#sorry these tags are unhinged i feel fucking unhinged

[foulbearobservation]

I've been stressing over this proposal and the email to the ceo for literal weeks but I sent it three days ago and just got a "looks good, thanks 👍" in reply so.

[overtake]

admitting ur a larrie and saying it brought you to your current ship is such a brave personal choice. this comment should be an official diagnosis in the dsm-5.

[3416]

are you normal or do you wake up every day and think about this

[moe-broey]

ALSO. ALSO. I WANNA SHOW. BEHIND THE SCENES!!!

Mostly because my process feels convoluted/unhinged LMFAO..... like........... is this really the best way to do it. I have No Clue.

Stage 1: Notes

Fairly straightforward? Picking apart each line of Sharena's official dialogue, lining it up with Moe's reactions. Numbered, to make that easier, but also to help w panel placement later (maybe. That was the intention. Wasn't sure how that was gonna work at the time). Plus, a page expanding on what's going on in Moe's head/how it is, as a character -- and how that does cause a bit of conflict here.

Stage 2: uhhhhh. Images.

Sometimes I have a really clear idea of how a comic will look, other times. This happens. I esp ended up dissatisfied with my first attempt at page 1, feeling like the focus/focal points/build ups were in the wrong place. I was also extremely intentional with the panelling, itself, here -- studying how Dungeon Meshi paneling is, how it manages to convey a lot of information in a small space with a really nice flow, I feel.

When something isn't working, I just. Cut that shit up. And rearrange it. Until I get Something Else. It feels goofy, but I've found it has really good results!

As a side note: Page 2 did not give me NEARLY as much difficulty LMFAOOO

Just some roughs, and slotting two pages together like puzzle pieces 👍

STAGE 3: LIGHTBOX

I've found the best way to use a lightbox is to trace as roughly as possible, bare minimum, and use that as an outline. If you trace too closely, your linework looks real stiff (another issue I think I ran into my first attempt at page 1).

How it looks all filled in! And a comparison to the choppy rough page LMFAO

Stage 4: Draw the rest of the tiger, essentially. You're well on your way to having Something. Godspeed and good luck 🫡

I'll leave you with this! A line up of all my notes/drafts/concept pages!

Like....... is this really necessary............ for a two page comic.................. come on.

[hesgomorrah]

you're fiona campbell. you marry a well-off man six years older than you and you think you know what sort of life that's going to give you. he's a soldier, which scares you, but you can live with that. you think you can. you hope you can.

you're fiona lethbridge-stewart. you always thought there might come a day when your husband never came home, but you weren't prepared for the day he came home a completely different man. in some ways perhaps he's become a better man, but he's not the one you married. and he refuses to tell you why. he refuses to tell you a lot of things, after that. you see less and less of him, and he never tells you where he's been. work, he says, like it explains everything. but his work was never like this before. you have a child together, and you think maybe this will give him something to come home for. you both love her, but you're not sure he loves you anymore. you begin to wonder if he ever did. the secrets and the lies and the absences only get worse, year over year. your friends think he's having an affair. you know, somehow, that it's so much more than that. you share a bed with a stranger. so one day you take your daughter and leave, and you wish you could say you never looked back.

you're fiona campbell again. you still see him, once in a blue moon, when he comes to visit your daughter. you don't have anything to say to each other. you have so much to say to each other. you doubt he ever spares a thought for you, wherever it is he spends all that time. you're not sure he ever did when you were married. but life goes on. you and kate have each other, and you get by. life is something approaching normal. you never remarry, and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with him. before you know it, you're a grandmother. but then, like deja vu, your daughter comes to see you and she's changed. she says she's going to continue her father's work. you ask her what that means. she says she can't tell you. and isn't that the story of your life? you beg her to reconsider, to think of her family, but her mind is made up. she says it's important. she says she is thinking of her family. she sounds just like him. you never do find out the truth. that great, terrible truth that seems determined to consume everyone you love. you're not sure why it never came for you. it's not even that you want it to-- you know all too well what it does to people. but you'll spend the rest of your life wondering.

[whimsicalcotton]

.

[crescentfool]

never in my life did i think i need to makeout with a piece of software so badly but here we are i guess

[raven-writes-fanfic]

OH! MY! GOD!!!!!!

I am actually really glad I avoided 🚫Tumblr🚫 for the part of the day that I was busy so that it really was spoiler free before I started watching Ghosted. 👻 BUT THEN 💖💖💖SEB💖💖💖 SHOWED UP ON SCREEN AND I HAD TO ⏸PAUSE⏸ THE MOVIE TO COME SCREAM WITH YOU GUYS ABOUT IT BECAUSE!!!!!!!!! OH!!! MY!!!! GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍😍😍☠️

I am dead now. I've died and gone to heaven because we got the Evanstan reunion that we've been dying for since Lobby Hero. I just...need to go curl up in a corner and scream with happiness for a while.

[toytulini]

blacklisted the jo/ker bc i cannot be normal about the joke/r. opens posts blacklisted for containing the jo/ker. close post without interacting bc i cannot be normal about the j/oker and i have to quarantinemy unhingedness which will not happen if i let myself interact with the post. i dont know what i expected

[oculusxcaro]

I absolutely love your portrayal of Khare! You thought through about how her mutation works. Which amphibians she was basically fused with and how they each have their own role in her mutation that when brought together makes for a very cool yet terrifying way to live.

Also such a beautiful tragedy with her story. How she had a normal life before being snatched away to get experimented on by Prometheus. Her escape, how the heavy trauma doesn't stop there nor does the practical storytelling as she had to survive in the wilderness on her own for a time. Gaining injuries and of the sort until she ends up in Gotham city. A perfect place to lay low from people who work for Prometheus as there still could be a chance they're out looking for her.

How her mutation slowly spreads, hindering her memory and slowly eating away her mind. And that's ALONG with the eyes and teeth growing all over her body especially after getting juried. The uncertainty of if there is a cure, or a way to keep the mutation at bay. Or if Khare's fate is sealed and she is living on precious time. How one day, she'll loose herself. Every bit that makes her human, the friends she's made, her compassion, kindness, her determination. All her emotions and thoughts slowly decay as she watches her own body deform into something else.

Not to mention how relatable and sympathetic someone may feel when Khare is too scared to tell her family that she's alive because of how powerful Prometheus is. Like, a giant corporation, with MANY connections. Surely they figured out where her family lives and are waiting for the day Khare might return.

All of this to say that you have a perfect balance of tragedy along with a slice of life. The way you write Khare being drained from long shifts hits the nail on the head on how it actually feels like. It's so easy getting entranced with your writing! always worth waiting for as it's always so descriptive even when it's just a few sentences! Khare is just so human and I love it!

Her mutations are very cool but they actually come with a cost and you show it. Which I don't think is done enough in media. (especially with some superhero powers where theirs "comes with a cost" but it actually doesn't show or feel like it does. It's just generic and on top of that the superhero is out doing superhero shit. Contradictory with Khare. Who actually reads and FEELS like a normal person being stuck with powers that come with a cost but only wants a normal life. And actually lives a normal life! That's what makes Khare stand out. Because in the situations where she does fight it feels more genuine and so much less scripted.)

Please tell me your favorite things about my portrayal/muse?

