gumshoe, both looking terribly affronted, you left.

Neil would then rant about this “insane customer” for at least twelve hours straight to anyone who’d liste. The next day, the distasteful experience was extremely close to thereby fully exiting his mind, but didn’t, because you, yes, you, walked in again.

You shot straight daggers with your eyes at Neil, but your expression became soft, demure, and gentle when you saw Jonathan manning the register instead. You trailed through the aisles unperturbed, Jonathan too busy sporting a hangover from working the late shift at that obscure speakeasy copycat bar (in which, as often as possible, he would sneak a shot to stay awake) to recommend films.

In any case, that was Neil’s job, and Jonathan leaned over to whisper in his ear: “Neil, man, do me a favor and please distract that customer -- fuck, this headache’s killing me…”

Neil protested, shaking his head rapidly. “That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“Her! The - customer who -- who yelled at me!”

Jonathan blinked blearily, clearly still too incapacitated to think about the matter much. “She yelled at you… and she’s back. Here. And why exactly is that…?”

“To yell at me s’more, probably!” Neil whisper-shouted incredulously.

Suddenly, you broke Neil and Jonathan out of their not-so-quiet argument by slamming down Gumshoe Video’s copies of Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity. The irony did not miss Neil - honestly, it was a little on the nose, even for him.

“Thought I’d see what all the rage was.” you explained “sweetly”, gesturing to Neil as you spoke, indignation seeping through your every word. Your grudge was, well, mostly unexplained, ‘cept for the fact you yourself were an avid cinephile, had watched those three movies more than you could count, and did not take Neil’s “have you watched these before” kindly.

Thus started you and Neil’s long-winded rivalry slash animosity slash terribly caustic back-and-forth correspondence.

You keep coming to Gumshoe Video, because, despite your anger towards Neil, you fucking adore the place. The films are downright amazing, the atmosphere is like fucking heaven with the walls lined full of video tapes, decorated in classic film props, campy lifesize cardboard cutouts making you jump at every turn, and Gumshoe Video’s concept is insanely different (and lightyears better) than the corporate monolith that is Media Giant.

He keeps coming to Gumshoe Video because, again, Neil loves his job, and treats Gumshoe like he carried it for nine months and has been lovingly raising it for the five years it's been open.

From that first incident, you and Neil’s relationship twisted a little into something like this: you come in, insult him on whatever costume he’s wearing, return the tapes you rented the other night, argue with him for exactly an hour and a half on the couch, insult him for another ten as you browse the store, ignore his film recommendations, and rent three more movies.

He waits for you to enter, wears the ugliest costume he owns to visually assault you, gladly takes the tapes back, argues with you for 1 and ½ hours, fires back retorts as you insult him, recommends movies he thinks will make you jump out your apartment window, and gives you your movies.

You’re the minor, teensy weensy headache Neil experiences everyday, but at least, at the very least, Gumshoe makes daily dollars from your rentals - kinda like the payback or relief fund a town gets after a hurricane’s run through it.

But, (somewhat?) shamefully… there’s a reason Neil doesn’t just ban you from the store and live his life without ever thinking of you again.

This reason occurred to him a month ago, when he was in the backroom, pasting barcodes and information stickers on tapes that were yet to be placed in the store. You were looking for the washroom, awkwardly stumbling through the back hallway of Gumshoe Video, and since you couldn’t find Neil — he, in spite of the nature of your relationship, trusted you to look around and rent the tapes by yourself, having done it several times while arguing with him at the counter — you had to brave through it alone.

Now, the thing about the room Neil was in — more of a shoe closet than a room, honestly — was that it was locked from the outside, and he didn’t have the key. The key was currently in the hands of one Lucien, who had gone to buy takeout for the two of them because of the late night cataloging of new tapes ahead of them.

And… he was taking about a hundred years to come back because he was trying to get the cashier’s number at their usual Chinese restaurant.

Anyway, imagine this: you’re looking for the washroom, and the door to a small room is propped open. You enter, don’t think much of the small stack of empty tape boxes acting as a door stopper, and let it close. The light in there is dim, just a shitty little ceiling light; Neil turns, tapes in his hand; you turn, after closing the door.

Finally, remember: the room is more of a shoe closet than a room.

“Jesus -- christ!” Neil yelped, startled at your sudden appearance. “What -- the hell are you doing here?”

“I take it this isn’t the bathroom?” You murmured, ignoring his question and shifting uncomfortably. Seriously, the tape closet was only meant for one person in it at a time.

If the lights were brighter, you would’ve seen how hard Neil rolled his eyes; they almost rolled out of his head. “Well, I don’t think so, given the lack of toilet, sink, and light, no.”

“Well, Neil,” you purred, hot breath curling around the sensitive skin of his neck, “maybe, just maybe, you should have a sign for the bathroom, so I don’t have my tits any closer to your face than I want them to.” You said this sweetly, voice husky, low, and oddly sultry, but Neil knew better than that: you probably wanted to fucking kill him right now.

You were right, though; your tits were flush Neil’s bandy chest, the heat between you two growing the longer you were this close in proximity.

“Now get me out of here,” you said quickly after, ignoring how warm Neil felt against your body. You’d turned so your back faced him, hands twisting at the silver knob of the door - which, Neil honestly didn’t know why was there, considering it didn’t fucking work.

Neil sighed. “The door locks from the outside.”

“What?” You said, distracted by leaning down to press your weight against the door like it was just sticky. Moments later, “…What?” you all but shrieked, hands falling from the knob, turning to face him once more.

And, again, if the lights were brighter you’d have seen Neil’s face better: he was bright fucking red, because, apparently not accounting for the small space of the room, you’d leaned and obliviously had your ass pressed right against him. It didn’t help that his large, warm hands, having long since dropped the tapes he was labeling, hung near the flesh of your rear, having nowhere else to go in the limited space.

Neil thanked the small mercy God graced upon him that there wasn’t any kind of friction, so his soft cock remained just that: soft, and barely noticed by you.

“The door locks from the outside.” Neil repeated breathlessly, the amount of air in the shoe-box room being incredibly small, too small to share between the two of you.

“Fucking…” You cursed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “So, what, we have to stay here ‘till someone busts us out? What’re you gonna do if I go batshit and eat you or something?”

“For one, Lucien isn’t going to take that long to come back. Anyway, why’re you assuming you’ll overpower me - what if I go batshit and tear into you?”

You snorted, like the connotation he could overpower you was completely implausible. “Neil, Neil, Neil,” you repeated nonsensically, before lifting a hand up to his shoulder and digging your nails into him, the fabric of his shirt obviously not thick enough to distort your strength. “I could have you pinned down in less than a minute. I do other things than watch movies all day, unlike your lanky ass.”

Neil merely let out a chagrined laugh in response, hands clammy at the thought: you pinning him down— he then shook himself mentally, about to slap himself upside the head. Fucking hell, this situation was doing things to him.

“You don’t believe me?” You retorted with a raised brow. Swiftly, your hands curled around Neil’s wrists, pinning them behind him and pressing his back against you. “How about now, huh?” you whispered softly in his ear, making his head swim.

Your chin rested on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck, and it took everything in Neil not to let out a breathy keen — this was all too much for him: your touch, your voice, and the apparent dawning on him that he found you terribly, massively, attractive.

“Fuck, I, er - - um,” Neil scrambled for a response, when the door to the tape closet suddenly opened. Your hands released him immediately, and you strided out, breathing in deeply.

On the other side stood Lucien, plastic takeout bag in one hand, closet key in the other. “What happened to you?” he asked confusedly, as Neil filed out after you, gaze trained on your stretching figure walking off.

“We got, uh -- locked, in the- in the tape closet.” Neil murmured, thoughts still fuzzy from your rough touch.

“With her?” Lucien shuddered, handing Neil the chinese takeout bag sympathetically. “You need this food more than I do.”

So, there it was. Neil’s reason. He would’ve called you an insufferable bitch that he never wanted to see enter Gumshoe Video ever again hundreds of times by now — if your sensual voice insulting him didn’t get him all tight in the pants.

He began having thoughts — thoughts of you. You, whispering vulgar, humiliating words in his ear, your hands carding his hair, pulling tight against his scalp, selfishly making him do whatever you wanted him to do, no matter his pleas.

The fantasy was unlike anything Neil had dreamed up before, having always believed it should be him on top, him controlling the situation, him dominating — but it wasn’t a bad one. He’d come faster than he ever did before, just by imagining you were rolling your hips into his own… your strength pinning him down… your lips brushing past the shell of his ear, telling him he was so fucking dirty, so filthy for being this needy.

However, that was all just a vague, distant pipedream, especially with how you seem to actually hate him. All the interaction he’d had with you consisted of poisonous, irritated words, insults and curses — which had him feeling both incredibly turned on, and sick at the fact he was attracted to you just by being mean to him.

Sometime after that, nearing the end of the work day, Neil was the only one left there: Jonathan had taken the morning shift, and Lucien was, surprisingly, on a date with the cashier at their usual Chinese restaurant place. Looks like he succeeded in getting her number, while Neil had been pressed against you in that tiny tape closet, moments away from getting a hard-on.

So, Neil was the only one there - and you were the only customer there. Your daily routine of stopping by and verbally attacking him was late today, so it was nearing midnight when you and Neil sat on the couch and began arguing.

“I’m sure your “manly” ego isn’t at all pathetic and easily hurt by the superiority of Mia Farrow’s performance in Rosemary’s Baby.” You spat, leaning into the diverse array of old throw pillows that sat on the couch day after day.

