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samuelsdean · 1 year

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Who Needs Time Management When I Have You?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: one of the many perks of having a boyfriend with flawless memory is that you do not have to remember stuff—he remembers them for you.

genre: tooth-rotting domestic fluff

word count: 1.5k

author's notes: i wrote this because domestic!spencer reid is a guilty pleasure of mine. i can definitely picture him as an attentive boyfriend because aside from the fact that he has flawless memory, he's an overall caring guy. with that said, i hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this!

ONE OF THE MANY PERKS OF HAVING A BOYFRIEND WITH FLAWLESS MEMORY IS THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO REMEMBER STUFF—HE REMEMBERS THEM FOR YOU. Do you have a dentist's appointment at 9? Covered. He will be waking you up at 7 with breakfast in bed. Your sister’s birthday is coming up. No worries! He has already ordered a bouquet ready to be sent on the day. It is amazing, and you thank your lucky stars for him every morning when you wake up and see him cozily sleeping beside you.

However, you were out of luck on the boyfriend angle today. You had your monthly—or if the BAU is free—girls' night scheduled tonight. As much as you enjoy having girls' nights with the BAU girls, Spencer also likes to spend some time out with the guys for a nightcap or something, whatever the men at the BAU enjoy when there is no case. And that means, your boyfriend is busy getting ready to go out as well. Although Spencer has never forgotten a thing in his life—even when he is on the brink of life and death—you do not want to stress him out even more by asking him what you think you have forgotten to prepare.

So, today when you were running around the house like a madman trying to collect the stuff you need to bring to Garcia’s for girls' night, you have no one else to blame but yourself. You have depended on your boyfriend to remember stuff for you that you always leave the preparation at the very last minute. At the moment, you believe you’ve never hated yourself as much as you did now, which is quite the feat considering that you’ve hated yourself a lot before for chickening out on confessing your feelings to boy wonder—your boyfriend, Spencer Reid—only to find out he shares the same feelings.

Scratch that, you hate your boyfriend right now more than you hate yourself.

Currently, that same boyfriend has been snickering nonstop at you dashing left and right and gathering the things you need to bring. Face masks? Check. Wine? Check. What else were you forgetting?

“You know, there’s this study that says only 82% of people have a time management system.”

Your ever-loving boyfriend, Spencer, decided to share. You were about to chuck the throw pillow at him because you could hear the I told you so in his voice, but you knew his fact-sharing and nagging was his unique way of saying, “I love you, but you could’ve remedied this problem by preparing the stuff you’ll need the night before.”

“No, I don’t, Spence. But, do tell.”

At this point, you’re pretty sure Spencer was sporting a shit-eating grin and was probably holding in a laugh at the strain in your voice from recalling whether you’ve got everything so you can head over to Garcia’s. You’re pretty sure Garcia is about to talk your ear off if you’re running late. You missed out on the last girls' night after you bailed on them, wanting to spend the night with Spencer, watching Star Wars, and eating takeout.

“There's a survey done recently which revealed that 90% of people say better time management can lead to increased productivity.” Spencer started explaining, hands waving around as if to demonstrate the numbers in front of him. “However, only 18% of people have a proper time management system.”

“And?”

“Well, it just reminded me of you.” Spencer pursed his lips now, as he tried to explain his thoughts without annoying you. “If you just had a proper time management system like a to-do list or a planner. You could save at least..” He stared at his watch and did the math, “You could save at least one hour and forty-three minutes of your time instead of panicking over whether you got all the things you need for girls' night.”

“I don’t need that when I have you. Don’t you think so?”

This made your boyfriend blush, and you giggled, heading towards his direction, so you could wrap your hands around his waist and bury your face into his chest. You were the luckiest person alive for getting to date someone as wonderful as Spencer.

What you just said would not have made anyone flush and nervous, but Spencer was different. You knew he’s never been in a formal relationship with anyone before you. Thus, from time to time, he still gets embarrassed by your antics which you’ll always be endeared by. You live to see your boyfriend getting flustered because it gives you a reason to shower him with affection like now.

“I love you too, Spence.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, who looked like he was about to burst from your directness. You and he may deal with a lot of blood and gore during work, but he can be the most fainthearted person alive when it came to your affections.

“B-but I didn’t say I love you..” He trailed off, confused as to why you were suddenly proclaiming your love for him. You grinned even more as you pinched the tip of his nose.

“You didn’t have to, Spence. I know your nagging is one way of you saying you love me, and I love you for that.”