RUUUUUUUUUE, WHY YOU GOTTA SLAY ME LIKE THIS???? 😭😭😭😭 This right here? Is hands down is the loveliest message EVER like... where do we even begin? First and foremost, thank you so, so much for taking the time to write down and send such a dedicated and thoughtful message - it means the world to me, as do YOU in having been such a phenomenal writing partner through both Rorschach and Oswald (and while we're at it, let's not forget Dan!) Receiving such a detailed message about the things you like concerning Khare is just about the highest praise imaginable considering what an excellent writer you are yourself! You have a fantastic eye for storytelling, delving deep into the narrative to shape not only your muse but the world they live in, how they grow and develop through interacting with that world which is not always the easiest take and yet somehow you always make it seem so effortless? Ever since we started talking, your writing has been a huge influence and a stellar example of roleplaying to not only look up to but to admire and emulate. Writing is hard as fuck even on the best of days but you? Have really helped shape my perspective on so many things, how to write well without padding everything with purple prose and to get into a muse's head. Rorschach is a beautiful example of that what with being very much in his head (and not the forthcoming man in his feelings or words.) It's just one of the many reasons I love the relationship our muses have, Rorschach being incredibly unhinged and aggressive as he was during Watchmen but clearly having changed since his untimely demise, awakening somewhere in the middle of Gotham. You've made that feel so real, how very disconcerting it would feel to die only to wake up in a completely different world, in a universe oddly similar yet so different to the one you left behind. And then there's Dan over on @made-of-archimedes, being Rorschach's polar opposite in being so much more approachable and affable but having his 'darker' side present too, his woes, his worries and very real concerns. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you encapsulate personality so well, making your muses feel so very human with minds of their own, as though you've plucked them straight from the movie. You mentioned once before how you didn't feel you did that, that maybe you weren't writing them 'right' but that's not true at all. Your portrayal made me love your two ragingly repressed men and to appreciate their characters all the more after seeing them from your lens. Ah, I'm so sorry to have waffled on like that but honestly Rue, how you're always so kind and thoughtful is a mystery even Dr. Manhatten couldn't solve. Thank you again so much for saying so many wonderful things about Khare! I've tried so hard to describe some of these things (with less success than I'd have liked) so for you to have nailed everything on the head like you did? Means a lot to me, from your thoughts regarding her mutation to her struggles and fears to why she doesn't contact her family back home. She's fucking scared, completely at a loss on what to do or even if she'll manage to survive when every day there's a new tooth or eye to greet her. Her mutation isn't a cute issue at all, instead being the shit-covered end of the stick of gaining a 'useful' power with very heavy costs. Not everybody gets superpowers like Peter Parker and her story is an example of what happens when things go terribly, terribly wrong. Tumblr is getting fucky now and won't save this post so again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for such a lovely, uplifting message! It means so much that you like my silly frog-fish shambling flesh horror of a girl and her relationship with Rorschach is hands down my favourite part about her development as a character! I look forwards to interacting with him (and Dan) much more in future and for their stories to continue!

[spiderbeam]

FC43: SPANISH LOVE AFFAIR

pairing: spanish!reader x franco colapinto

summary: you’re really proud of your boyfriend’s debut into formula one… but some new fans of his don’t seem to understand your shared sense of humor

a/n: the spanish in this may sound a little stilted to spanish-speakers because i tried to make it so it would translate correctly for any non-spanish speakers <3

liked by francolapinto, williamsracing, and 64,401 others

yourusername he’s a ten (and an f1 driver) but he’s a boca juniors fan

view more comments

user1 is this how you celebrate your boyfriend debuting as an f1 driver 😭😭 i thought we were over this

francolapinto ES UN VEINTE ENTONCES AMOR

yourusername LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

user2 of course the biggest boca fan in the world of motorsport would have a girlfriend that is a fan of real madrid 🤠

user14 peak enemies to lovers 🙂‍↕️ mhm

user3 NOOO FRANCO SALÍ DE AHÍ

user4 okay but they’ve been dating for a while… what are the odds y/n turns franco into a real madrid fan 👀

user5 CERO

user6 vos te caiste de chico o qué

user7 are you out of your mind

user8 close enough welcome back romeo and juliet

user9 break up with him 😍 boys are temporary anyway real madrid is forever

fernandoalo_oficial great to meet another spaniard on the paddock 👏👏

yourusername @/francolapinto HE’S TALKING ABOUT ME OH MY GOD

yourusername hola fernando alonso 😃😁

yourusername @/francolapinto (he’s in my comment section oh my god???? madre mía que me caigo)

user10 why are we only focusing on the caption??? have you guys even seen the pictures she posted of him 🥹

user11 i think i love them your honor

user12 🫶🫶

user13 someone tag her in that one video of franco shouting “dale boca” from a stage in front of a crowd in monza

francolapinto she’s seen it

yourusername ✋ i don’t care for it

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 723,101 others

francolapinto she’s a ten but she said she would break up with you if carlos sainz gave her a chance (and she’s a real madrid fan 😬)

view more comments

yourusername STOP HE FOLLOWS YOU DON’T SAY THAT

francolapinto i thought you said you would stand by it 😨

yourusername NOT WHEN HE COULD SEE THIS

yourusername BORRA ESTO FRANCO

yourusername FRANCO @/francolapinto

user14 this is just an excuse to make us all feel single

user15 franco really saw what twitter had going on and said not in my house

user16 SCREAMING

user17 honestly i get it because if carlos sainz gave me a chance i too would drop everything

user18 oh i love them i fear

user19 THAT LAST PIC??? FRANCO WHY ARE YOU BOTH SHIRTLESS

yourusername i think you know

francolapinto :)

user19 FRANCO

user20 they’re unhinged

user21 crazy that y/n is an f1 wag now….. they grow up so fast 🥹

user22 my favorites <3

user23 i mean isn’t carlos a real madrid fan as well?

user24 🫶🫶🫶

carlossainz55 oh?

francolapinto EHH NO PARÁ

francolapinto SHE’S HAPPILY TAKEN SORRY

yourusername @/carlossainz55 hola 😊

francolapinto NO

a/n: pls reblog/comment if you enjoyed!!!!! i actually really liked making this one :) shoutout to the anon that requested it, your mind is huge

translations:

i. ES UN VEINTE ENTONCES AMOR — THEN HE’S A TWENTY LOVE

ii. NOO FRANCO SALÍ DE AHÍ — NOO FRANCO GET OUT OF THERE

iii. vos te caiste de chico o qué — did you fall as a child or what

iv. madre mía que me caigo — oh my god i’m falling

v. “it’s embarrassing” cerrá el orto — “it’s embarrassing” shut the fuck up

vi. madre mía — oh my god

vii. BORRA ESTO FRANCO — FRANCO DELETE THIS

viii. EHH NO PARÁ — HEY NO STOP

[roseykat]

TITLE: How each of the members talks to you during sex

SUMMARY: blurbs on how each of the members talk to you/verbally treat you during sex!

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with me, my work, or page whatsoever.

TAGS: smut, mentions of sexual intercourse, cumplay, breeding, humiliation, dirty talk, swearing, use of names such as good girl, baby girl, angel, slut bunny.

MASTERLIST

A/N: haven’t done an OT8 piece in a while. Next work is ‘Play Night’ from my Play series! Really sorry for pedalling out content slower than usual, just been a busy gal as of late and also working on the rest of my promised parts to other works too. Those will be prioritised over the new ideas I have x

BANG CHAN

He is an absolute king at communicating. Chan will verbalise to you how he feels just about every step of the way when he’s hitting it in every position. He’s letting you know how insane your pussy makes him feel, how good his body feels. At the same time, he is also the type of person to say things such as ‘do you like it when I do that?’, ‘what about this way?’, ‘can you feel that?’

Chan also has this thing he likes to do where he cums first, inside you of course, then focuses on making you orgasm next so that when he pulls out, he can see your pussy pulsate and try to squeeze out his seed. He'd plug your sensitive hole with a few of his fingers, stroking your creamy walls. Doing something like that will compel him to say something like 'look at this mess princess, need daddy to fuck it back into you?', 'that's it, don't wanna waste a single drop, right baby?'