Neil rolled his eyes, hands up in the air animatedly. “My manly ego - and I don’t enjoy the sarcasm nor the air quotes you’re using - isn’t pathetic, nor easily hurt! Mia Farrow just wasn’t better than John Cassavetes was. I stand by the fact they were equal.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your hand coming down on Neil’s knee to dig into him angrily. “Neil, I don’t expect you to understand her performance - I don’t think anyone does, not with that little cinephile brain you have. Do you do any thinking up there, or is it just The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on rewind?”

Neil flushed, both at the insults and how your hand was on his fucking leg. “What about you? What is it that makes you keep coming back here if you think my opinion is so… worthless and entitled?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in closer to him. “Because, Neil, this is the only other video tape shop for miles, and I will not be caught dead at Media Giant. Trust me, I despise this - “arrangement” of ours, far more than you do.”

He huffed, his gaze trailing over your features, unable to come up with a response: he was too busy focussing, trying not to zero in on how your face was inches away from one his, your fingers oddly inching up his thigh.

“Don’t go making this about me. Why is it,” your continued, hands traced dizzying circles into the fabric of his jeans, “that you don’t just kick me out? I come in here, day after day, berating you, ignoring your recommendations… shouldn’t I have been banned a long time ago?”

Neil gulped. “You’re still a - a customer, one who rents daily I might add—“

You smirked up at him. “Don’t lie to me. I know Gumshoe’s doing just fine… and I heard you, y’know? Last week… in your office.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stammered out, racking his head for what he might’ve been doing in his office— fuck.

Fuck, he thought, mind racing rapidly, he thought you had already left by the time he started—

“I heard you, hiding in your office… stroking yourself, moaning my name.”

You’d rented just one tape last Friday, for a movie date with a guy from work, and you almost left - before realizing Neil took your membership card and never gave it back. You waltzed back in, and to your obvious surprise, Neil wasn’t at the register.

“Neil?” You called out softly, trying not to spark an argument with him that would span hours, because you were trying to show up to this date on time.

You walked down the back hallway, and found his office door, which had a gleaming NEIL LEWIS printed on its foggy glass.

Your hand had almost reached for the handle, his name on the tip of your tongue, when you heard a needy whine slip past the door. Shocked, you lingered and pulled your hand away, pressing your ear against the pane to listen closer.

“God, fuck,” you heard Neil curse, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Need you so bad,” you heard him whisper to no-one but himself, before a low moan belted out of him.

Your face grew warm, immediately, flushed at the news that Neil-fuckin’-Lewis was jerking off, in his office, mumbling your name. You squeezed your eyes shut, continuing to listen to his pretty voice, and after several moments of your lust-riddled mind drinking in his sweet noises, how he was so focussed on his pleasure while completely oblivious to your listening in, you found one of your hands coming up to tweak your erect nipple — fuck, his stuttered little moans had your cunt pulsing with utter need.

Neil was getting close, you could tell, hearing him buck into - what you assumed - was his wooden desk, sloppily muffled mewls leaving his mouth.

You were biting down on your lip, hard, an incredible amount of self control in place. The man was so horny, sounding so fucking submissive it drove you insane: just the thought that he’d bend to your will and do whatever you wanted made your legs clench.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending who you ask, you felt your phone begin buzzing in the waistband of your modesty shorts - probably the date you were late for - and you had quickly fled.

“Oh, jesus,” Neil blurted out now, alarmed, immediately in the flight part of fight or flight. “I- whatever you heard, I can - I can explain, really, so please don’t—“

Your hand gripped his thigh, keeping him from getting up. “Hey, hey, shh,” you said, bringing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know, just as well as you do, how bad you want me.”

Truly, Neil couldn’t control himself that night. You had walked in, wearing a delicious little dress with a sweetheart neckline, strolling around in 3-inch heels, cooing mockingly at his costume for that week’s theme — a criminal wearing nifty little handcuffs to promote the double feature promotion of crime films and dramas — purposely leaning down to make him feel smaller than you.

Neil had flushed, looking away, willing himself not to let out a needy groan at your get-up, instead silently checking out your tape rentals and quickly handing them back to you. After you’d walked out of the store, he’d dashed to his office, feeling the tent in his pants grow warm, aching.

Quite similarly to how he felt now, your eyes coursing over his entire form, so close Neil felt himself sinking into the couch.

“Look how fucking hard you are already.” you whispered, hand drawing away from his thigh and reaching for the bulge in his jeans, palming him between the fabric. “Does it turn you on? The fact you got caught?”

Neil’s breath hitched. “Fuck, please, I—“

“You’re so pathetic.” You said, laughing at him. “I can feel how big you are, such a thick cock, and all you know how to do with it is beg.”

Your plush lips were curled into a cheshire grin, baring your sharp teeth at him, and Neil was ashamed at how badly he wanted those teeth to press painful bites into his sensitive skin.

He was about to whine again, plead desperately, but he shut up when you slipped off the couch, sinking to your knees, fingers undoing his belt buckle and fly. Shifting his jeans down, you dipped your hand down the waistband of his boxers and pulled his cock out: it was angry, hard and begging for release.

But you wanted to tease him before you got to the good part. First, your warm breath fanned over his cock, making him jump, trying to rut up into your mouth, and your soft lips slipping past his leaking head had his hands tugging at your hair, trying to pull you closer to him.

You thinned your eyes and got up, hand pressing his cheeks together and forcing his jaw open. You spit into his mouth, then patronizingly patted his face, “Do that again and I won’t touch you - I’ll take my tapes and leave you a needy fucking mess on this couch.”

Neil groaned, your spit foreign and hot on his tongue like lava. “God, I… I just wanna — want you so bad.”

You tutted, sinking back down on your knees to face his rock hard length up and pressed flat against his abdomen. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it, you desperate fucking pervert. D’you know who jerks off in their office to someone they barely know? Fucking perverts.”

He leaned his head back, a moan leaving his lips at your insulting choice of words. It felt like you were torturing him, but his body wanted nothing more than you.

Your lips then ghosted past him for another moment before you started your assault on his strained cock: you laid tentative kitten licks all the way down his length, enjoying how he squirmed under you, wanting nothing more but your wet mouth around him. Then, without warning, you took him in your mouth whole, tongue dragging and curling around his cock. You devoured him salaciously, hollowing your cheeks, sliding his cock in and out of your full mouth at an alarming speed, hitting the back of your neck with each thrust.

Your tongue felt heavenly on his cock: wet, warm, and sticky, lapping at him without stopping. Your teeth grazed against him lightly, and Neil’s back arched into your touch.

He was practically convulsing now, drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the pure pleasure you were inflicting on him with no split second or moment for him to regain his composure. You wanted to see him fall apart, come undone just by your mouth, he realized, and he wanted to let you, wanted to let go — but, as fast as you’d taken his hard cock into your mouth, you let him drop from your lips.

“Why did you - please, fuck -- why did you stop?!” Neil whimpered noisily, head rolling onto his chest to look down at your face: lips plump, faint tear tracks running off your cheeks, your gagged spit falling from your chin.

“I oughta take you down a peg, Neil. Show you what a dumb fucking loser you are, pretending you’re so confident, so dominant, like you know everything there is about movies.” You responded nonchalantly, getting up and shedding your panties and leggings.

“M’not dumb,” he whined, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, “god, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, climbing on his lap and lining your wet sex with the fat head of his cock. Then you descended down on him, watching blissfully as his cock disappeared into your folds.

Neil’s hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your neck. He mewled against your skin, drunk on your tantalizing scent, lips wet with drool and leaving a slick trail.

Despite your dominance in this situation, completely controlling Neil’s pleasure, you couldn’t control your own: Neil’s cock felt fucking good, long and thick in all the right places, a curve that arched right against your cervix, veins rubbing against your walls pleasantly. He stretched your cunt completely, making you wince, but there was still pleasure there, the feeling of your crevices being filled with his fat cock making your toes curl.

After a moment of getting used to his cock, you rose back up, then sunk down, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Neil’s head shot back, a labored cry leaving him as you set a steady, almost too slow pace, torturously sliding his cock in and out of your tight hole.

Your hands trailed across his still-clothed chest, and you grieved the chance lost to have stripped him, your touch teasing him every step of the way — but having him deep within you was probably better.

“Your- fuck, you’re so -- so soft,” Neil squeaked below you, revelling in how you took him, bottoming out each time like it was nothing.

You simpered at his words, how helpless he was, succumbing to the pleasure; to you. “Knew you were,” you slammed down on his cock, making Neil choke, “pretending to be arrogant. You just needed someone to put you in your place.”

Neil hadn’t realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question until your hand came up to his hair, tangling through his locks and tugging. “Who d’you belong to? Who put you in your place?” you murmured lowly.

He whimpered at your roughness, leaning into the sofa obediently. “You! You own me,” he pleaded, desperately chasing his own pleasure.

“That’s it,” you said, shutting your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock faster. Your ass bounced above him, and Neil’s hands rested on the flesh of your rear, massaging you.

Greedily, Neil tried to thrust into you, but you weren’t having any of it, deterring his attempts by pushing him so he laid flat on the couch, your hands pinning his wrists above his head, the new position pushing him deeper into you.

“You stay down, you dirty fuckin’ loser,” you said caustically, but your actions said otherwise: your walls were squeezing around him needily, your cunt sucking him in so far you could feel his balls brushing against your clit.

The tip of his cock brushed past your g-spot each time you rutted into him, and soon enough you felt it: that pulsing, that heat, that familiar coiling within your insides. Neil was reaching it too, his face flushed pink and his breathing as heavy as it was back then, in the tape closet.