Spencer scrunched his nose and rubbed the back of his neck out of shyness. If you could keep him in your pocket for safekeeping, you would. He’s just too precious for this world.

“But, as much as I love you, I know just as much that Penelope will have my ass kicked by Emily if I get to her house late,” you broke free from your boyfriend’s comfy arms, checking the bags you packed while doing so. “I have to go, baby. I think I got everything I need.”

Picking up your bag and care package, you ruffled your boyfriend’s brown locks, which made him frown a bit and sigh. You snickered at his reaction and proceeded to walk towards the front door. You were about to reach the staircase just outside your shared apartment when you realized something.

You forgot your car keys.

Berating yourself in your head, you were certain once you entered that door, Spencer would be on your case like a mother duck. He can be too fretful when it comes to you. Oh well, that is one thing you love about him. Huffing, you slowly turned the doorknob and found Spencer leaning on the wall just inside the door with his arms crossed, looking at you smugly. You rolled your eyes.

One thing about Spencer Reid is he can be a cocky little shit when proven right. And that happens most—if not all—the time, with his IQ of 187 and eidetic memory. Unfortunately for him, he also happened to date a cocky little shit—you—who likes to fluster the living lights out of him. And right now, you just thought of the perfect way to get back at him.

But first, your car keys. Spencer next.

Once you have retrieved the pesky item—like it’s the car keys’ fault, you forgot to get them—you turned towards the door, not paying any attention to your boyfriend, who was already cracking up at you. Only when you’ve reached the door, your back towards Spencer, did you smirk. Oh, he’ll never know what’s coming to him. You did a U-turn and

“Forgot something, sweetheart?”

“Why, yes I did, Dr. Reid,” you stated plainly, beelining towards him, making him take a few steps back until he ended up with his back against the wall. He's so easy to fluster. "I forgot to do this."

You slanted your head and pressed your lips against his. Your bodies were snug against each other as you kissed heatedly against the wall. You could feel the flutter of his long lashes against your cheeks as he parted his lips slightly to kiss you deeper. You could taste your shared breath, smell his faint perfume, and feel the slight scruff of a stubble about to show up. Warmth blossomed in your chest when you felt Spencer caress your face as if you were fine porcelain.

Kissing Spencer Reid never gets old in your books. Despite his lack of romantic experience and being the eager researcher that he was, Spencer was an eager lover—he would kiss you every chance he'd get to know how to please you, which paid off, by the way. This may be a biased opinion but you think the best kisses you have shared were with Spencer.

However, like all good things, kissing Spencer has to end, or Garcia will have you banned from her house for running late.

You pulled away from Spencer and grinned at him, to which he returned with a stunned smile. You chuckled when you noticed your lipstick smudged on the corner of his lips and brushed a finger to erase it. You wouldn't want your boyfriend to be the subject of Morgan's teasing once they're together after this. Noticing the daze your boyfriend is under is about to wear off, and he was about to say something, you beat him to it by pressing a smooch on his nose and pulling away completely.

"I gotta go, Dr. Reid. Don't miss me too much!"

You scampered towards the door and shot a wink at your bewildered boyfriend—who was now sputtering in indignation for interrupting what he was about to say. He is so cute.

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thatsexcpisces · 10 months

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Gifts to get the moon signs for Christmas 🎄🤍

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

Aries moon: clothing and items for the gym and working out, bold accessories that make them stand out, hats, earrings, tickets or a class for their favorite activity or take them on any fun adventure, new car (if you wanna go big), fancy mirrors, watch, strong fragrance, trendy gadgets

Taurus moon: jewelry, luxuriously-presented items, something cozy and for the home, a spa day voucher, soft blanket, cute slippers, beauty products, skin and self care items

Gemini moon: cute journals to write down their thoughts, entertaining card/games (ex. cards against humanity), stationary, technology, thought-provoking gifts, their favorite book collections.

Cancer moon: cooking set, something sentimental and hand-made (ex. a scrapbook of all your memories together), a comfy robe to lounge in, recipe book, candles and stuff for the home

Leo moon: gifts related to their interests whether musical or hobbies in general. ex., if they love lana del rey get them a vinyl collection of her music or a poster of her. designer clothing, something extravagant and unique, tickets to their favorite musical or show.

Virgo moon: organized home planners, plants, cookbook, antiques, cleaning gadgets, home fragrances, books on getting organized and lifestyle advice, gift cards for home goods stores or their fav stores in general, maybe even get them a small pet to keep company!