MINHO

You’re his personal wet, fuck toy and he’ll see you as nothing else unless you’re making love. If that’s the case, there’s barely any talk except ‘I love you’s’. Which is never a bad thing because the physicality speaks for itself. But if you’re not his love, you’re his whore, his little slut bunny that he rails and lets you know that you are one.

He’ll have a hand on your throat, leaning down into your ear which forces you to hear his every word. Minho also mock-moans you as almost a form of humiliation. Every time you scream out that you’re going to cum, he’ll repeat your words in the same manner just to be a dick. But for some reason, it’s fucking hot.

CHANGBIN

A man of principle as we all know, and as a man of principle, he sticks to what he believes. And what’s that exactly? He believes that you are his. So yes he can be quite possessive and is vocal about it in the bedroom, or, wherever it is that he decides to fuck your brains out.

Changbin is letting you know that your pussy is his, is for him, is for his taking. He’ll tell you that your tits are for him to suck on. He’ll tell you your body is for him to mark, that your ass is for him to grope, slap, and grab. Above all, Changbin will not fail to also tell you how beautiful you are with him. Possessive Binnie is a staple concept.

HYUNJIN

Almost similar to Chan in a way, Hyunjin will let you know how he feels. But similar to his artistic streak, he can actually be really descriptive with what goes on in bed despite his semi-soft personality that would wrongly suggest that he's shy. For example, he will tell you something along the lines of ‘keep squeezing around me baby girl’, ‘need to fuck this pussy forever,' 'need to see you dripping with my cum.’

Lately, you’ve noticed a spike in Hyunjin’s obsession with breeding and that has massively impacted the way that he talks to you. Ever since he heard and read up on the phenomenon of his newly acquired kink, he can’t stop saying things to you like; ‘gonna be a good girl and have my kids, huh? Wanna breed this pretty pussy - fuck my bloodline into you’ - something unhinged like that.

JISUNG

Again, under the switch!Jisung agenda, depending on what way he leans for the night dictates how he talks to you in bed. If he’s subbing, and you’re fucking him? Oh, he is whining. Whining to you like a bitch in heat, telling you to spit in his mouth, how much he loves it when you fuck him, he’d tell you to go harder and faster until he passes out. He’d shamelessly cry out ‘I’m gonna cum - you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum’ repeatedly and without a care in the world.

When he tops, he has the same level of communication but with the opposite style of talk. Out of all of these guys, Jisung is up there with one of the filthiest mouths. Saying things to you like ‘look at all this cream around your pussy, makes me want to fuck you with my tongue,’ or, ‘I’ll fucking make you cum as many times as I want, I need you spilling on these sheets you hear me?’ He just becomes totally deranged because of you.

FELIX

Words of affirmation are just a top-tier love language of his just as much as physical affection. Felix will speak to you in the most loving manner possible when he’s doing the dirtiest of things to your body. Like fingering your wet, oversensitive pussy and breathing into your ear, how much he loves your dripping hole. How it only gets that wet for him.

Felix would be into a lot of fun activities in the bedroom but at your own sanity really. They're activities that could involve edging for more than an hour. Similarly, overstimulation as well that could last over an hour. In those instances, Felix is showering you with praise. Every orgasm or every time you try and hold off - 'my angel, look at how well you're going. So wet and perfect. Makes me want to just stop now and fuck you. You want that, don't you? Want to cum on my cock instead?"

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin’s form of verbalisation is almost like some type of militarisation, like he’s handing out instructions to you as if it’s the army. In the bedroom, whenever there’s edging, overstimulation, rope, handcuffs, toys, contraptions of sorts, chains, you name it, he will be telling you what to do and will say things like ‘hold your arms out so I can tie them,’ ‘open up that mouth nice and wide’, ‘spread those legs for me’, ‘make sure you swallow everything I give you’, and it’s always in a nonchalant, indifferent, and uncaring tone. 

In a way, it’s reiterating that he calls the shots, and sometimes it feels like he's using your body - which is welcomed here and there. Other than that, Seungmin can say some pretty out there stuff too which makes you wonder where it all comes from. Such as ‘need to keep fucking this pretty pussy of yours otherwise I’ll go crazy’, ‘not stopping until you squirt all over my cock’, ‘that’s it, fuck yourself on my dick until you cum.’

JEONGIN

Jeongin is a different breed of cattle when it comes to the way he speaks to you in the bedroom. He’s the type of person to praise you first, then belittle you in the next second or the opposite way around. He is the first person to call you a 'whore' or a 'cock-driven slut' whenever you beg him to fuck you. Then once he does, he will call you his 'good girl', his 'sweet girl' for taking his cock so well <3

Jeongin can, for the most part, be a receiver - in the sense that he makes you do all the work just to punish you and not necessarily because you or he wants you to take control. That does happen every now and then, but whenever he’s receiving head or you’re riding him, he’s still the boss. He’ll still tell you to ‘ride my cock faster’, egging you on by saying ‘I know you can do better than that’, ‘what? You want to cum? I think you can wait.’ He’d just be a menace tbh.

I strictly forbid and do not permit anyone or any user to copy, re-upload, translate, remake, or pass off any of my work here on Tumblr to any other social media platform whatsoever. Doing so will result in having your account suspended, deleted, taken down, and or permanently banned.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.2) NSFW

W/C: 3.2k #NSFW, THEY FUCKIN', bottom!reader, top!sukuna, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna ignores feelings through the force of sheer willpower, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, blood as lube (SORRY), Sukuna unhinged horknee, ABO elements

A/N: I wanted to make this include more parts, but I am so flabbergasted and in awe of the response to this fic that I feel the need to feed y'all feral creatures LMAO. JKJK but 👀 Thank you for all the feedback and support! It really gives me the motivation to continue writing and to interact with the JJK community. I'm having a lot of fun!

tags: @kamote-kuneho @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

“What the fuck is this?” Sukuna drawled, an intense fury simmering through his being. His gaze couldn't tear free from you, not even to size up the blindfolded weirdo watching him intently. 

He shattered the coffin, freeing you from the makeshift cursed bath some freak had forced you into. He smoothed damp hair from your sickly face and searched for sparks of life somewhere in the cold stillness that'd overtaken you. And there was something. He found it, a little glimmer of vitality in the smallest, shakiest inhale. 

“Good,” he praised, brushing your hair back more and more to get a better look at your face. You looked like the frail little thing he saved all those decades ago.

“You know,” Gojo interrupted, but Sukuna paid him no mind, “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you actually cared about that kitsune.” 

“Then you don't know what this is,” Sukuna decided blandly. “Figures.” Kenjaku kept him off the record, huh? Guess that's a bonus.

“Oh? Do you wanna enlighten me before Yuuji comes back?” Gojo smiled, as if he really expected Sukuna to play nice and be honest with him. “Come on, come on, it's your chance to be vulnerable~” 

“Tch. Pretty damn sure the fox'll be the one to tell you.” His hand smoothed over your stomach and rubbed slow, gentle circles against your skin as reverse technique sought to bring you all back to him. “He yaps about as much as your insufferable ass does. Granted, he talks a lot nicer.” 

“Wow, rude.” Gojo sighed and clapped twice as if clapping on a light. “Okay! I've had enough bullying. Yuuji–” 

“Brat, don't you fucking dare–” 

Yuuji inhaled sharply. He blinked owlishly at your calmed expression, your eyes now closed and breathing now steadied thanks to Sukuna's aid. 

Aid. That wasn't something the king did. 

“Sensei,” Yuuji managed, voice quivering under the weight of memories’ emotion. “Can you fix this?”

Somehow, you were stuck in the throes of flirtation with the malevolent king of curses. 

“It may be courtship,” Uraume guessed, soft smile brightening their cold exterior. 

(They'd been smiling more recently, actually, ever since you completed that overcoat and presented it to them. Nary a day went by when they did not don the sentimental garb.)