You began thumping down on him, your fingers tightening around his scalp. Your pace had gotten feverish, bordering feral, both your minds focussed on one thing: release. You could feel your cunt tensing, your mind going foggy, and then, there it was: your pleasure ran through you like electric current, shocking your body. You felt numb, tingly like when the blood flow to your arm gets cut off for a moment, making your pace stutter.

You didn’t stop, however, riding out your high on his cock, bouncing up and down on Neil’s thick length. He felt fucking delicious, piercing you in all the right ways, and you adored how malleable he was right now: so horny and submissive he stopped speaking and was merely letting dirty moans leave his mouth without any protest. His gaze, his focus, was elsewhere, lost in the deep haze of pleasure your cunt was subjecting him too.

You leaned down, pressing small love-bites onto his skin like he’d fantasized so many times before, and it broke him out of his stupor. “Did you think of this, in your office?” you whispered, “did you think of me, my tits bouncing, your cock deep in my cunt?”

“Ugh,” Neil groaned, reveling in how your seductive voice sounded like music. He was much, much closer than he thought, and when you licked up his jaw, your hot breath on the shell of his ear making him sweat, your cunt still fucking him roughly, he let go.

You felt it first, the familiar liquid bursting past his thick head and painting your fleshy walls creamy, like a new coat of alabaster that Gumshoe desperately needed.

“So good, so wet,” Neil groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours. You stared at him, watching his lewd expression throughout his entire high, waiting for that beautiful blue gaze of his to open and face you again.

“I’m milking you dry. Look how fucking full you’ve made me, you filthy pervert.” You were taking him for every drop he could offer, and it was delectable.

You two were heaving now, both coming down from your highs. You’d effectively ruined the couch, your slick soaking the cushions and his jeans, as well as his come, which was leaning out of your still-stuffed hole.

“I think you’ve gotta replace this manky ass couch, Neil,” was the first thing you said, your hands sliding down from their grip in his hair to his pink cheeks, rubbing his skin delicately.

His eyes opened, watching you carefully. “It was about time,” Neil shrugged breathlessly. “Do you… do you actually - hate me?” he continued, murmuring self-consciously.

You laughed, but it wasn’t sharp, not at him like before, no; it was tender, like a scarf Neil wanted to wrap around him in the winter time.

“I never hated you,” you murmured, tone reverent, “you’re just a little, how does it go…”

“Presumptuous?” Neil finished for you.

You nodded, then grasped at his shirt and pulled him from the couch so he was sitting upright again. “Jus’ wanted to, ahem, “take you down a peg” like I said earlier..” you trailed off, cheeks growing warm remembering your earlier behavior during sex.

This was all very new, to the both of you — you, in all your relationships and flings, were not the dominant partner. You guessed there was a first time for everything.

Then, you were about to get off his lap, but Neil held you steady on his cock. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “I’ve got Brief Encounter in the player, if you want to, y’know…”

He wasn’t hard anymore, but it just felt good, cozy, having you two talk and regain your composure with him filling you nicely. It felt right.

You smiled, a gummy, blissful smile. “Okay. I’ve actually never seen this,” you said, turning to face the tv, wincing slightly.

“Really?” Neil said, an amazed joy seeping into his voice.

“I’m joking,” you snorted, and you could practically see Neil pouting behind you. “But I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention…” you purred, clenching your thighs around his length.

“Jesus fuck,” Neil groaned behind you, hands coming under your shirt, “you’re exactly like those movies.”

“I’m even better, baby.”

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #neil lewis smut #sub!neil lewis x reader

2K notes · View notes

ghouljams · 3 months

Note

Hi! Shy anon sharing brain rot once again. As always is about The Ghost Distribution System™, because that’s 100% how he’d act and i can’t stop thinking about it.

Anyway, i’ve been specifically thinking about Ghost catching the flu. Gets all of the basic but annoying ass symptoms. Runny nose, sore throat, the not-too-high-but-definitely-debilitating fever, the shivers and body aches.

And despite feeling like death, he’s still coming over to fix that leaky sink you complained about. (Because he’s been through worst and it’s not like he really takes that much care of himself, your needs go first anyway.)

So, you let him in, thank him again for offering to do it himself and saving you a couple hundred in a handyman that would take way longer to do what he insists it’s a simple task. But when he keeps on coughing and needs to stop every few seconds to wipe his nose cause it’s stuffy you definitely notice something is wrong.

And as much as he refuses and insists that he is fine and doesn’t need you to fuss over him (you already do so much for him, show him so much kindness and care. How could he dare ask for more?) you end up feeling his skin and noticing he definitely has a fever.

So now he is laying on your couch, soft fluffy blanket around him (that absolutely smells like you and it’s making his mind even more fuzzy), cold compress on his forehead and a random movie quietly playing on the background as you make him a snack (to help him recover some strength and get some fluids you said).

And while he’s laying there all he’s thinking about though his foggy mind is how he’s going to repay you for this, all the things he can do for you so you keep letting him in every time he comes back.

You're such a saint, you don't want to put Ghost on your couch, not after everything he's done for you. He kicks up a silent fuss when you offer your bed for a nap, his fingers flexing and balling into tight fists. Again you offer a piece of your sanctuary, a place belonging only to you, as if it's nothing. He's sick in more ways than one. Filthy with his desire for you. He argues with you, with his god. Benevolent as you may be, every prophet has challenges placed in the path of his devotion. The devil tempted Jesus with all manners of the flesh, so why wouldn't he tempt Ghost?

Your concern makes you agree. Settling Ghost so gently on your couch that he wonders if even this is too good for him. You disappear long enough for him to wonder against his choice, long enough for him to close his eyes against the fever. You return with pillows and blankets, arranging them and coaxing him to lay down. Your fingers hover around his head, as if laying it on your pillows might be too much of a burden for him. As if he's liable to break if he settles it anywhere but your warm embrace.

You leave him again and Ghost pushes his face against he offered comfort, breathes in your scent greedily and imagines he's laid his head in your lap. You must have brought this comfort from your bed, determined to give him everything he doesn't deserve. It makes his head spin, sick, filthy, he could never repay the goodness you give him. You pull the gently weighted blankets over his shoulders, wipe the sweat from his forehead with a cool cloth, he can't look at you. He can't face the radiant warmth you bestow on him. He's done nothing to deserve it, nothing to warrant this care, nothing that should lead you to coo your gentle praise. It all sticks in his chest worse than any bullet could.

He doesn't deserve it, can't deserve it, you should give your kindness to someone better, to someone who doesn't hoard your care for themselves like he does. It hurts. It hurts and yet the ache is intoxicating. His teeth itch to sink into you, to inflict some of the same pleasure you bring to him. As if he could ever be worthy of such a thing.

"Simon," You hum, melodic, hymnal. He feels his eyes roll with the pleasure of hearing his name before he can open them. You say it so sweetly, like he's never heard it before. His vision swims with fever, but the light halos you and you smile at him. Divinity in your every breath, he could live a lifetime in the moment when your eyes meet his.

"Love," he feels it on his breath, inaudibly whispered, just a part of his lips, a fricative against his teeth. Like any other God receiving prayer you don't hear it. It's better that you don't hear it, the casual affection doesn't fit you right. If there was a bigger word for what he feels, for what you are, he won't find it in this condition.

"Just rest," You bid him, "You can stay here tonight, if you want."

If he wants. As if he could ever want anything else. As if he could turn down an invitation to rest his head in your temple. As if he could ever have the strength to tell you no.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #the ghost distribution system #ghost call of duty #Ghost feverish and staring at his darling: you could make a religion out of this

519 notes · View notes

after-witch · 9 months

Text

With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You were lying to yourself if you claimed to think Mahito would be satisfied with kisses and late-night snuggles on the couch.

Word count: 1220ish

Notes: yandere, possessiveness, implied dubcon, talks of virginity, self-blame for unwanted advances, Mahito in general

Mahito steps forward, and you’re trapped between the unusual coolness of his body and your bedroom wall. One of your posters--some sun-faded thing leftover from your school years--crinkles against your back. You hope it doesn’t rip, and then you’re back to worrying about more important things.

Like the fact that Mahito wants you to have sex. Tonight. Today. Right now.

“It’s just--I’m not ready,” you say, lips dry, stammering stupidly. “I’m a--I mean, I’ve never… I haven’t…”

Mahito quirks his head, and then grins, all teeth and salaciousness. “Oh-hh. You’re a virgin, then?” When you don’t answer, he pokes the end of your nose with a finger. “I read about it. It doesn’t matter to me. Humans attach importance to silly things, don’t they?”

Something like humiliation and hurt puffs up in you. He doesn’t take anything seriously, at least not when it comes to you. It’s never bothered you too much. It was part of the charm, the game, of being with someone like him.

But this is… different. Isn’t it? And it bothers you, deep down, even though you really forfeited all rights to any sort of normal relationship expectations the moment you willingly kissed a literal curse.

“It’s not silly.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you think back to fumbled romances from before Mahito. Awkward make-out sessions on the couch that always ended in you telling your dates that you weren’t ready to go that far, and they either smoothly accepted it and got their time’s worth with sloppy kisses and gropes or got the hell out of dodge, and you’re not sure which was more hurtful in the end.

And then came Mahito. And he was different. And a curse. And you were in something-like-a-relationship with him, but you didn’t know what to call it when the person you were seeing couldn’t be seen by anyone around you and he tortured people (to death, or not, and you definitely knew which one was worse in that case) for fun and “science” and you, sick and selfish thing, still loved the way he pressed kisses up your neck to feel your heartbeat or yanked your bottoms down to taste what was underneath or simply held you all night while you watched movies.