Libra moon: designer handbags, books on fashion, good-quality perfumes, beauty items, fancy soaps, silk scarves or pajama sets, luxury brand shoes, fancy decorations for their living space

Scorpio moons: spiritual gifts, something personal from you, leather/ dark colored clothing, pampering gifts, marble items, brand sunglasses, ruled by Pluto; get them an elegant version of whatever they generally like; if they like gold jewelry, get them a carefully-selected box of fancy gold rings or something like that.

Sagittarius moons: gifts brought from a foreign country, something unique, plane tickets to a country they’ve always wanted to go to, travel picture book to record their journeys, good- quality camera, laptop, money, practical gifts

Capricorn moons: expensive things (I mean it’s a Capricorn moon here 💀), money in an envelope, gift cards to high-end stores, good chocolates, wine, and other specialty gourmet items, functional coffee machine, items to relieve stress (back-massager tool, etc), self-help books

Aquarius moons: technology, new phone, computer, Apple headphones, vintage record player, art materials, something no one else has, something related to their humanitarian or quirky interests, trivia games

Pisces moon: dream journal, thoughtful gifts, paintings, adult coloring books or stuff for arts and crafts, cute headphones, their favorite album and CD’s, something that encourages creativity, collection of bath salts and fragrances, meditation/yoga tools, locket necklace, fluffy blankets and pillows

Thank you for reading hope y’all have a good holiday! 🫶🎁🌟

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌

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shalotttower · 2 months

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The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

#shalott fanfiction #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #yandere?#maybe #dk yet

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cherryredlove · 2 months

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☆ you spin me right round ☆

Modern! Record shop owner! au Aemond Targaryen x Bar owner! reader SMUT

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You're the blooming business owner that owns the chic new bar in town, The Alchemist's Guild. All that's left to do is befriend your sourpuss neighbour, the cool owner of the music shop Targaryen Tracks. Maybe a crisis will do the trick?

Word Count: 1.9k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, rough oral smex, pearl necklace, sex in semi-public place

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Owning a bar was always a dream of yours, and now that dream has finally come true. The place you purchased is a hidden gem on the artsy quarter of the city of King's Landing, nestled between eclectic shops and quirky businesses, with just enough foot traffic to guarantee interest. You’ve christened it The Alchemist’s Guild, and you hoped it'll become the hottest bar in the area soon.

Every bottle and glass has been carefully selected, and you’ve spent countless hours transforming the run-down space into a chic, cosy haven for anyone seeking to unwind. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden surfaces and plush seating. The shelves behind the bar are stocked with an impressive array of gins and wines, and the scent of fresh herbs and citrus fills the air.

The only hurdle now? Making friends with the neighbours, particularly the one who runs the music shop next door, Targaryen Tracks.

You’ve seen him a few times, Aemond Targaryen, always dressed impeccably in black, with silver hair and an ever-present scowl etched onto his face. His shop is a world of its own, filled with vintage records and obscure music that you occasionally hear through the walls.

Today, after a couple of good days of business, you decide it’s time to introduce yourself properly. Maybe you can even convince him to partner up for some musical collaborations, adding a unique touch to your bar’s atmosphere. With a deep breath, you step into Targaryen Tracks, the door chiming softly as you enter.

Aemond looks up from behind the counter, his single blue eye meeting yours with a curious, almost guarded expression. He nods in acknowledgement, though his lips barely form a smile.

"Hi, I’m Y/N," you say, offering a friendly smile. "I just opened the bar next door, The Alchemist’s Guild. Thought I’d come by and say hello."

"Aemond," he replies curtly, giving you a once-over before returning his gaze to the record he’s examining.

The shop is a paradise for any music lover, with rows upon rows of records neatly organized by genre and era. The atmosphere is nostalgic, and you can’t help but feel a pang of admiration for the meticulous care he’s put into curating his collection. You too take great pride in organisation and decoration.

You take a moment to look around, pretending to browse. The silence stretches between you, and you rack your brain for something to say, anything to break the ice.

"You’ve got quite the collection here," you venture, picking up a random record and pretending to study it. "I’ve been thinking about hosting some vinyl nights at the bar. You know, set up a record player, get some more out there stuff playing."

Aemond’s eye flickers with mild interest as he raises an eyebrow. "That so?"

You nod eagerly, hoping to engage him further. "Yeah! I think it’d be great to have something a bit more unique than just playlists. It’s a vibe, you know?"

He studies you for a moment, considering your words. "I suppose it could work," he admits, a hint of intrigue in his tone. "What kind of records are you looking to play?"

"Honestly, I’m open to anything that sets the right mood," you reply with enthusiasm. "Jazz, blues, rock, maybe even some classical if it fits."