But you weren't so sure; the event of courtship was serious business across all lucid creatures. Animals and creatures of primal existence sought out partners with favorable genes and strong constitution, whereas humans and the like yearned for merit or love in their coupling. You didn't quite grasp the way humans thought. Not yet. 

Well, save for flirting. You decided it was a sort of pre-courtship where nothing became serious and nothing was on the line, but frivolous touches and haughty words of praise ran rampant when those concerned crossed paths. 

Much like today.

(Much like the days before and after.)

You walked along the stone-paved path most mornings, lost in thoughts and mumbling to yourself bits and pieces of poems. Most were unfinished, but in their own time, verses would find one another and complete the incomplete. 

A groggy yawn hummed from the palace entrance. And moments later, Ryoumen Sukuna fell into step with you, grumbling and mumbling complaints about the nippy Spring morning while he tucked his arms away into his sleeves. 

He followed you, idly looking around the expansive space you'd helped curate and maintain when you weren't busying yourself with the girls or decorating clothing. The gardens weren't a mess before, not at all, but now they had a certain taste–trees and flowers were planted with specificity, stones were moved, paths reworked. You took the outside over completely. The king didn't mind. 

“Sukuna-sama,” you said, voice melting in kind with the morning frost. “I'll need to leave for a short while.” 

Sukuna quirked a brow and looked at you. You gazed upon the large, thick koi flashing their beautiful scales and ornate patterns of orange and white as they swam and followed you. Tch. How come even the fish were drawn to you? 

“And how do you think you'll accomplish that?” Sukuna tossed a rock into the koi pond, making the fish scatter. “Getting away from me isn't something you can do.”

You huffed and looked at him. “I understand. I simply seek your permission.” 

“Denied.”

“Ah.” You deadpanned. “Why?”

“You're mine; I decide where you go, how you breathe, if you eat. Or are you forgetting that?” 

You sighed and let your ears droop sadly with your tails. “Surely you jest.” 

“Are you laughing?”

You whined like a sad, sad street pup before cozying up to him, slipping your hands up his stomach and chest like you were supposed to. “Please?” 

“No.” 

You chittered and pressed your face against him, but didn't protest and complain much more. 

Sukuna’s thoughts whirled. The show was amusing, sure, but you didn't do anything without reason, especially when it had to do with breaking character and acting out like this out of–

Oh? 

Sukuna leaned down and sniffed you, searching for the intriguing coil of flowery citrus he nearly missed on the warming breeze. It was so, so faint, but decadent and alluring in a way that made the master of toxins cautious–most poisons tasted sweet, after all. 

You pulled your head back, shrinking down the slightest bit with your ears flattened against your skull. Your eyes, wide as a full moon, stared up at him, expectant. The touch of your hands on him never left, though.

“Brassavola nadosa.” Sukuna tilted his head. “You smell like it.” 

You blinked curiously, relaxing. “Is that so?” 

We don't have that orchid in the garden. Sukuna hummed and lifted a lock of your hair, catching another weak waft of the flower's faint scent. 

It's coming from him, then. Hm. 

“Tell me again why you want to leave the palace?” Sukuna asked on a hunch.

And that hunch doubled down when you fidgeted with the cloth of his haori and looked aside. 

“I wish to bear children," you admitted, shy and quiet. "To try, at the very least. Perhaps find a mate, too.” 

Children. You wanted children. After everything those sorcerers put you through for who knows how many years, you still wanted to mother a runt of your own. And you were willing to run off into the wild to, what, let some random man knock you up? Fill you with seed of unknown origin, unknown value, unknown potential?

Sukuna's ego flared. He leaned down to you, tilting your chin up to make you look him in the eyes regardless how small you felt in that moment. He deserved to witness you. You deserved to witness him. 

“You're not leaving,” he breathed, and he swore he could hear your heart break. “If you want a brat, you'll get a brat–only if you stay here 'n give up on those shitty thoughts of finding a sire out there.”

Your eyes scanned his face, tracing over serious lines and honest creases. Clearly, you searched for an answer–

“How?” 

–one that Sukuna didn’t have. Or maybe he did. Perhaps he just couldn't find the words for it. 

He scoffed and ruffled up your hair, unable to answer you. “You're not leaving. Not unless I say so.” 

The first time he let you go, he left scars. 

He found you in your chambers come early evening. Your tails swished and flicked as you sat amidst a nest of his robes and the missing linens from his chambers while you futzed over the embroidery of another haori, this time adorning the plain thing with the darkest scarlet one could find. Sukuna could already guess why. 

Your being burns as wildfires do. Lively. Emphatically. Devouring more and more so long as the earth lets you. Yet where you do not lay ruin, you grant warmth and light in a divine way. Wildfires are not such horrible things if one stays a respectable ways away. 

Your poetic nonsense irritated him to no end, but he fell enamored all the same; you spoke to honor him with every utterance of his name. You didn't try to kiss his feet nor did you bask him in compliments–you only spoke into existence that which hummed through your mind, unprovoked. It just so happened to be everything Sukuna liked to hear. 

So when he found you secluded away, beckoning so sweetly with intoxicating scents of citrus and gardenia, what choice did he have but to lay claim, to give you the brat you so sorely yearned for?  

You sensed him. Your gaze flicked to him, stoic and unmoved as ever, as the energy in the room built into suffocating silence, something like tectonic plates caught in deadlock, holding their disastrous energy, waiting for the right moment to devastate the world with a single, cataclysmic shift.

And of course, it was the impatient predator that moved first, setting a catastrophe into motion. 

The hours blurred together. 

Every minute of the chase was thrilling, invigorating, surprising–you were filled with tricks and traps, never slowing down for a second to think or doubt as the beast of a sorcerer pursued you through his palace, through the city below, and now into the looming forest in the mountains. 

Admittedly, he'd gotten carried away. He lost himself in the rush of it all, the adrenaline and pure, destructive desire pushed his self-control into unraveling just the slightest bit; honest attacks tore through space and time, hoping to maim and cripple you if they were to hit. And, honestly, the way you avoided his attempts to strike you down enthralled him as much as it enraged him–he was seconds away from unleashing his domain until a less-than-satisfying ripple of cursed energy tore across your thigh and put you down.

It was then, walking up to you, to his prey, that Sukuna remembered you weren't a sorcerer. Most would be able to stand and walk it off, maybe even heal with reverse technique, but you could only grasp at your weeping wound and grimace. Because you were not a sorcerer, you were a kitsune: a trickster, a creature full of mischief and void of cursed energy. 

Yokai. Not a human. Not a curse. Not like the rest of the boring souls wandering his earth. 

Sukuna pinned you the second you tried to make a break for it. Fangs and claws gnashed and tore into him while his hands strained to keep you down and rip those damn clothes free from your burning skin. 

Mating's never a pretty thing when it comes to nature. Humans like you made it something more.

Sukuna clasped a hand over your mouth and forced his weight onto you, ripping reedy yowls from your core as you twisted and turned, primal mind urging you to run, run, run, don't make this easy, make him prove his worth–

Rip.

Ribbons of what were once your robes fluttered to the ground, useless and unsalvageable. They were plain black, so unlike what you usually wore. You wouldn't miss them. 

“Make this as difficult as you want, pet,” Sukuna whispered as he loomed over you. His hand slid from your mouth to your throat when you stilled.  

“You know how this ends.” 

His pants were pulled down while another hand wiped slippery blood against your pliant entrance–and that was the only warning you got before he pushed into you. 

Where you should have screamed, you instead sighed. Your back arched off the ground like a work of art. Two hands gave up on holding you down in favour of gripping your waist and hips, pulling you closer to him, forcing you flush against his body. 

He noticed it then: a litany of old scars and discoloured marks shining against your skin. Marks left by those who did not deserve to taste such a delicacy. 

Unsightly.