And now he wants to push you down onto your bed and fuck you, and you don’t know what to do or say. You don’t want it, but you knew it was coming, like it always does in any relationship. Was it any wonder that it came, too, in this one?

Mahito puffs air in your face and you flinch, startled out of your thoughts.

“Where’d you go, hmm?” You feel his fingers on your chin and you know what’s coming when one of them slides along your lips. One of Mahito’s fingers hooks onto the side of your mouth, and if you weren’t used to him playing around with your body like it was a lump of clay, it would have bothered you. Instead you wonder when he last washed his hands, even as he stretches your lip upward, a mockery of a half-smile.

“Humans are silly. You’re silly,” he says, all matter-of-fact. Then he sighs, put-off or tired or just pretending to be in order to make himself more palatable, more humanesque, to you. You can never tell with him, and that’s part of the thrill. “Is it because you…”

He releases your lips and taps his chin, putting on a show as he thinks for a moment, digging out information from whatever well of knowledge he stores things in. He normally pulls out trivia about humanity that would be better suited to some sort of criminology class. But today it’s something far less morbid, though hardly any less anxiety-inducing.

“Are you saving yourself for marriage? Is that why you don’t want to have sex?”

Your cheeks feel impossibly hot.

You shake your head, looking down, unable to look at him. He never has a problem staring at you for what always feels like a terribly long time. Sometimes he does it so you’ll give him the answer he wants. Other times, it’s to study you--or that’s what you think, anyway.

Mahito pouts. “Oh. Darn. I was thinking we might have a wedding, if that was the case. I’ve always admired those pretty dresses in the windows.” He sighs again. “Probably couldn’t invite him, though, anyway. He wouldn’t approve.” He smiles again, bright and peppy, all imitations of tiredness tossed aside like an old coat. “Did you know he wanted me to kill you the first time I brought you up?”

You nod, because Mahito has had no problem telling you that his companions think he should have killed you a long time ago, and sometimes he thinks about it. But then he remembers how much fun you have together, so he puts it off for another day.

And the thought hits you like lead: If you won’t have sex with him, will he kill you? Will refusing make you too annoying or boring to put up with? Or is it better to say no and keep up the chase, make him fight for you? It was almost dizzying, the way relationship games became serious with Mahito around. A regular guy might just break up with you. Mahito might just break your neck.

“Then… oh!” His expression brightens and he looks so sweet like this that you can almost forget what he is and what you’re doing with him. Almost. “You’re worried about the pain.” He nods, a mockery of sage wisdom. “I’ve read about that, too. He tilts his head back a little. “In novels. It’s cute…”

“You’re cute,” he says, and that’s a good sign--right?--because it means he still wants you. And you’re at least another step farther from being turned into some awful experiment in a sewer.

His lips press against your ear, and his voice is too close and he’s too close, but you signed up for this when you let him in your life, didn’t you? You let him hold you and kiss you and if you didn’t think he’d eventually want more, you were lying to yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, and it does nothing but make you worry more. “I’ll be gentle.”

The most awful thing of all is that you can't tell if he's being genuine or not.

He grins, a sticky smile that oozes an awful dark pressure that makes your stomach clench. It would be better, you think, to do what he wants. Since he seems to want it so much. And… you should be flattered, if anything. Right? Be flattered. Be grateful. Appreciate that some all-powerful curse wants to press you into a mattress and have sex with your body and pull out your mewls and moans like he’s done before, albeit in a far less intimidating fashion.

Mahito presses a chaste kiss to the end of your nose, then pulls back to examine your expression.

“That’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it?” His fingers card through your hair up your scalp, scratching just a little too hard to feel nice. “So you don’t fight as much?”

You swallow, and your throat is so tight that your spit might as well be needles.

Mahito, not wanting for an answer, presses his hands against your shoulder and pushes you harder against the wall as he moves in for a hungry kiss. Behind you, the poster rips.

#mahito x reader #yandere mahito #yandere jujutsu kaisen #afterwitch writes #this is what I mean when I say i have no idea what's coming when lol #wrote this tonight since I can't get that dialogue outta my head

1K notes · View notes

hornedqueenofhell · 8 months

Text

Shared Interests Pt. 2

Pt 1

Lucas pats him on the shoulder and grins at him, "You're doing much better Eddie."

"Don't condescend to me Sinclair." Eddie teases back and tickles Lucas's side, "You're the one who told me to do that stupid shoulder touch thing and Steve laughed whenever he looked at me for a week!" Steve may also have done it back to him at one point and made his knees go weak which just isn't fair.

"Wait, so is that why Steve asked if I wanted to learn how to pitch a baseball after we went up to cerebro for my date with Suzie?" Dustin had been confused at the time, wondering if Steve was trying to make him want to be a jock too.

Eddie nods and settles back in his chair, "Aside from the fact that I think he just wants all of you to be more physically active considering how much time we spend running from monsters, yeah."

Oh, Dustin had called it gross and sweaty and wanted to go home before he got a sunburn. And Steve hadn't complained, he ruffled Dustin's hat and told him to wipe his feet before getting in his car.

"Wait, does Steve think I hate him?" Fear bubbled through Dustin's veins, all the times Steve asked if he'd like to go see a movie or visit the library… was he going to lose his friend?

"Mmmm, I wouldn't go that far per say." At the devastated look on Dustin's face Eddie quickly drops the act, "No Dustin of course he doesn't, Steve loves you dearly. You guys could stand to ease up on calling him stupid or shit like that because that does hurt him, he wouldn't tell you that even on pain of death though."

Lucas and Will share a look at that and Eddie suspects that this isn't the first time that particular subject has been brought up by someone. His money is on El. That little girl loves Steve with every fiber of her being and watching them read or work on El's catch up work together warms Eddie's heart endlessly.

"So we have to do sports stuff now? Because of Steve?" Mike looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

"You realize Steve has other hobbies besides sports right?" Eddie points out, "The guy is literally in school right now learning to do hair professionally because he's so good at it." Case in point baby Byers missing bowl cut and his far less frizzy curls.

"I like that he tells me everything that he's doing because I don't like people standing silently behind me. He does it with El too because she's so worried about her head being shaved again." Will pipes in causing Mike and Dustin to turn to him. "He cooks too, likes to help mom with dinner whenever things go late."

Eddie beams at Will brightly, "Yep, although he's a far better baker. I'm always bringing snacks to band practice now, Gareth would probably fight me to the death to marry Steve himself; his sweet tooth has never been so happy."

"Okay but how is just listening to him talk about hair 'sharing a hobby', that just sounds boring." Mike says, complete with poorly done air quotes. He’s trying to mimic Eddie again but can’t get the motion quite right.

"Mike, if you grew up in a house all alone outside of when the rest of the party came over for d&d or sleepovers how would you feel?"

"Uhh great, no parents fighting, no dealing with Nancy, no having to be the only one taking care of Holly."

"For the first few weeks, sure. But what about when the silence sets in? When you're sitting alone at the dinner table for months, having to make every meal yourself. When a tornado or a storm rolls through and you're sitting in the basement wondering how long it'll take for someone to find your body, if anyone would even care to look. When you're sick and there's no one around to help you make a bowl of soup or bring you water after you threw up again. When there's no one to talk to for days on end because your friends have families and lives outside of you. How much would a conversation about anything, even the most mundane thing ever, mean to you then?"

"That's not-" Eddie cuts him off with a look and Mike hunches his shoulders. Dustin wants to go give Steve a hug right now.

As if hearing his wish the door to the basement opens and Steve walks down the steps, “Hey babe.” He says cheerfully as he presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“Hello sweetheart, class go okay?” He places his hand over Steve’s on his shoulder.

“Someone messed up the bleaching lesson horribly today, I’ll tell you about it on the way because we will be late if we don’t leave soon and I know how much you enjoy making puns out of the players names.” Also because they get skimpy with the nacho cheese at the concession stand when you’re late.

“Alright, one sec and I’ll finish packing up.” He squeezes Steve’s fingers before letting go to start scooping dice into his bag. As he’s packing his stuff away Dustin bursts out of his chair and wraps his arms around Steve hugging him tightly.

“Hey man, where’s the fire?” He chuckles lightly as he hugs Dustin back, the boy's hat is digging into his chest but he doesn’t mind.

“This weekend, would you like to go to the library? We can go read comics or something.”

Steve smiles brighter than the sun as he squeezes Dustin tighter, “Yeah Dust, that sounds great!”

“I love you Steve.” He says softly into the older boy's chest. Steve’s not sure what brought this on, maybe Eddie did something in the campaign that scared them? He’d ask later.

“Love you too kiddo, get home safe and tell your mom hi for me.” He taps the brim of Dustin’s hat fondly before letting him go and taking a step back when Eddie places a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready love?”

Steve nods and folds his arm around Eddie’s waist, he had to get his clingy affection in now before they had to pretend to be just friends at the game.

“Alright we’re off kids, ponder the lessons you have received today and prepare for combat next time.” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he and Steve head out of the basement.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair

987 notes · View notes

isuckatwritingsobenice · 4 months

Note

can you do human Alastor with reader who’s like Velma Kelly from the musical Chicago? Fem reader please! and maybe mimzy is a bit jealous?

A/N: I love Chicago and Velma Kelly! I’ll be basing it off of the movie version just because it’s easier for me but tysm anon for your request!! I was on a writing block / super long break, but i’m hoping to try and get into the swing of things again! Hopefully I’ll be posting more and getting requests out since I have some good ones I do wanna expand on! We all know I’m a fien for human Alastor so I was really excited to write this.