Aemond nods, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I might have a few recommendations."

A spark of hope flickers inside you. Perhaps this sourpuss neighbor of yours isn’t as aloof as he seems. Maybe there's a chance for some collaboration after all.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Business at The Alchemist’s Guild is booming. You’ve managed to create a buzz around town, and the place is packed almost every night. The combination of exquisite drinks and the cosy atmosphere has made your bar a go-to spot for many locals and visitors alike. It's become a favourite with the artsy scene in the quarter, putting you firmly on the map.

But tonight, as you’re hosting bustling Saturday evening, disaster strikes. The trusty sound system crackles and dies with a sad whimper. Panic sets in as you realize that without music, the bar loses a significant part of its charm.

As the clamor of conversation fills the air, you frantically fiddle with the cables and speakers, hoping for a miracle. But nothing works.

Just when you're about to lose hope, an idea strikes.

"Hold down the fort for me, Dyana!" You call out to the bartender you employed.

You dash out of the bar and head straight to Targaryen Tracks, where Aemond is about to close up for the night.

Aemond looks up at you as you barge into the shop, mildly surprised to see you so flustered.

"Aemond, I need a huge favour," you blurt out, trying to catch your breath. "My sound system just broke down, and I have a packed bar with no music. Can you help me out?"

He pauses. "What do you need?"

"Your records," you say quickly, hope rising in your chest. "And your record player and speakers. Just for tonight. I’ll give you free drinks for a week in return."

He narrows his eye, contemplating the offer. After a moment, he nods. "Fine. But you handle the equipment with care."

Relief floods through you. "Thank you, thank you so much! I promise I'll be careful. You can even handle changing the records if that's better. "

Together, you gather a selection of records, and Aemond helps you carry them over to the bar. With his expertise, you set up the record player, and soon, the rich, warm tones of vinyl fill the space, transforming the atmosphere instantly.

The patrons love it, and you can feel the tension leaving your shoulders as the night goes on smoothly. True to your word, you offer Aemond a drink on the house as a gesture of gratitude. He graciously accepts your Greyjoy Gin and tonic with a small smile.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

As the night draws to a close, the last of your customers finally trickle out, leaving the bar empty save for you and Aemond. The soft glow of the Edison bulbs casts a cosy light over the room, and the record player softly spins its last tune.

"Thank you again," you say, leaning against the bar, feeling the exhaustion of the night catching up to you. "You really saved me tonight."

Aemond shrugs, a faint smirk on his lips. "It was interesting. Your patrons seem to appreciate good music."

You laugh softly, nodding in agreement. "I owe you. Seriously, free drinks for a week."

He takes a sip of his drink, regarding you with an appraising gaze. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing. Vinyl nights, as you said. I can curate the music."

"That would be amazing," you reply, feeling your heart race a little. "I think it’d be a hit."

As you tidy up the bar, Aemond helps, and the two of you chat more easily than before. You discover that beneath his stoic exterior, he has a genuine passion for music and a dry sense of humour that you find surprisingly charming.

With the bar finally clean and ready for the next day, you both take a moment to relax, leaning against the counter again.

As the last record winds down to silence, an unexpected tension fills the air. The kind that lingers between two people until someone is brave enough to try.

It’s Aemond who makes the first move. His eye locks onto yours, and you see a flicker of something you hadn't quite noticed before. You feel your body light up.

Before you know it, he’s closing the distance between you, his presence commanding and electric. He pauses, giving you a moment to stop him if you wish, but you find yourself drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

And then his lips are on yours, firm and insistent, sending a jolt down your spine. You kiss him back, matching his fervour with your own.

Aemond’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, grasping at his hair. His mouth is hot and heady, and you moan into his as his hips grind against yours.

You barely notice as you’re backed against the bar, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of the kiss. Aemond’s hands are exploring now, tracing a path down your sides, and you let out a soft sigh of approval, urging him on.

The kiss deepens, his touch is confident, and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your tender pussy. Your body reacts, arching into him to relieve your aching sex.

Aemond unzips your trousers, moaning at how wet you are, before gliding his fingers into your soaked heat. You cling to him, mewling, and bit down hard onto his neck. Aemond’s long fingers move inside you, fingering you with a beckoning motion. His eye rolls back as you grasp his cock in your hand, massaging through his trousers.

Aemond hoists you up onto the bar's counter, kissing you roughly before kneeling, facing your soaked pussy. Your hands grip his hair, urging him onto your heat. His tongue flicks out to lick your juices, and the moan you let out spurs him to bury his face.