Blood painted the grass. Cleaves and slashes ate away at those tainted scars, painting over the ugliness left hidden for too long–now, his marks would decorate you. Now, those hidden scars would mean something. They’d mean everything. 

Yet Sukuna's selfish maiming wasn't fitting the bill, and your antsy-ness was proof of it. You tried for the last time to pull from him, but his grip tightened around your throat. You gazed at him, then, eyes so wide and hungry, eager to fight or fuck–whichever came first. 

He braced over you and nearly winced as he dragged out of your suffocating heat. A sharp snap back inside loosened you, the glide of blood and slick aiding him. 

“I'll take you the way you need it,” he drawled as he built the pace quickly, already feeling his own obsession and excitement reverberating through his body, filling every fibre of muscle with electricity.

“Then,” he growled, leaning closer to your face. “I'll fuck you the way you want it.”

“More,” you sighed, digging your nails into the pillow you had your face buried in while the beast fucked you from behind. Sukuna groaned in compliance and lanced into your guts deeper, harder, faster than before–you were the only one that could handle the brutal way he let loose, and he was more than willing to indulge in that privilege. 

The hands all over you rose to the occasion, too; one had your tails fisted in his ruthless grasp, rudely holding you still and pulling you back against his hips; another rested on the curve of your ass, only moving to give a sharp slap or to knead your soft, perfect skin; the last two held your hips in a crushing force, his calloused fingers digging into your plush sides and sharp hip bones like you might disappear at any second. 

A sharp, sweet whine signaled the beginning of the end, as did the restless fidgeting and shifting in the king's grasp. Seeing you, a poised, powerful, mischievous being, come undone beneath him came to be one of Sukuna’s favourite sights, especially knowing it could only be because of him--only him. 

He leaned over you, his heavy chest pressing into your back as one hand released your waist in favour of fisting in your hair and tugging your head back and out of the futon you so desperately clung to. 

“Ah-ah,” he scolded breathily. “No hiding.” It was a familiar sentiment, one he had no problem reminding you of now and again. You had a horrible habit of trying to vanish when overwhelmed, after all. 

“Terrible beast,” you snapped back, scoffing indignantly when the deep bassy laugh of the man rolled through your body. “Horrible.” 

“You love it,” Sukuna growled back, grinning through every word. 

Something about it clearly struck a chord with you, judging by how fast you choked on your voice and came undone, legs trembling and body tightening around the too-big intrusion. The king groaned and bit at your neck, licking whatever blood beaded at the surface in between rushed, hushed words of praise for you and your efforts–most, if they heard the things he said, would call it out of character for the beast. Most didn't get to see beyond his raw power and crippling cruelty, however. 

Sukuna grunted and spilled inside you, pulling you back by your hair, hips and tail to ensure he forced every bit of his offerings deep into your core. Your body rocked and twitched against his, accepting all he had to offer you at the end of yet another coupling, before he let go of your locks and let you collapse face-first into the futon. 

He pulled out slowly, watching as every inch slipped from your abused hole before popping free and uncorking a dribble of whiteness from inside. He tutted and scooped it up with two fingers before stuffing it back in. 

“Oi, oi, are you even trying to keep it in?” He teased, smirking as you huffed. 

“You've exhausted me. I have no energy to attempt the impossible,” you lamented, nuzzling your nose further into the soft sheets smelling of cedar and fresh blooms–something so uniquely Sukuna. 

Your king sighed and gave your ass a firm few pats. “Guess I'll have to spoil you even more.” He settled onto his back and easily pulled you onto him, yanking you up to straddle his waist right where that second mouth laid open and eager to taste you. 

“This is uncouth,” you sighed. But you rocked back against the thick, heavy tongue pressing into your pliant heat, licking deep into you with a mind and hunger of its own. 

“Seems couth enough for you,” he commented, watching you ride his centre with rapt attention. “Little harlot's getting off on this, hey? Such a needy little brat.” 

His hands smoothed up and down your legs and sides as you shamelessly chased a second high. Your hands clasped over his as he took you into his hand and stroked you back to ample stiffness, the soreness of too many rounds of fucking making you far too sensitive to touch. 

“S-Sukuna-sama,” you stammered. “I can't–”

Sukuna's head tilted with a pleased smirk. “Ho? I thought you wanted to bear children? Are my offerings not enough for you?” 

You scrunched your face up into something of a prissy glare, but the shine clinging to your lashes and the shuddering of your body against his betrayed your crumbling demeanor. Of course, he was impressed with how his fox was fairing considering everything he put you through. 

He maneuvered you onto your back, grinning as you growled and weakly struggled against him. You looked perfect–stomach swollen, hair fanned out behind you, eyes teary but unable to tear away from the creature that’d tormented you for hours upon hours with no desire to give you a break. 

“Greedy god,” Sukuna lamented. One hand came to rest on your bruised neck again, fitting around so perfectly. “Nothing’s ever fucking good enough for you.” 

“You are.” 

That gave Sukuna pause. He stared down at you, all eyes looking over you with rapt attention as he tried to think. Tried to understand. Tried to parse those words and uncover what exactly you tried to convey. 

But it didn't click. 

“Tch. You're lucky I'm a generous god,” he scolded, releasing you from your torment in favour of collapsing down beside you for some much-needed rest. Not only did your beautiful body wear him out (not that he'd admit it), but your whimsical words wore his sanity thin. The worst part was you didn't even intend to damage him so. 

“I am truly honoured to merely be in your presence,” Your voice, light and dreamy as petals fluttering, laughed, and Sukuna's soul did something odd. 

He stared at the ceiling as you shuffled beside him, quickly returning to his side, donned in one of his haori and determined to make a comfortable nest of blankets and clothes around you both for the rest of the night–ah, morning? Huh. What an ordeal. 

You curled up next to him, shoving your back firmly against his side the way you often did when resting as a fox, and Sukuna huffed. 

“Turn to me,” he commanded, and you obeyed. 

He, too, turned to face you to envelope your lithe form with invincible arms and divine protection. Your soft purrs rolled through him, settling his wild spirit into a lazy tempo of an early morning stroll through a garden filled with one sort of white orchid: 

Brassavola nadosa. “Lady of the Night.” Your calling card. Your divine essence.

"Brassavola nodosa (Lady of the Night) is a medium-sized epiphytic or lithophytic orchid species boasting extremely fragrant flowers throughout the year. The blossoms, 4 in. across (10 cm), emit a citrus fragrance at night. Each flower features long, slender, pale green or creamy-white sepals and petals and a large, heart-shaped lip sometimes adorned with purple or dark red spotting." - gardenia.net

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[ohbo-ohno]

Please please bo sort a girl out with Ghoap x Reader in an abandoned farm 🤪🤪

1k game here - no more please!

@luminousbeings-crudematter my beloved!!! idk if tumblr gives you a notif when i post an ask you sent so im tagging you just in case lol. also you said "unhinged texas chainsaw massacre" and i tried my best but i've never seen that movie :')

3.8k of ghoap x reader ft. ghost and soap hunting down their newest pet in a corn maze (cw: rough noncon sex, kinda puppy play? super light) this is mostly soap x reader, sorry!!

The collar is heavy around your neck, making every breath difficult as you pant. Your lungs seize in your chest when you stumble through the corn maze, desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel.

It doesn't come, but you push on anyways.

The corn is rough against your arms and legs, your body vulnerable to the rough stalks with so many tears in your clothes. Everything hurts - your feet from the rough ground, your throat from all the screaming, your stomach from pure fear and adrenaline. You're too blinded from terror to focus on any of that, the only thought in your head to go go go go get away.

The roar of a chainsaw is loud somewhere to your right. You nearly fall to your knees at the sound, windmilling your eyes to keep yourself steady. A loud, manic laugh echoes from the same direction, and your legs nearly give out.