Warnings: mentions of death & murder, fluff

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

All That Jazz

He thinks you’re too full of yourself

He doesn’t like it about you, but also doesn’t like when other people insult you

Hes seen you live before, and honestly he was impressed

You dance quick and can keep up with him when you both dance together

He loves when you sing All that Jazz, he’s even rehearsed with you before

Now he does know about your sister and how you… you know, got rid of her and your ex-husband

Unfortunately for him, you work at Mimzys rival speakeasy, so Alastor sneakily goes to see you, though he doesn’t really care if Mimzy does find out

In his opinion his darling doe is a fine better singer than Mimzy but he’d never tell her that

He doesn’t have too, not when Mimzy drags him and a few of their other friends to your club to see you preform

Mimzy quote ¨didnt know why you were so popular¨

I mean for christs sake you killed a man and your own sister!

Well now she understands why you’re so popular, after seeing the way you sang and danced on stage

People were cheering and clapping by the end of your number, but you had so much more in store for them tonight

Especially if you knew you were being watched by a certain someone

You shake your hips a bit more and lift your skirt just enough to entice the crowd, give them something a little more to look forward too

Mimzy almost dies when you and Roxie do a number together, the guns and the flare, the white coats and dresses

People throwing roses at the two of you as you both exit the stage and Mimzy is fuming in her seat, no wonder her club is losing money when they have two acts practically running around naked on stage

Alastor meets you backstage in your dressing room where you’re freshening up your hair

Your manager comes in with Alastor in toe, his grin wide as he holds out a bouquet of roses.

¨You were great tonight dear!¨ He says, handing the flowers to you. Your dressing room has various bouquets all from him sitting on different shelves and tables.

¨Thank you so much, these will go right next to my mirror.¨ You say, taking the bouquet from Alastor with a kiss on his cheek. He smiles as he watches you put the bouquet next to your mirror.

¨ Would you like to get dinner dear? I hear a new restaurant has opened and it would be nice to give it a try. What do you say?¨ He asks, before you smile at him through the mirror.

¨I think I like that idea ¨ you say.

Heaven forbid anyone ever offend you in his presence, he WILL throw a fit and then go on a ten minute rant about how good of a dancer and singer you are.

Will sing with you while he plays the piano

Will ask you to sing for him whenever, but loves when you sing to him before bed

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor

313 notes · View notes

wonryllis · 2 months

Text

HAPPY FOR A WHILE ☆ ( sunghoon )

` —SOMETIMES, love will leave you even when it’s right.

preview. eversince the start, you had noticed something off. but you were far too into him to scrutinize things. as a result it came back to you when you were way in deep and thought everything was fine. (this is a repost!)

meet the cast. park sunghoon with gn!reader LIBRARY?

genre. angst, nonidol!au, side character death mentioned, sort of rebound!reader, no physical cheating, it's good i promise.

word count. around 1400 listen to. smile again by blackbear.

827 days.

that’s how much time you’ve been in a relationship with sunghoon. a simple two expanding to so many days and so many more moments. you were never the one to keep a track, just too forgetful to continue the numbers, yet this time something is different, so different that it feels like another version of a first love.

3017 days; that’s sunghoon’s count.

at first you had assumed that he had simply made a mistake, when you saw the figure showing up on the lockscreen of his red iPhone. for a long time thinking that perhaps the count started from when he had known you, remembering the time he told you he knew you way before you got to know him.

but as time passed, all the pieces connected and everything made sense. how the first thing he wakes up in the morning and does is check for messages, fingers hovering over a certain contact you only caught a blurry glimpse of a few times. but never opening it as if waiting for a notification- an excuse. how on specific dates he disappears for the entire day only to come back home around midnight, always dressed in that blue shirt he never lets you touch, the cloth tucked away in the deepest corner of his closet. how sometimes he pauses for a minute before calling out to you, as if trying to find the right name or realizing you are the wrong person for the name at the tip of his tongue.

sometimes he would buy the wrong things, like a different ice cream flavor, different color of scarf, different shoe size, different boba flavor or coffee order, tickets for a different genre of movie or band concerts, forgetting your favorite or preferred ones; turns out it isn’t you who’s on his mind when he’s out in the store or the line. it hurt you everytime it happened but when he apologized, you couldn’t find it in you to question why and just forgave him.

you met him two and a half years ago, when he was in his most vulnerable phase. you had gotten to know from his friends about his break up, that he had recently been single again. the same friends who told you a few months ago that it wasn’t exactly a break up, his girlfriend died in a plane crash six months before you met him.

maybe that was what the count is for. he’s waiting for her, even when he knows she’s gone.

they say first love is a memory of a lifetime.

one might not still have romantic feelings for their first but they always remember, the person, the moments, the feelings of the past. maybe, just maybe if she was his first love it would have hurt a little less. but she wasn’t.

they had been dating for five years, had a lot of things they wanted to do together, a future they looked forward to with the other. and most of all, sunghoon was planning to propose when she came back from the work trip; but she never did.

eversince you often wondered why he agreed to be with you if he wasn’t over her yet. it had just been about a year after her death that you had made a move on him, soon asking him out to be your boyfriend. no one told you why he broke up with his girlfriend not to mention she wasn’t even alive anymore, sunghoon himself never talked about his past or her. maybe it was the same old, “she would’ve wanted me to move on”, but this wasn’t moving on, this was pretending to be. it made you question whether all those loving things he did and still does with you, for you are genuine or not.

in all those movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read, where the character stays even though their partner is cheating physically or emotionally, you never understood why, why they never leave but perhaps now you do.

“do you love me?” you had once asked him when he was drunk, trusting the saying ‘a drunk mind speaks a sober heart’, holding his face in your hands, making him look you in the eyes so he knows it’s not her but you. “i really want to,” he had mumbled softly, a whisper of her name following after, so inaudible yet you still heard it; it was as if he felt guilty for trying to find new happiness. the words had broken your heart, but you wanted, still want to stay. for you it’s the attachment and the hope, and the love, how he treats you better than any of your exes though you’ve always been in healthy relationships.

and watching him wake up everyday, and then checking for a sign of her, you realize as long as he wanted, you would keep pretending along with him. because just like he’s stuck with a part of her, you’re stuck with a part of him. a part of him which maybe actually loves you, or at least shows that he does.

what they had he considered forever, knowing very well the forever would end someday but he didn’t know it would be that soon. and just like that you think you can go on like this forever, even if that forever were to end tomorrow.

today you had a date planned, a table reserved in your favorite restaurant where you’re currently seated after sunghoon left in a hurry. he had gotten a call an hour ago, which he had excused himself to attend. you had managed to catch a glimpse of the contact name, it was her mother, his ex’s mother, he still had her saved as mother-in-law. when he came back to the table, a look of apology and dismay on his face- you immediately knew he had to leave. but he couldn’t just leave you there so you did what you thought would be best, told him you can go back on your own anyways and that you still wanted to stay out for a while longer so he need not worry. he told you to text him when you reach home and that he’ll be back late before he was out the door and you watched as he got into his car and drove away.

you know the call had something to do with her, you knew it the moment you looked into his eyes when he came back to leave. you are no one to decide what he should do with things to related to his past yet the fact that he cared enough to ask you even if it wasn’t words and even if you knew he would have left anyways showed that maybe he is trying; trying to live in the present. maybe the clench in your heart made you conscious of how he must feel. of course the pain is different for you both but you want to understand.

later at night when you go back to your shared apartment, you find sunghoon passed out in the living room, a cardboard box beside the couch, containing things you assume belonged to her. sunghoon is sitting on the floor, his head resting on the coffee table ontop of a handmade photobook, pages covered with pictures of him and his ex. just beside it, is his phone screen showing her contact opened, where the last message he sent dates back to three years ago,“have a safe flight, i love you,” a little bubble showing unread below the text.

something he has never before said to you, only ever replying with a 'me too’, maybe someday you both will find a paradise where the past will be a happy memory or perhaps you’ll part ways. all you know that you were happy for awhile, the while before you knew of her. you’re still happy now, not all parts of you, but the part which has come to love him enough to disregard that he’s not wholly yours.

it feels bittersweet to love him, like a dust storm swallowing the sky yet the sky is still there in all glory. you’ll hold him for as long as you can, as long as he will want you to. maybe he'll learn to love you enough to let her go, or maybe you'd learn to love him enough to let him go.

taglist. ( open ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia

249 notes · View notes

mashiraostail · 2 months

Note

omg please please imagine of gale reading to tav please!!

gallleeeeee supremacy

It hadn't been a particularly difficult day, mostly traveling, seeking out merchants, supplies, and information. That being said, when it was time to wind down for the day, you were glad for it. You spent hours sitting around the fire with everyone, exchanging stories and plans for what is to come. You sat next to Gale, you found yourself usually sitting next to Gale, even before the nights you began to share, you were always drawn to him.

He seemed to have an unending wealth of knowledge to share with you, you were happy to hear it all. Glad to hear about the heavy tomes he kept with him, to pour over complicated scrolls with him, to listen to his voice, to watch his mouth when he spoke.

You leaned into his shoulder, you saw a smile tug at his profile. Halsin always had the most bizarre stories, you could listen to him talk for hours about the trouble he seemed to find so easily especially in his youth. You feel Gale's nose brush against your hairline, then he stands as Halsin's story ends.

"Before I get wrapped up in another tale of yours, I'm going to rest a bit." Gale always seemed so grateful to share in things with the lot of you, despite the death sentence in his chest. "Perhaps I'll see you all again before the night is out."