His long nose is shoved against your clit, rubbing you in the mot perfect way as his tongue laps you expertly. Your thighs squeeze his head tightly. One of his hands grips your soft thigh hard, the other resumes its ministrations inside your tight pussy, making you choke and feel the hot lick of pleasure push you higher and higher. You grind against his face, Aemond sucking your clit with suchbvigour that you cry out, cumming hard on him. You cream against his tongue, and he laps it all up with a deep moan.

Once your head has stopped swimming at the pleasure of your high, you wobble down and fall to your knees. His thick cock sits right in front of your face, and he slowly parts your lips with the red cockhead. It's huge, you run out of mouth room pretty quickly as his hands grip your hair. You moan, the vibration making his hips stutter, and begin to suck him hard.

"Your lips look so beautiful wrapped arouud me baby," he rasps out. "I'll cum if you carry on."

Enthused, you bob your head faster, hollowing out your cheeks and rubbing your tongue right against the slit of his tip. When you fondle his balls with your hands and swallow hard, Aemond releases a strangled cry of pleasure, face-fucking you hard and fast. He lets out an unintelligible moan as he cums. Some of it leaks down your throat, but he pulls out to cum all over your face and neck. You gasp at the hot white ropes of cum that decorate your collar bone.

Panting, he helps you up, swiping his cum off with a finger and parting your lips for you to swallow it. He kisses you gently, salty and sweet.

"Want to come back to mine?" He asks, eye glinting. You nod eagerly, kissing him sweetly. His hands hold you firmly, and you thank the Gods for your sound system breaking.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: save me modern aemond targaryen save me! love writing that so gimme ur feedback and send any requests! if u like this sort of stuff check out my masterlist!

#modern house of the dragon #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hosue of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader smut #modern aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen smut

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fourtyforever · 6 months

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Get in losers were making a fic rec masterlist

Hi y’all it’s me, your local multishipper, and I’m about to be the change I wish to see in the world by putting all the best f1 fics in one place.

Maxiel

cool things to say to your soulmate by @powerful-owl (E, 14k)

A collection of shorter soulmate stories by the great em powerfulowl. Essentially the maxiel thesis as far as I’m concerned. If you ever catch me talking about the goose fic, this is what I’m talking about. Fun story: this was actually the first F1 rpf I ever read and I blame it for why my standards are so fantastically high.

Thursday girl by @boxboxlewis (M, 3k)

Max is outed by the press. Shocking emotional impact to word ratio and off the charts tenderness. Short and sweet and low key a comfort read to me.

the being unknown by anonymous (E, 12k)

Body swap with really unique and emotional vibes. Ngl this one hurt me (in the best way). A fantastic and heart-wrenching take on the horrors of 2022.

Charlos

win or lose (it’s how you play the game) by @f1-stuff (E, 18k)

Hickey bet between charles and carlos. Cannot get over this fic for as long as I live: the silliness is off the charts, the vibes are literally the most perfectly balanced tenderhorny I’ve ever read and the writing is just really that good. I think about this fic minimum once a day.

last night by venerat (E, 24k)

College au. Ngl this one is just especially spicy, but also very very funny and fully captivating top to bottom (see what I did there? haha). Also a great ensemble cast here, which I always love.

Once more (before we die) by @f1-stuff (M, 6k)

Fantasy AU where charlos are princes of warring kingdoms. I love this AU and I love the tenderness between Charles and Carlos that we get out of it. I’m usually not really an AU type of gal but this one really did change my mind.

Playing games by @vegasgrandprix (T, 4K)

Gay chicken. WIP, but I can already tell so clearly exactly where this is going and that is delightful to me. Honestly this really is how they act like 90% of the time already.

Yukierre

match made in heaven by venerat (T, 4K)

Pierre is yuki’s matchmaker. this one is just so sweet and sooooo silly. Comfort read 100%

Loscar

Are they gay or European? (the answer is both) by periwinkle_bumper_cars (T, 30k)

Logan keeps walking in on other drivers in compromising positions. 100% balls to the wall silliness from beginning to end and just completely delightful the whole time. Background carlando, kmag/hulkenberg, brocedes, maxiel, and honestly the ensemble cast is what takes this one from great to top tier.

Landoscar

By a thread by @mctwinkdom (E, 32k)

The classic Australian thongs misunderstanding (gone sexual). Incredibly silly, amazingly hot and honestly a top-tier character study of both Oscar and Lando. A great study in unreliable narration as well (probably part of what accounts for my previous point).

carried away by orphan account (E, 22k)

Fake dating. Honestly this one got me in my feels so much more than I expected from the premise. Sweet and a little bit angsty and just a delightful read all the way down.