Fuck, he's right there.

You can't think about how close the sound is, can't focus on how you swear you can see the corn moving, you can only run.

The stalks split in front of you, and you stumble into a clearing. You freeze, feet stopped right on the border of the new area. You bounce onto your toes, like you'd been tugged to a stop before exposing yourself.

The clearing is empty accept for an old tractor, sitting in the center of the grass. It's just a large enough circle that you'd be exposed for several seconds if you tried to reach it, totally clear if anyone was in the stalks.

But... you could hide there, couldn't you? The machine looks massive from your vantage point, there's surely a place to hide there.

It feels cruel to leave your fellow victims to the killers hunting them down, but you know that you have to try and save yourself before trying to help someone else.

You take a deep breath as you sink back to your heels, crouching a little lower in the corn to see if you can spot any movement around the perimeter.

The chainsaw revs again, and someone screams.

Your decision is made for you. The sound of death sends you forward, instinct making you move.

The dirt is rough beneath your feet, small rocks sticking into the soft parts of your sole and offsetting your run. You try your best to keep your balance, eyes trained on the tractor and the small space you know you can squeeze in.

It's silent but for the sound of your own panting, blood rushing through your ears, nothing but that perceived safety in your mind.

Just as you start to ready your legs to launch yourself up to the seat, legs tensing, you're shoved away. Your breath is forced from your lungs as you hit the ground, dirt and rocks shoved into your arms as you roll.

"Ah!" You cry out, forced to your stomach as you roll. It takes a minute to recognize what's happened, for it to click in your mind that someone's there.

It's too late by the time you realize.

You still try to get away, some animal part of you knowing that it's dangerous to stay down.

You manage to get to your knees, eyes darting wildly to spot whoever's tackled you, to know what direction to run. But the field is empty, and you're already moving before you think to look behind you.

It costs you, because you hardly get a step away before you're shoved to the ground again, your attacker staying over your body.

"Where you goin'?" The man rumbles in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and lips against your ear. He nips the shell of your ear and your eyes fly open, face shoved into the dirt.

Hardly a foot away, a chainsaw rests in the dirt. Blood drenches the blade, slowly dripping into a puddle beneath the weapon. It makes you whimper, trying to squirm away from the killer above you.

"No, no, no," he purrs, nosing his way to your cheek and just leaning there, pressing his smile into your skin, his voice rumbling through your back. "Down, pup, c'mon, you're caught. No point in runnin'."

"Please-" you gasp, neck arching to try and get away. "Please, please, please-"

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Please, please, please?" His voice pitches up in a mocking tone, a horrible imitation of yours. "You a broken record, lass? Only wanna say the same thing? Come on, tha's no fun, gimme something new."

You shout, the sound caught somewhere between a cough and a sob, hands stretching forward and clawing at the earth. "Please!"

He truly laughs now, a sharp noise in your ear. He stretches himself up above you, chest lifting and hips pushing into yours so that your legs are pinned. All you can do it try to drag yourself forward, hot tears beginning to fall as you're held down in the same place.

"Guess it does sound good from your lips," he muses. He shifts behind you, knees squeezing to either side of your hips and hands reaching so he can grab your elbows.

"Look'it you," he tsks, bending forward to lace your hands together. You cry out at the feeling of being covered, his chest above your head. "Ruinin' your pretty nails, and for what?"

Your head drops to the ground, sobs tearing your throat to shreds as spit falls from your lips. You feel bile working in your stomach, that horrible tension beneath your tongue like you're about to throw up.

"I can't-" you gasp, panic clawing at your mind. You know this man is going to kill you, that he's going to make it hurt, and every part of you rebels at just the thoughts. You can't stop fighting, can't stop trying to get away from him even with the weight holding you down.

"Can't what?" He hums, shifting to kneel above you so that he's not nearly suffocating you. "Can't go anywhere? Naw, bonnie, you're not goin' anywhere now. Caught you fair and square, didn't I?"

There's a part of you that screams to try and argue, to take a deep breath and settle to see if you can make some sort of deal, but the bigger part of you can't calm down, can't do anything but try and shove yourself out from the maniac above you.

"Plus, if I let you go runnin' off you might get caught by Simon." His arms settle on your shoulders and you can't help but yelp, ducking your head low to try and protect your neck. "Then I'd lose. You want that? Thought we were closer than that, lass."

You sob, teeth clenched tight. You don't fucking know the man, you don't know whoever Simon is, you just want to go home.

"That's what I thought," he hums. "Now," he pushes up, and your arms and torso are free as he settles back to rest his weight on your thighs. "I think you and I have some time to play, hm? Before Simon catches us both."

You don't- you don't know what he means, and it's hard to breathe past the fear. It clicks when his hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly.

"Wait," you gasp, eyes flying wide when his fingers creep beneath the hem of your jeans. "Wait, stop-"

"Oh, look at that," he laughs, hands shoving further down until his palms wrap around your thighs. "Learned some new words, baby?"

Your eyes squeeze as your feet kick against the dirt, unable to find any traction without shoes. Scrabbling so frantically only to stay right where you're pinned only serves to work you up more, to make your heart race faster.

"You're warm," he hums, kneading at your thighs and using his wrists to force the pants down, slowly revealing more and more of your skin to the cold night air. "Gonna warm me up, lass?"

"No," you hiss, the realization of what he's going to do sinking in. Your pants are pulled down to mid thigh, keeping your thighs from spreading and leaving your backside on display. "Stop- I'll- don't you dare-"

He laughs again, landing a harsh smack to your vulnerable ass. You cut your begging off with a yelp, hips rocketing into the ground to try and escape the sting when he lands another slap.

"You tryin' to boss me around? Real cute, pup, but you don't have a leg to stand on. Stuck pinned in the dirt and still tryin' to be in charge?" He laughs again, blows shifting from slaps to taps, jiggling the fat of your ass. "Cute, bonnie. Real cute."

You fold an arm beneath your face, try to use the other to force yourself up. "Stop fucking- stop hitting me, you bastard!"

"Oh!" He cackles, his lap slap almost bruising in it's force. "She's got some spine, huh? Maybe you'll be more fun than I thought."

You snarl into the dirt, legs kicking up behind you to try and hit his back. He's too high up on your thighs o reach, and you end up kicking the air like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It only fuels your anger, makes you feel more stuck.

"Keep fightin', bonnie." He presses himself closer to your face, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth from your peripheral, his smile sharp. "Makes it more fun for me. Think you'll tighten up if you kick kickin' and screamin'?"

You scream, a primal sound straight from the gut as you throw your head back and to the side, trying to hit him. You somehow manage it, but you hurt yourself just as much. You cry out at the sudden pain in the back of your skull, crumbling back to the ground.

There's a loud moan over your shoulder, and his hips press into yours. He's hard to your horror, his length pressing against the softness of your ass. "Fuck, that felt good."

God, the man is disturbed.

Your attempted attack doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers in your underwear, tugging them down to rest in the crease where your thighs meet your ass.

"Pretty," he purrs, hands stroking from your rips to your jeans, hands pushing hard enough to make you whine. His treatment is all too rough, like he's trying to mold you into the shape he wants. "Can't wait to get my dick in you," he groans, groping you.

"Nooo," you whine, trying to push yourself into the dirt, like it might open you up and swallow you whole, help you escape the horror you can't do anything to stop. "You can't- you can't fuck me, please, don't-"

He moans again, and you hear the clinking of a belt being undone. "Fuck, say it again for me."

Your eyes squeeze shut. You want to be anywhere else, anywhere but here.

You feel the heat of his cock against your ass, and tears sting in your eyes. You taste dirt against your lips, feel your palms sluggishly bleed from the scrapes against the rough ground. You try to focus on everything but what the killer's doing to you, but's impossible

His palm cups your center, fingers wrapping around your vulva and holding firmly. You flinch when his middle finger works between your folds, coming to rest on your clit.