There's a chorus of send offs, and thank yous for dinner and then Gale is gone. Karlach begins to talk about her own youth and the mischief she caused. You see a bit of light flickering from inside Gale's tent, you figure he must be reading. You'd never been a strong reader, you were always so focused on fighting, it was the skill you had chosen to master, just as Gale had chosen the Weave. You wondered how he got to reading, did he imagine the stories in his head like a movie, did he just take in the words and their meanings? What sorts of books did he like to read? Romance maybe? You were sure he did. You excuse yourself to go to him. No one seemed upset by this, though Wyll prods at you a bit as you go pinching your arm and making a teasing sort of noise. Karlach laughs too but gives him a shove.

"They're in love, come off it." She snorts when she says it, just as teasing as he had been. He looks at her and you feel a knowing sort thing tug at your stomach. You save him the embarrassment though and trot off with a pointed 'hmpf' at them.

You poke your way into Gales tent, when he looks up he seems delighted to see you.

"Hello, I didn't think you would follow me." He closes the book he was reading and sits up a bit more, "I'm glad you did." He gestures for you come closer, to sit.

"I was curious." You sit with him and look at the book he had discarded.

"Curious, for what?" He always looks so intently at you when you speak, it makes you flutter.

"What you were...reading." You push the hardcover with your fingertip and he perks up at your interest.

"This is a history book, I was interested in learning more about this land. I tend to not travel this way. Honestly I don't much leave Waterdeep at all, I have plenty to learn."

"I see." The candle beside him flickered and lit his face up, his hair casting long shadows across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. "Do you like to read history books the most?"

"Hm.." He ponders that, "no I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"I'm only curious." You continue to muddle around with the book, it looked heavy.

"Only curious? Would you like to read some? You probably know more about this area than I do though." He nudges the book towards you and you shake your head, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

"No....thank you." You shake your head and pull away from the book as if it had burned you. "What sorts of books are your favorite to read?"

"My favorite?" He wonders, "I like to read...poetry collections."

You recall him saying he does enjoy to write, "I suppose that makes sense."

"Though I won't turn my nose up at a good mystery, or even a love story."

"Really?"

Gale smiles at you his earring catches the light when he tilts his head with it, "of course. I'll enjoy any book if it's written well enough. Are you very picky then?"

"Me?" You flush, "no..no I.." You look away, "no I don't really..read much."

"I have noticed you don't bring a book, yes. Though I figured given the perils of our situation it wouldn't be abnormal to cast aside your typical hobbies." Gale is sitting across from you, your knees are touching. You know deep down he wouldn't truly care. He was a limp noodle on the battle field and he was never embarrassed to show you that. "You could have one of mine." Gale offers, "whatever you like, or we can find something more to your tastes on the road." Despite this knowing you still feel humiliated.

"No I couldn't.." You shake your head, 'these are yours, you must care deeply for them to take them along with you."

"Oh no," Gale takes your hands as they had been waving him away, "a good book is meant to be shared by all, the best service I could do a book I care for is to share it. Books are meant to be read. Whatever you like, consider it yours."

"I..." You feel his palms against your finger tips, "that's very kind of you Gale." You glance at the pile of books he kept with him, they looked equally large and intimidating.

"It's nothing, I'm glad to have somebody to share them with. Especially when that somebody is you. You don't even need to ask, take and enjoy whatever you like."

"Well.." You look away from his easy gaze and to the corner of his tent. "The thing is...I...can't....well not to say I can't I just-"

"Can't? What?" Gale sounds confused, "read?" His eyebrows shoot up, "surely you can read."

"I can read!' You shove him a bit, "just...not very well." You feel your face burning with embarrassment.

"What does it mean to read well? To read at all is good." Gale laughs a bit, perhaps at your fluster, "really, it's nothing to be embraced about. You've spent your whole life fighting, probably dealing with threats just as large as this one, who has time to read?" He turns to sit beside you, he leans against the back of his tent where it's propped against a rock.

"It would take me months to read one of these big books. I haven't got a brain like you Gale." You shake your head and lay back beside him. He seems to preen at the praise. You look up at him and he looks to you stammers for a moment, then laughs. You feel his eyes scan your face, and the heat radiating off his body. There's a silent command in the air between your that draws you closer to each other.

"Lately, it feels like I haven't got much knocking around up here at all." He taps his temple, "what have you done to me?" You smile, and give a small huff of a laugh as his hands cover your cheeks, holding your face gently and drawing you nearer. You share a kiss that's warming and kind, your hands hold onto Gale's wrists.

"I wouldn't mind, if you kept the book and took your time with it." He offers as he noses against your cheek, "they would be months well spent."

"I'm worried it would overwhelm me." You flatten the wrinkles in his shirt over his chest, "so many pages. I'd feel like I have no choice but to rush."

"You've no need to rush." He kisses you again then trails his lips to your cheek, then your temple. You rest your hand on the side of his neck, thumbing occasionally at the ends of his hair.

"Why don't you...read to me?" You pull away to look up at him, "I would love to hear what you think as we go anyway, you're much better for these sorts of things."

"Really?" He perks up again, "I fear you'll tire of my voice."

"No," you laugh a bit, "no Gale, never. Pick one, something interesting."

He goes for a moment, rummaging around his things before producing a hardcover book, he sets it on your lap.

"This one I like, it's a mystery, but there's a love story in there as well, and plenty of wonderful twists from beginning to end." He taps the cover as he settles next to you again.

"I think that will do well then." You look up at him, "you know I could not imagine doing this with anyone else. Telling you a thing like that was actually...difficult for me. I could not imagine opening up to anyone else like this."

"I should hope so." Gale replied easily, flipping open the book, "have you had other wizard callers?" He raises an eyebrow at you, "because if you have might I strongly recommend you throw them all to fire. Wizards make terrible lovers and are hardly commendable companions."

"Really?" You laugh, looking up at him. He just nods.

"They'll almost certainly take advantage of you. Truly conniving they are. Their noses are always stuck in a book, they'll jump at any attention at all. Give them an inch, they take a mile."

"Mhm...that does sound right." You agree, thumbing at the corner of the hard cover.

"Yes, truly a wretched kind that lot, certainly never to be trusted even at the worst of times."

"And what about you?" You lean against him, resting your head against him and pulling your legs up to your chest. "Would you take advantage of me? Are you to be trusted?"

"Oh," He sputters, "who, me?" He puts a hand on his chest, looking almost offended but his grin gave him away, "no not me, me so deeply devoted to you? Do you truly think so little of me?"

You snort and turn into his arm, "you're right. Are you going to read or just flirt with me all night?"

He laughs back at you, "come on then." His arm comes around your back and you peel open the book. He starts reading, his voice is quiet, as if you weren't the only two people in the room and he was trying to keep this story a secret.

It's a good story, or what you hear of it is, Gale interjects with a few anecdotes here and there but they only help the story along for you. You even interject with a few questions or shocked remarks here and there.

"No! How could he do that to her?" You cut Gale off with an offended gasp, "she loved him!"

"Wretched lot, Wizards." He taps the book laughing, "see I told you."

"You did..." You settle back into place against him. He makes it through a good deal of the first few chapters before you start to doze off.

"Your eyelids are looking particularly heavy." You feel his lips against your hairline when he says it, "are you falling asleep? Have I bored you so much?"

"No!" You try to muster the energy to sound offended, "it's good, I like it so far. Its just laying like this makes me doze off." You turn into his side, "keep going."

He hums, maybe he's considering a teasing remark about reading you to sleep, he must elect against it because he rests his chin against the crown of your head and then continues to read to you. He reads until you've fallen completely asleep, by then he's feeling heavy himself.

You vaguely sense him shifting you around to lay down, but you don't stir much, just settle into him once again.

#gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #bauldrs gate 3 x reader #gale dekarios

172 notes · View notes

akiira00 · 10 months

Note

hi !! is it possible to ask for jinwoo's shadows ? i just wanted to ask for a gn / male reader who is very affectionate with his shadows-- i'm sorry if you can't write for them ! have a good day ! "⊹ฺ(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

— Shadows

Pairing: Sung Jin-Woo x G/n! Reader, Jin-Woo’s shadows platonically. (Idk how to tag this-)

Genre: Pure fluff.

Synopsis: Just some general headcanons with your boyfriend and his shadows!

A/n: Sure! Sorry if it’s a bit OOC, but I’ll try my best, hope you like it! It’s kind-of short tho-

Length: 0.5k words.

I think the relationship with Jin-Woo would be a bit of a messy thing. Generally getting home late and all things.

But he does love you with all his might, so he’ll probably leave one, two or maybe even three of his trustable shadows to take care of you!

This would lead to many boring days on the couch as you waited for jinwoo, as you probably watched k-dramas with Beru. (I love him sm…)

Jin-Woo would often find you and Beru both bawling your eyes out together at even the death of a puppy in a movie. (I would too tho)

This leads to some scolding to Beru that he “needs to concentrate on his task” but nonetheless it’ll happen again.

“Beru, again…? Gosh…” Jin-Woo would say as he took a step onto your shared apartment, looking at how you and Beru were yet again ignoring his requests of seriousness and watching whatever thing on the TV.

But what did he not expect? Seeing Tank on the garden watching too. That made him facepalm as you laughed at his reaction, as you were leaning on the giant ice bear alongside Beru. “What- TANK, YOU TOO?!”

I imagine him ‘grounding’ the poor giant bear making him sit in the corner of the garden or something, but every time he did that, you were always by the side of the fluffy giant. (Wait- Can a shadow be fluffy…? Idk.)

Aside from the whole TV habits, Jin-Woo would often take you into rides on Kaisel’s back, watching over the city or far away to enjoy some time together.

Every ride of this ones would lead on you hugging the giant dragon as you both flied through Korea’s skies.