Strollonso

green light, red wine (and I don’t feel fine) by @vicsy (E, 19k)

Mafia AU where lance is the son of Fernando’s arch nemesis. THEE strollonso fic of all time I tell you. Unparalleled characterization on the part of both nando and lance, fantastic ensemble cast, FANTASTIC writing, and off the charts unreal spiciness. If you haven’t read this yet then what are you doing

El dick plan by @waddlingpenguin (E, 800)

Lance says ‘daddy,’ both Fernando and Lawrence answer. Short, sweet and SILLY.

camera roll by @penaltyboxboxbox (E, 5k)

Sexting/sex tapes. Overall nice and spicy and just fantastic characterization. Also absolutely crucial is the companion art also by dave penaltyboxboxbox which is literally like the ice cream on top of the cake for such a wonderful fic

silver platter by @wewentcarracing (E, 10k)

getting together fic featuring long suffering estie bestie. Honestly the fic is amazing and spicy and just so well written but Esteban’s ever growing dismay is lowkey my favorite part. Works as a pretty great lance character study as well.

Brocedes

Roseberg’s vs haminkton by @jean----ralphio (E, 16k)

Tattoo artist versus flower shop, except they’re rivals. This is like…just how they are honestly. Absolutely stunning ensemble cast and absolutely hilarious buildup to lewis and Nico finally getting together. Side order of seb just being a massive shit stirrer which honestly I think is the role he belongs in

The real reason nico rosberg retired by periwinkle_bumper_cars (G, 3k)

Secret Santa (gone horribly wrong). This is…..also just how they are unfortunately. The rancidest of vibes but also screeching-out-loud funny.

will be updating this on the reg so stay tuned for more good fics. also maybe if I am very lucky someday I will have my own fics to add to the list. definitely I need to become slightly more insane before I can start writing for this fandom but believe you me I’m well on my way.

#fic rec #f1 fic rec #maxiel #charlos #yukierre #loscar #landoscar #twinklaren #strollonso #brocedes #hope you all enjoy :P

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 19 days

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Can't get the whole "Do you think you'd kill for me one day ?" "Yes, of course I will my darling" out of my head, but make it the Papas x their most devoted ghouls. Basically murder ghouls offering very morbid gifts to the Papas. They like it.

TW for morally grey characters - both Papas and ghouls - blood, kind of body horror, I guess ? I think it is. It might be a bit disturbing, so. Read with caution.

Earth bringing a beautiful bottle to Primo's office one day, something definitely meant for rituals, a masterpiece of carefuly crafted glass, full of a dark red liquid. Too dark to be wine. He simply sets it on a shelf, under the First's cautious eyes, and in an instant, Primo knows.

"Won't it...coagulate, or...I don't know, dry, rot ?" he asks from behind his desk, setting his glasses down in front of him. Earth smiles, adjusting the bottle so that the light catches it just right.

"I made sure it won't."

Primo smiles when the ghoul takes his hand and presses a kiss to the ring he's wearing.

"Take care not to drink it, your body wouldn't like it much."

Primo cocks an eyebrow.

"You gift me a full bottle of blood - human, i presume - and I'm not even allowed to drink it ? How very tragic."

Earth's chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"You can only wish to be a vampire, but, do not act like this isn't a power trip for you. Having someone's blood displayed in your office. Being able to admire its unique color."

Primo's smile widens.

Secondo looking up from his work, carefully setting the ancient book he's restauring on the side when Alpha leans against the doorframe, hands behind his back.

Once he's sure he has the former Papa's full attention, Alpha steps in, setting something on the desk, between Secondo's hand.

It's a paperweight, the kind he loves, heavy half globe of glass, in which is trapped a curiosity ; Secondo has a growing collection of those.

It's the first time, though, that an eye is staring blindly at him from within its transparent confine. A beautiful shade of brown, that eye, rich and deep, with flecks of gold ; Secondo leans closer to examine it.

"Fascinating," he comments, "you know me too well."

Alpha grins, rounding the desk to stand behind Secondo's chair, massaging his tense shoulders as he whispers against his ear.

"Took me a while to find the color I wanted, I know you have a thing for that kind of brown eyes."

Secondo hums, turning the paperweight this way and that, letting light bounce off it, projecting rainbows on the wall. It will definitely have a special place on his desk, so that Secondo will be able to gaze at it whenever he wishes to.