"Need to get you wet," he mumbles, starting to work at the nub to coax some pleasure out of your body. "Simon wouldn't like it if I made you bleed." He snorts, then corrects, "Well, bleeding down there. Won't be shocked if he wants to carve you up a bit."

You shiver, focused too much on staying stiff and keeping your mind as far away as possible to put off the inevitable. What he says doesn't even properly click in your mind, floating in one ear and out the other.

"There we go," he purrs, palm growing slick as your body warms to him unwillingly. He grunts as he shifts to use both hands, one focusing on your clit and the other coming back to tease at your hole.

Two fingers slip in without warning and you yelp at the sudden stretch, hips bucking back instinctively and forcing the fingers further. Your moan is pulled from your chest, part pleasure and part pain.

"You want more lass? Here, don't mind stretching you out."

The third finger comes too soon, too suddenly, and the sting edges too close to pain for you to feel good, even unwillingly.

He's got no patience at all, fingers spreading inside of you while his thumb works furiously at your clit. The mix of good and bad leaves your head clouded, tears slowing as your mind starts to float away a bit.

He moans against your back, face pressed into your shoulder. "Feel so tight, bonnie. Can't wait til you're wrapped around me, wet and tight... fuck, can't wait much longer..."

His teeth press into you throw the fabric of your shirt, the bite only slightly blunted. You breath stutters out of your chest, lips shaking. You want to fight, tell yourself that you should bite and claw and scream, but he's already proven to you that he'd only enjoy that. All you can do is lie in the dirt, lamp and shaking.

Despite all your fear and your hatred for the man over you, you wish he'd stretched you out more.

"Gotta get inside of ya," he grunts, tugging his fingers out with a terribly wet sound. You can hear him sucking your wetness off of them as he shifts further up, letting his hard length rest between your thighs. "Don't... God, you taste good, don't wanna stretch you out too much. You get it, yeah bonnie?"

You whine forlornly, turning your head to the side. You can see him over your shoulder - tall and broad, brown hair in a... mohawk?, bright teeth shown off in a smile. He ducks down while he fists his cock, dipping himself into your wetness.

Wet lips press a kiss to your cheek, a trail of that wetness left against your face. When he pulls back you see the blood dripping from his nose, sniffle at the realization that he's left his own blood over your face.

"Look pretty in red," he whispers, tone oddly soft. It tugs another tear out of you, dripping down the bridge of your nose. His free hand comes up to your face, running a finger through the tear track and sucking the drop off his fingertip. "Taste good everywhere, love."

Your eyes close when he notches himself at your hole, pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch. He's massive, and the prospect of him shoving himself fully inside of you... you shudder, trying to loosen yourself as much as you can.

He's not kind when he pushes in. You're not sure why you hoped he would be, not with the blood-soaked chainsaw still in your line of sight. But the sudden fullness, the sting, the stretch, draws a high cry from your lips.

His groan nearly drowns out your sounds, your walls spasming around him to try and adjust. You hate that it feels so good for him when you feel like you can hardly breathe around him.

"Feels so good," he moans, words hardly enunciated, thick accent only thickened by his pleasure. You can hardly understand him, far too upset to bother translating him in your head.

"Can't-" he pants, hips jerking out just a few inches only to buck back into yours, pushing as far inside as he can. "Can't come, but can get you off, yeah?"

There's a part of you that's confused by that, that wonders what the fuck he's talking about, but a much larger part of you is focused on the slow drag inside of you.

It would feel better if you were a little wetter, a little more stretched out, but you can't change those things. You relax, try to force your body to cooperate just to make things easier. You try to lean into the parts that do feel good - the way his cock drags against all the most sensitive parts of you, the slap of his balls against your clit - and sink into that pleasant feeling instead of the adrenaline still lingering in your veins.

He doesn't speak when he fucks into you, forehead pressed into your shoulder blade as he starts to drive you truly insane. It starts feeling good quickly enough for you to forget the pain, the horror, and you gladly fall into the oblivion creeping over your mind.

It's good, as horrible as it is to think. The bastard knows what he's doing.

It's some indeterminate amount of time later when you hear the stalks shifting again, eyes flying open just in time to see a man step into the clearing.

The man over you moans when the stranger gets closer, turning his head to the side. His hips buck into you even more roughly, your thighs beginning to ache from the force.

"Simon," he calls out, and it clicks in your head.

The new man is masked and wearing all black, and you recognize him as the other killer hunting you through the maze. His mask is just as terrifying from close up as it was when you first glanced over your shoulder while running, the sight of him in the distance almost floating while surrounded by shadows.

"Bein' good, Johnny?" He rumbles, boots stopping next to the chainsaw and toeing it away.

"Yes, sir," the man over you - Johnny - grunts, thrusts erratic. "Left-left the ring on, haven't come, promise."

There's a hum from above you, the man crouching down. "Good boy. Woulda had to ruin your fun if you got yourself off."

He whines at that, and you can't help but furrow your eyebrows. The man above you going from cocky and terrifying asshole to whining and moaning above you doesn't fit with the image you'd had in your head.

"I ken. 'S why I didn't take it off, ye bawbag." Johnny's voice shakes a bit as he switches to grinding against you, hips pressed flush with yours. The sudden pressure against your clit and so deep inside of you leaves you moaning, eyes rolling back. The peak of an orgasm is right there, just out of reach, and you reach for it desperately.

"Watch it," Simon scolds, shifting forward to his knees and reaching far enough to slap Johnny, the sound echoing through the silent clearing. Your eyes fly open, instinctually flinching away.

Simon's head tilts down to you, ignoring Johnny's whine. His gloved hand comes down to rest on your face, gripping your chin and lifting enough to get a good look at your face.

"Pretty thing," he says, giving your face a little shake before letting you drop to the ground. You can't even begin to care so close to the edge, focus solely on getting off

"'S what I said."

"Hmm. Why don't you go ahead and get the poor pup off? Looks like she's cockdrunk enough as is, might as well get her the whole way there before we take her home."

"With pleasure, sir."

It's hard to focus after that point. Johnny's hand tunnels beneath your stomach and to your clit, working his hips in full thrusts and rubbing you so perfectly. It takes hardly any time at all to get you off, the perfect mix of sensations sending you flying over that edge.

You're not sure what happens between the time when you come and when Johnny pulls out. Your vision nearly whites out, moving away from the scrapes and bruises and into the pleasure gripping every muscle. It's so much easier to lean into the good than the bad, to pretend the warmth is just the pleasure instead of the man at your back.

You're brought back into the real world by the feeling of something being wrapped around your neck, left just tight enough for you to jerk, panicked you couldn't breathe.

"Hush, pup," Simon shushes when you jerk up, eyes flying wide. "Just givin' you your collar. Makin' sure anyone who spots you can take you right home, hm?"

Johnny tugs you up as Simon speaks, grip just a tad too rough on your shoulders when he pulls you up to your knees. You're still a bit out of it as he tucks your jeans and underwear up, dick hard and slick against the small of your back.

The fear comes back as you're brought to your feet by Simon, hands on your elbows tugging you up. You're unsteady on your feet, knees almost knocking together while you blearily blink up at the masked man.

The sound of metal clinking together, a small yank against your neck, is what brings you fully back into your skin. Simon clips a leash to your collar and then Johnny's, matching pink and blue leads that make your eyebrows furrow.

Johnny - shirtless, drenched in blood - smiles at you, teeth stained with his own blood.

"Come on," Simon rumbles, a sudden tug against your throat nearly sending you to your feet. "Need to get you home, pup."

Johnny catches you before you can fall, laughing as he helps you up. The sight of a black studded collar at his throat jars you, fingers lifting to feel at the fabric around your throat. It's not studded, just a soft leather with a thick ring at the front where the leash connects.