“Hang on tight.” Jin-Woo said as you both climbed up Kaisel’s back, and you quickly nodded, but the thing he expected you the least to do, you did. He turned away for just a second and you already were laid down on the dragon’s back without a care.

He’d climb up followed by a sigh, sitting down beside you and looking at you directly in the eyes. “You really want to do that…? I can make him fly vertically and you’d be dead.” He said, obviously not going to do it, so you just staid in place before you heard his voice again. “Kaisel, up.”

You instantly stumbled back onto your knees as the giant dragon flew straight up, with Jin-Woo mantaining you in place with his sort-of telekinesis skill. (He hadn’t tell you about his whole skill set and what it was.)

“Told you. Wasn’t difficult to just sit up, huh?” He teased with a smirk as you just let out a tiny pout, leaning your head on his shoulder as you both flew together, gently patting the dragon’s back every now and then.

He often teases you like that, maybe even when he finds you sleeping against Tank’s back, which is oddly really common.

Overall, being Jin-Woo’s partner not only gives you that wonderful man, but gives you tons of shadows to spend time with, and you certainly used that to the full extent.

You have him, a TV buddy, a three on one couch, bed and pet, and even a dragon. What else could anyone ask for?!

#sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling x reader

468 notes · View notes

such-expensive-mistakes · 5 months

Text

halfa!Steph AU (part 1)

I'm still working on the Superpham AU but I couldn't stop thinking about this idea.

-----

Once upon a time, there was a girl who thought she could be a hero. And then she died. She died slowly and painfully and steeped in guilt over having accidentally set off a gang war that destroyed the city. It's a neat little story about hubris and knowing your place and why Batman is always right.

Except she didn't. Die, that is. She flatlined on the operating table and Leslie faked her death. And when that girl came back, she put on a costume again and became the third Batgirl. It's a heartwarming story about stubbornness and learning to rely on others and proving Batman wrong.

The truth, Stephanie thinks, is somewhere in between.

When she talks about having died, people treat as— not as a joke, the pain is still too raw for that, but as an exaggeration. Dramatic license.

Sometimes Steph thinks that's all it is. But she feels like she died. She dreams about it sometimes. Not just Black Mask, although he does haunt far too many of her dreams, but something else. Something in-between.

It's probably just the trauma. That's what Leslie says, when Stephanie finally asks her.

Stephanie doesn't ask Leslie about her newfound strength, or about how sharp her senses have become.

You can't go through something like Stephanie did and come out unchanged. That's what Babs says, and she would know. Steph doesn't think they're thinking about the same kind of changes, though.

-----

Stephanie lands on a rooftop and looks down at the white van parked below. It's not a particularly notable vehicle, except for the occupants.

"What are they doing?" Steph asks.

"I don't know." Babs sounds frustrated, and no wonder. There aren't many people who can keep Oracle out of their systems, and Steph wouldn't have judged these guys to be among their ranks. "I'll keep trying to get through their firewalls, but I'm flying blind here. Keep an eye on them, but be careful."

"You know me," Steph says. "Careful is my middle name."

Babs doesn't even bother to muster up a sarcastic response to that, which is how Steph knows she's preoccupied.

These guys have been running all over Gotham for the past few weeks. They're dressed in immaculate white suits and carrying unfamiliar weapons, and they seem to be taking some kind of readings on unfamiliar instruments. None of that is a crime, but it's suspicious, and Oracle's inability to find out any more about them is even more suspicious.

And that means they're officially Steph's problem.

The men are doing the same thing they've been doing the last few times Steph has watched them. It's not particularly exciting.

"Batgirl," Oracle says.

"Please tell me there's a robbery or something that needs my attention," Steph replies. "These guys are so boring."

"Sorry. Do you think you can get one of their gadgets for me? I want a better look."

"Can do, boss."

Stephanie carefully climbs down to street level, staying out of sight. She's gotten a lot sneakier since her not-death. She tells herself it's all of her training and practice, finally paying off, but regardless of the cause, the guys in white have no chance of spotting her.

They're standing near the front of the van, arguing about something.

"The apparition was spotted here last night," one says.

"That doesn't mean it's going to return!" another responds.

Sounds like they're looking for something in particular. Which Steph and Babs had already guessed, but it's nice to have confirmation.

Steph slips toward the back of the van, which is wide open. Not smart, especially in Gotham, but she's got a feeling these guys aren't from Gotham.

The inside of their van reminds her of a sci-fi movie; everything is blindingly white and chrome, with glowing green accents. And lots and lots of those weapons. Whoever they are, they clearly have a nice sized budget.

Steph grabs one of the guns and a handheld instrument like the one the guys outside are waving around, but as soon as she does, all the instruments the guys in front of the van are holding start going wild.

"There it is!" one of them yells. They all start shooting at her, which is how Steph learns that they're using some kind of fancy laser guns. Because regular guns just aren't space age enough for these guys.

That's Steph's cue to get out. She grapples back to the rooftop, just barely avoiding getting hit by the laser guns.

It’s easy enough to lose them from the rooftops. At Oracle’s direction, she makes her way back to Firewall. She tugs her mask off and hands the stolen tech over to Babs.

“The’re looking for something,” she says. “An apparition.”

Babs hums in acknowledgment. “Hopefully these will have some answers.” She switches on the— scanner? Steph’s pretty sure that’s its function, anyway. It starts beeping wildly.

Steph jumps back, startled. The beeping stops.

“Well,” Babs says. “I think we have an idea what they were looking for.”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #stephanie brown #halfa steph au

209 notes · View notes

bookofbonbon · 1 year

Text

the fool who thought he could kill his wife - aemond targaryen.

Pairing/s: Aemond Targaryen x Reader; Aegon Targaryen x Reader (slight).

Warnings: cheating. mentions of character death & murder.

Summary: based on this request but, I took it one step further as usual lol

Word Count: 1774.

A/N: This is my first time writing in this style - I quite like it. The final line is one of my absolute favourites from the movie 'Troy'. I wasn't going to write this request but, it got stuck in my head.

You didn’t notice until it was too late.

Too caught up in the midst of war to notice that slowly, slowly, your dear husband Aemond’s affections toward you began to wane.

You had chalked it all up to changes caused by the war.

The shorter trips at home in turn for longer trips around the Realm.

His avoidance of you when he was home.

The lack of intimacy.

The change in his scent.

The constant arguments.

Then came the attempt on your life and when you told, Aemond… he did not even show the tiniest bit of emotion toward you.

Neither seeking to comfort you or pursue the one who attempted to murder you.

It was then that you knew that these were not changes caused by the war at all but, it was easier to believe that they were when you had no proof.

Until supper one night, when Aegon's drunken stupor finally opened the door to answers you were looking for.

“Aemond has been gone for some time,” Alicent worried aloud, turning toward you. “Have you heard word from him, my dear?”

“I am afraid not,” you shake your head, eyes downcast in false despair.

Truthfully, you could care less of Aemond’s whereabouts or if he had sent word to you or not.

Alicent however, places an anxious hand to her neck and, swallows thickly so, you continue with your performance and place a comforting hand over her other one.

“But he is in the Stormlands after all, my Queen. You know how the weather does not bode well for the ravens.”

“The Stormlands?” Aegon drunkenly burps. “Aemond’s not in the Stormlands. He’s been overseeing our war effort in the Riverlands for the better part of the past year.”

The threads that hold you together threaten to snap but it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

So, you play a lustful game with Aegon, the only one who could give you the full truth behind the answers you seeked.

More giggling, less eye rolling.

More indulging him in his love for the cup, less scolding him for it.

Stolen looks, lingering touches, kisses on the cheek that grew nearer and nearer to one another’s lips and wanton glances from across the room.

Until finally, finally, finally… he innocently invites you to his quarters under the guise of wanting to go over battle strategy with you before your trip to the North but, with the true intention of bedding you.

It was easy from there.

Aegon longed only for women and wine and so, you used both of those things to your advantage – plying him with glass after glass and drawing him in with your body.

Allowing his hands to wonder over every curve and dip of your figure.

His hand cupping your cheek, lips brushing against yours and then you pull away.

“I cannot,” you croak, false tears springing to your eyes. “I- Aemond is my husband. He is your brother, and he is out there fighting for us and protecting us. Loyal and dutiful and I-I am here being a-a… a whore.”

You allow your tears to fall most dramatically from your eyes, a harrowing sob falling from your lips.

Aegon scratches at his head, annoyed by your sudden outburst but, still hopeful of a pleasure filled night so, he brings you into his arms and wipes at your tears; the faint outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Oh, my dear, sweet, sister. The true picture of loyalty and duty toward a husband who does not do you the same kindness,” he tuts, thinking out loud.

You sniff sadly, lips pouty and eyes shining innocently as you stare up at Aegon, baiting him.

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, voice wobbling.

Aegon studies you for a moment, thinking about how pretty your lips would look wrapped around his cock.

Thinking about how your thoughts of Aemond were now preventing your pretty lips from being wrapped around his cock so, in his lusty, wine filled daze Aegon confesses Aemond’s sins.

Of the bastard Alys Rivers of House Strong with whom Aemond now lay with, taking her up as not just his whore but, his lover.

"A witch," Aegon tells you.

A witch who had been aiding them in their war effort for she could see what had not yet happened but was certain to come.

A witch who Aemond plotted with to rid you of life.

Aegon only confirms what you already know but, still it hurts to hear and so, you spend the rest of the night weeping into an irate Aegon’s chest as he holds you in awkward comfort.

He was hoping to get his cock wet not his shirt.

The next morning you are gone. Taken to the skies on the back of your dragon Vermithor.

Those in King’s Landing assuming you had left for your assignment in the North but, only going so far as Dragonstone.