Alpha kisses the corner of his mouth, almost reverently, and Secondo puts the paperweight down, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Omega helping Terzo dress one morning, but just as the former Papa is about to move away, his ghoul tugs on his sleeve, shoving something in his hand.

What the rosary is made of is, Terzo immediately knows. The beads, the inverted cross, they're an ivory white that is quite impossible to mistake for anything other than it is.

By the way Omega hooks his chin on Terzo's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, the former Papa has no doubt it's important for him, that gift.

"It's lovely, my dear ghoul. Did you make it yourself ?"

Terzo really means it. The piece of jewlery is delicate and elegant, something he'll wear with pride.

"I did. I'm glad you like it."

A pause. Terzo takes a moment to bask in Omega kissing up his neck, before he slips the rosary around it.

"Should I ask who's bones I'm wearing ?"

Omega chuckles, face now burried in his hair.

"You know better. All that matters is that you look fantastic, wearing someone's bone."

Terzo does, so he simply smiles, admiring how the necklace rests on his chest in the mirror, sinking into Omega's embrace.

Dew, wordlessly slipping a bracelet around Copia's wrist after practice. He looks down, surprised, as the ghoul lingers, hovering at his side.

A thin chain, trinkets dangling from it, mostly tiny coins with infernal symbols engraved on them and....oh. Teeth. Well, they sure look healthy.

Copia takes to examinate them, tests the point of a canine, pleased to find it still sharp, humming under his breath.

"That's quite the work you've put in, Dew, thank you. It's beautiful."

The fire ghoul takes Copia's hand, turning it until he can kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I figured you'd like it. They're perfect, aren't they ?"

Copia takes another teeth between his two fingers, holding it up for further inspection, smiling at how flawless it is.

"They sure are. Wish I had that kind of dental care, eh."

Dew snorts, tail gently squeezing Copia's hips, who let himself be pulled in the ghoul's side.

#they're fucked up yes I know #but that's half the fun !#that idea just popped into my brain so here you go #earth ghoul #primo #papa emeritus i #alpha ghoul #secondo #papa emeritus ii #omega ghoul #terzo #papa emeritus iii #dewdrop ghoul #copia #papa emeritus iv #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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noira-l · 17 days

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𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁

Summary: You are the person people turn to on exceptional situations. Your next target is a young and ambitious cult leader - Geto Suguru.

pairing: cult leader!geto suguru x assasin!reader

wc: 8,3 k

genre: dark themes/suggestive

warnings: mdni, dark themes, morally grey actions, violence, stalking, slight gore, attempt of assasination, power dynamic, sexual tension, knife play, slight body harm, death.

author's note: I wanted to write something about Geto, hopefully however I came up with a good portrait of his character. He is my favourite btw ;3

Collector.

That's what you were called.

The title had stuck, a moniker that felt both accurate and hollow. You collected, yes - but it was never just about the objects. It was about something deeper, something rarer, something alive.

Unique techniques.

Not the hereditary ones, from great clans or families. Just the ones that little is known about, not known, or the ones that haven't been made yet.

And you had a reputation for it.

Famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked. The kind of fame earned through the silent, systematic harvesting of cursed energy. You killed, it was the way you did it. The way you absorbed the very essence of what made a sorcerer powerful. The techniques you consumed left traces on your soul, each one evoking something different. Some were strong, a burst of electricity through your veins. Others, weak, barely more than a whisper of sensation.

Your obsession grew, not with the power, but with the experience of it. Each time, you could feel it, the energy unraveling and weaving itself into you, like a rare wine tasting. It wasn’t about mere survival or strength, it was about savoring. You tasted techniques like a connoisseur, dissecting every note, every pulse, analyzing the flavor of it as it coursed through you.

You might sometimes wonder what the limits of this obsession with novelty and rarity are. You could not, like another connoisseur, buy wine from the faraway provinces of some country or taste cheese from an exceptional animal.

How far would this hunger take you?

You had to get something that belonged directly to the people, and that was quite hard. Well, unless people sometimes come to you on their own with new flavours.

You were proud of your collection.

The rain drummed against the rooftops of Tokyo, creating a symphony that was familiar to a city teeming with underground life. In a cramped, smoky alley, where the light of the street lamps barely reached, stood you.

Your black cloak blended with the darkness of the night, and your hair hid a face that few had the opportunity to see. In a world where pushing the limits of human ability was an everyday occurrence, you were something of a legend. Not surprisingly, your speciality was collecting unique abilities from those, who no longer had the chance to use them.