"Looks good on you," Johnny compliments, guiding you to stumble along behind Simon as the man leads you both away, into one of the entrances to the maze.

"What..." your throat is rough and you cough, heartbeat picking up. "What're you doing?"

Johnny's smile is a little condescending, almost herding you forward by staying half behind you. "Takin' you home, lass. You're the last one alive. You make a pretty final girl, bonnie."

There's a sharp yank at your collar, tugging your attention to Simon where he's glancing over his shoulder at you. "Think you'll make a good pup. Johnny's been needing a new little friend, might as well be you, hm?"

There's.... nothing really to say to that. You're too weak, too shaky to try and make a run for it. The blue leash is held loose in Simon's hand, but the pink is wrapped tight around his fist. There's no way you're strong enough to jerk it out of his hand, and even if you could you've got no way out of the maze - they already found you first.

Johnny's hand nudges you forward, almost making you fall. He moves to walk beside you, shoulders almost rubbing together. You think the expression he shoots you is supposed to be comforting, but it's anything but.

You breathe deeply, head beginning to throb again, and hope you have the strength to survive what they'll do to you.

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you - shouta aizawa, keigo takami

✦ synopsis: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy.

✦ chapter content warnings: angst hehe

✦ relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny @minminroie

chapter nine

Your heart starts to race.

The space where Keigo once was is now empty. His duffle bag - gone. You stand up so quick you almost fall over.

You check your phone. No text.

2:45 AM.

You press his contact and call 1, 2, 3, then 10 times.

No answer.

Tears well up in your eyes as you accept this fate - that Keigo snuck out. Left you.

You tried climbing back into bed but you can't sleep.

You put your softed robe on and pad to Aizawa's door. It's late, sure, but he's probably awake.

And you still don't have his number so this is how you communicate.

You knock on the door as quietly as you can, careful not to wake up anyone else on your floor.

After a few knocks, the door opens.

Aizawa rubs his eye before finally looking at you. He can tell you've been crying.

"What happened?" He grabbed you by your shoulders and brought you into his place.

You didn't answer - you couldn't. How could you explain that you just let a man fuck you and he left?

"Please talk to me." Aizawa's voice was soft now as he set next to you on the couch.

"Keigo left." You sniffle.

"Left? Left to where? What do you mean?"

"We had sex, fell asleep and then he left. He didn't leave a note or anything! I called, no answer."

Aizawa's eyebrows almost reached the top of his forehead. "He didn't say goodbye? No explanation?"

"No. His bag is gone. He's gone."

Shouta's face was full of anger. You observed his body language - he was tense.

But then he held you. No words were exchanged. His body heat was against yours as his body mended into yours.

His hair was pulled back into a low bun - your favorite. He pulled you on top of him so your back was on his chest.

You took a deep breath as his arms tightened around you, almost like a weighted blanket. He kissed the top of your head as your eyes started to feel heavy.

"I'm sorry, Shouta." You murmured as your eyes began to close.

"For what?" His calloused hand caressed the soft skin on your cheek.

You mouth parted as a quiet snore left your lips.

-

When you woke up the next morning, you were in a bed.

Not your bed.

Your face is buried in a large, soft pillow with a dark gray pillowcase. The blankets are shades of gray and black, the fabric so soft against your skin.

You heard the sizzling of oil in a pan, along with soft music playing through the apartment.

"Good morning." You emerged from the bedroom, watching Shouta cook breakfast. "Hope I didn't wake you."

He was shirtless, his hair up again, flipping a pancake with a spatula.

You shook your head as you yawned, padding towards the kitchen. Shouta half-smiled as you approached him. He wanted to kiss you so bad. He wanted to take you on the counter, pulling your hair as he watched your ass cheeks jiggle against his cock.

"You didn't." You looked down at your robe that you were still wearing. "I'm gonna grab clothes from my place quick, I don't want to wear this robe anymore."

"You can wear something of mine." Shouta walked to his room, opening a drawer with crewnecks folded perfectly, then another drawer with sweatpants.

He handed you the clothing, your nose instantly recognizing the scent of Shouta.

"I'll leave you to it." He turned around and went back to cooking.

As you changed into his clothes you couldn't help but notice the feeling in your stomach. Butterflies fluttering.

A feeling you haven't really felt with Keigo. Especially with the shit he pulled.

Speaking of Keigo, you checked your phone to see if he text you.

You had 40 missed calls from him, 55 texts.

Why even bother reading them? He left you with no communication. It takes 4 seconds to say goodbye.

You make Shouta's bed for him, laying the pillows nicely along the headboard. You left your phone on his nightstand to join him in the kitchen.

Shouta served you your breakfast with an iced coffee - he remembered from when you were observing his class how you liked it.

"Thank you." You dug your fork into your pancakes, letting the sweet taste hit your tongue. "I didn't take you for a cook, Eraser."

"I'm full of surprises." He smirked, his half lidded eyes finding yours.

You heard a hand banging on a door a couple doors down from Shouta.

Your room.

Both you and Shouta walk to the door, him opening it as his body rested against your back.

And there you saw a peek of red feathers.

"Leave." You stepped out of the doorway. "You took all your stuff already, so you're free to go."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you, that was a mistake. I-"

"She said to leave." Shouta emerged from the doorway, standing behind you again. "You didn't have the decency to say goodbye, it's embarrassing that you even try to show your face here again."

"I was on call, there was an attack, I had to-"

"All of which I would have understood if you used your words and told me. You may be a grown man but you act like a child." You press your back to Shouta's muscular chest for comfort. "Only an absolute asshole fucks someone and dips in the middle of the night. That will be the last time you're ever inside of me." You turned on your heel to walk back into Shouta's place.

"Baby bird, I-"

"She was pretty clear on what she wanted. If I see you here again, you will have hell to pay."

After a few minutes, Keigo left. You heard his heavy footsteps walk out of the building, then he took flight into the air. You watched from the window, but he didn't look back.

"Stupid fucking bird." Shouta sucked his teeth as he took a sip of his coffee. "You're gonna stay with me today. He's probably gonna try to come back later."

You didn't bother to argue. "Okay."

It really bothered Shouta that Keigo left you at such a vulnerable time. It's scary giving yourself to someone and then they leave. It fucks with the psyche.

"You know, I never got your number." You looked at Shouta as he cleaned the kitchen.

"Because you told me I was never getting yours."

"Well, I changed my mind." You crossed your awms over your chest.

"Hm, what makes you think I want your number?"

"Come on, Eraser." You grab his muscular arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. "You know you can't resist me."

"Tch." He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "You just like my place more than yours."

"It's cozy, unlike you. You have these hard muscles that are terrible to lay on." You looked up at him with your doe, Disney princess eyes.

"They're good for other things." He smirked as he picked you up by your waist, sitting you on the counter.

You can't help but smile as he cages your hips with his forearms, his chocolate eyes boring into yours.

"You're cute from up here." You tuck a piece of his hair behind your ear.

"You're cute in my clothes." Shouta's thumb traced circles on your plush thigh. "Your ass looks way better in them than mine does."

You playfully slap his arm, hooking your ankles together to pull him closer to you.

The feeling of Shouta being so close to you makes your stomach flip with a mixture of butterflies and anxiety.

It was so easy to kiss Keigo, but you're more excited when you're around Shouta.

You were expecting him to go in for a kiss, but instead he rubbed his nose on yours, interlacing his fingers around your ass.

It was an intimate moment. No pressure, no fear of him leaving.

Your memories with Shouta begin to flood your mind, how he betrayed you. How he didn't listen to you. How he assisted in putting you in a coma.

Can the past truly stay in the past? Can you look beyond what was done?

You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, letting your body fall into him.

You will try.