Aegon unsuspecting and forgetting of the words he had spoken to you the night before.

“Rhaenyra,” you bow your head to your niece.

“Daemon,” you turn your nose up at your cousin.

“I should slice you from the opening of your cunt to the opening of your mouth for even showing your face here,” he hisses at you.

“You should but, you won’t,” you shrug.

Your arrogance provokes Daemon forward until Rhaenyra's hand wraps itself around his bicep.

“And you won’t because you know I can help you,” you finish.

“In what world would you think that I would want your help after your husband murdered my son?” Rhaenyra seethes, tears lining her eyes.

“A world plunged into war and forcing those of us who stand to gain nothing from it to take sides,” you bite back coldly. “I can help you win.”

“Why help us win if you stand to gain nothing from it?” Daemon studies you, slowly connecting the dots. “What has our foolish nephew done that turns you away from him?”

“My dear husband conspires to have me killed with a witch by the name Rivers. A bastard of House Strong. I’m sure the irony of who Aemond has taken to whore is not lost on either of you.”

“So, you do stand to gain something from it,” Rhaenyra looks at you smugly. “Her head.”

“You are sorely mistaken, niece,” you chuckle darkly. “It is not the head of Aemond’s whore that I want but, the head of Aemond himself.”

You lie in wait, perched atop of a mountain as Vermithor bristles beneath you.

You instructed Daemon on what to do – Aemond saw Daemon as the biggest threat to Aegon’s throne and so, you knew he would respond to a challenge issued only by Daemon.

His unwavering need to constantly prove that he was the better, that he was the best had always been his downfall and now he would pay for it with blood.

The undeniable flapping of wings that could only belong to a dragon bigger than your own reaches your ears; signalling the arrival of Vhagar and her rider and with that you take to the skies.

Vhagar glides through the sky, Aemond’s keen eye searching for the lithe red dragon of his opponent as he calls out taunts in High Valyrian; completely caught off guard by the colossal spew of fire that engulfs him and Vhagar.

A thunderous roar spills from the she-dragon but, it’s cut short when she’s suddenly attacked relentlessly over and over again by a barrel of bronze hurtling into her, sharp teeth, fiery breath, and large claws ripping into the older dragon in a loud clash above the God’s eye.

Aemond desperately clings to Vhagar’s reign, trying to regain control of Vhagar to steer her from where the onslaught of attacks had come from.

He only just manages, hair whipping around wildly as Aemond searches the sky frantically. Shock becoming him when his gaze settles on the Bronze Fury that emerges from above the clouds – the Bronze Fury that was sired to his dear wife.

Aemond freezes, the icy glare you level him with telling him everything he needed to know and before, he can realise what’s happening, Vermithor locks his jaw around Vhagar’s neck.

The older dragon too slow and too injured to counter Vermithor’s attacks as the Bronze Fury rips out the she-dragon's neck, sending her spiralling into the water below with a tidal wave splash.

Aemond emerges from the water with a sharp gasp, taking in mouthfuls of air.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, giving you the strength to drag Aemond’s battered body across the wet sand, your hand fisted in an ironclad grip around the neck of his armour as you use up the last ounce of your strength to heave his body against a nearby rock.

Aemond stares at you from his position, each breath burning his lungs.

“How, how,” Aemond pants, violet eye piercing into your own.

“Aegon,” you answer, kneeling beside him. “He has only taste for women and wine so, I am sure you can imagine how easy it was to withdraw the answers I needed from him.”

“I do not under- understand. Alys- Alys only saw Daem-”

You tut disapprovingly at Aemond, pulling a necklace from beneath your armour, the blood red eye-shaped pendant swinging back and forth.

“Protection from her wandering eyes. No matter how far or clearly your beloved Alys could see into the future, she could have never foreseen me,” you brush silvery strands from his head, gripping his chin between your fingers.

“The Targaryen bloodline is rooted deeply in fire and blood magic, dear husband. You might have done better to remember that if your mother had bothered to keep to the traditions of our House whose sigil you wear so brazenly on your chest and name you call your own.”

Aemond glares at you with the hatred of a thousand burning suns. He should've killed you himself.

“But, not for long,” you pull the Catspaw Dagger from the sheath holstered to your side, dragging the tip along the side of his face.

“I will not beg you for my life,” Aemond spits through gritted teeth.

“But you will beg me for your death,” you smile saccharinely. “For when I am done with you, you won’t have eyes tonight; you won’t have ears or a tongue. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all the dead will know. This is Aemond. The fool who thought he could kill his wife.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond x alys

1K notes · View notes

desire-mona · 27 days

Text

things abt dps i feel like we dont address enough (photos attached will be shit quality, i took screenshots from yt clips LMAO)

heavily ib @pencileraser1's post abt stuff he noticed n such

the fucking KIDS at welton. the CHILDREN. maybe its just me but i always find myself forgetting that welton isnt a highschool + there are in fact a lot more students than the ones we're focusing on. thats what makes welton so like. evil? to me? they start pushing these kids into a box EARLY.

related, i wouldve LOVED to see how(/if?) keating taught these kids, or rly any other class! he has other classes!!! i think!

ok. of course. neil is a smoker, we've touched on that. but charlie is too?? and he's the one who provides the cigs???? obviously the easy explanation is that he does it to be rebellious and stuff but also Is There Something Else. much to think abt. also wondering where he gets his cigs but thats not rly anything i dont think.

this ones just funny but when mr perry tells the boys they can take a seat and todd simply does not. i KNOW he wasnt sitting before and he needs to unpack and stuff but ITS STILL FUNNY.

"take your seats boys"

"🧍"

also my guilty pleasure is the dps but its todd being anxious video bc man usually crack videos arent my jam but unfortunately i find it so funny

also!!! neil calling his dad sir. obviously its something so glaringly obvious that we dont need to have a discussion abt how theres a disconnect between them. like wow rly thanks mona i didnt know. but come on!!! it makes me sad!!! also they shake hands later in this scene and its the most affectionate/ friendly we see these two get. and its a handshake. and i think what makes it worse is that neil is a SUPER physically affectionate person with his friends. if u watch the movie and pay attention to how often he's touching someone else then ur gonna be like man. he rly was jumping at every opportunity huh.

something about the way neil and the boys act around mr perry makes me view him as more of a drill sargent than anything. everyone immediately stands upon him entering the room. they dont sit until given permission. it rly puts the whole military school thing into perspective but NOT ENOUGH TO SATISFY ME. as much as i hate mr perry, i wanna know what his life was like growing up. this man lived thru the great depression AND wwii, theres stories.

cam's stupid fucking face when keatings behind him larping ghosts. i will never stop talking about how sassy this kid is. the dps redheads go criminally unacknowledged in terms of comedy because OH MY GOD. CAM AND MEEKS WERE SO FUCKING FUNNY??? they both pulled the most dastardly judgemental looks and they make me cackle. a bit earlier in this scene meeks goes full 🙄🤨 on sniffles (tissue kid. i call him sniffles) and it is, without exaggeration, my fav part of the movie.

the fact that i totally thought knox was gonna fall off his bike and eat shit in this scene. it would be so out of place since dps isn't exactly full of physical comedy but GOD i still fully anticipated it. either that or him getting attacked by a bird. theres totally symbolism surrounding birds in this movie btw and idk what to make of it. if any of u lovely ppl have a theory then lmk immediately.

keating so accurately calling cam out being like "is this right is this right. am i walking right." BC YESSS. i will eventually make a fully fledged cam post but to briefly touch on it, i find cam to be very confused on what is right, usually in terms of morals. a whole situation of confusing your personal values with the rules, thinking theyre one in the same, and completely abandoning what u actually believe. unfortunately i think neils death rly amplified that nd is what led him to tattle. cuz cam is still willing to break the rules in the beginning of the movie!! he's outwardly judgemental but he still does it!! much to discuss, i promise i will eventually.

keatings face after todd yawps!!! theres not much to say here he is just so proud!!! sweet little moment!!!! keatpostin!!!!!!!!

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

u guys know im an avid knox hater but this made me giggle. rip knox overstreet u wouldve loved twitch streaming.

THE SPECIFICS OF THIS SHOT. i was gonna make a post a while ago being like "idk i find it funny that the main focus of this shot isnt even one of the poets" and then i realised that WAITTTTTTT THATS THE POINT!!!! keating reached kids besides the poets!!! u didnt have to be in the dead poets society to be affected by the way he taught his classes!!! u just had to be his student!!!!! also i love the fact that the kids who stayed seated r ASHAMED. EMBARRASSED.

the ending shot. oihghgghgg. it was SUCH a choice to set it up this way and honestly i adore peter for making it. this shot is SOOOO UNCOMFORTABLE TO LOOK AT and i love it. when i first watched this i was like "uhm ok interesting choice putting todd between this kids legs but I GET IT. one of the biggest things i remember from the film classes i took is that the way u set up shots is sooo important narratively, and one way to rly push the narrative is the space around a character in a shot. for example! if u have a character on screen surrounded by a TON of negative space then it rly emphasises how alone/ isolated they are. on the other end of the spectrum (the todd spectrum), if you surround a character in a shot with other objects or obstructions, like todd and this kids legs, then it rly emphasises how trapped and confined they are. looking at this makes me feel like. claustrophobic almost, like it's genuinely a bit harder to breathe looking at it. TODD IS STILL TRAPPED IN THAT SCHOOL. YES HE STOOD ON THE DESK AND YES HE NOW HAS THE MOTIVATION TO BE MORE CONFIDENT BC OF NEIL BUT HE! IS STILL! TRAPPED THERE!