The black market was a place where you felt somewhat at home. Years spent here had even made you a friend of the place. Here you found everything you needed for your unconventional operations - from forbidden curses to information that could tip the balance in your favour.

It was here that you were to meet your new client.

You waited for him in one of the low, barely lit bars where the ghosts of the past mingled with the smell of tobacco, alcohol and darkness. The man who entered was wearing a fancy suit, but his nervous movements betrayed that he did not feel confident in the place. Before taking a seat opposite you, he looked around as if to make sure no one was following him. His silhouette seemed so small at the large wooden table in the corner of the bar.

"Is that you?" he asked quietly, although a note of arrogance could be detected in his voice.

"To the point." you replied dispassionately, lifting your gaze "I expect you have something interesting for me."

"Geto Suguru, cult leader, very powerfull." you've heard this name before, but you don't know a lot about him.

"Do you think he's worth adding to my collection?" you drilled him with your eyes.

"He…" he gazed too much into your gloom-shrouded eyes "He knows how to make curses obey."

Oh...

Could it be

Curse Spirit Manipulation?

Interesting.

"Geto disregarded my sponsor." the guy in the suit continued "My client was willing to invest in his cause, but this kid…. rejected him as if he was worthless. Now… now he wants someone to show him where he belongs. And who better to do that than you?’" he smiled emotionlessly.

A unique technique, one you've heard of before.

From a certain assassin who met him once.

"Conditions?" you asked, folding your hands on the table. Your movements were quiet, almost hypnotic, as if your every decision had been carefully thought out rather than the result of a moment.

"Silent work, no witnesses, no connections." replied the man opposite, nervously intertwining his fingers. His voice betrayed that he was not used to such conversations. His sweaty forehead and trembling breath indicated that being in your company filled him with anxiety.

"Price?" Your gaze penetrated him as if you were looking for weaknesses in him that you could exploit. You were definitely someone who didn't need to raise your voice to control the situation.

"Isn't adding such a unique skill to the collection a price in itself?" his lips trembled in an attempt to emphasise the merits of the task, although he clearly lacked confidence.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes hidden beneath your eyelids penetrated his body thoroughly, as if you were contemplating whether you would just get bored with him. He was of little importance to you, merely a relay of an order. Uncertainty hung in the air, and the silence between you became heavier than he could bear.

"Forty milion yen." you said in a calm, composed tone. Your words were like the blade of a knife - precise and merciless.

The man almost chuckled, his eyes widening in surprise.

"B-but-" he began to protest, trying to find words to lower the stakes. His hands began to move restlessly, looking for a foothold on the table, but found no solid footing.

"Mininaly." you interrupted him by leaning forward slightly, though without changing your expression. Your voice remained calm, but now there was a note of hardness in it that was impossible to ignore. "If you don't agree, then go find someone else to do the job."

Your words had a finality about them that left no room for negotiation. The man froze, as if he felt a chill run through his body.

He knew there was no other option. In the world in which he lived, your services were of the highest calibre, and trying to seek someone else would be tantamount to failure.

"My supervisor will not be happy with this." he lowered his gaze, driving it into his palms.

"Do I look like i care?" you asked unbothered.

He sighed, knowing that he had lost this invisible battle. He spoke after a while.

"I agree." he said quietly, although bitterness could be heard in his voice. "Forty million."

You smiled slightly, though there was not a hint of warmth in your eyes.

"Good. In that case, consider that what you wanted is already in progress."

𖤓

Was it really him?

You sat perched on the rooftop, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the city. The light fell just right, angled so that you remained invisible to him, but his figure stood clear as day before your eyes.

The photograph the client had given you was clutched in your hand, but now, comparing it to the man below, you no longer needed the image. The details had already seared into your mind.

His face was pale, flawless, as if carved from marble. The features were sharp yet elegant, each one contributing to a striking intensity that seemed to pierce through the space around him.

His eyes, those beautiful eyes - held a focus that unnerved you. Brilliant, fierce, as though the weight of the world rested behind them. They cut through the air with the same razor-sharp precision you’d seen in the photograph, but here, in person, they were alive, filled with something even the best camera couldn’t capture.

A cascade of inky black hair fell over his shoulders, shimmering slightly as it caught the light. It was long, flowing like a dark waterfall, framing the cold perfection of his face. Every movement seemed deliberate, almost regal, as if the air itself bowed to his presence.

The robes he wore were beyond extravagant. Ornate embroidery, each thread painstakingly sewn to create an image of grandeur, wrapped around him in a way that was almost otherworldly. The craftsmanship was undeniable, luxurious, every fold and crease meant to accentuate his authority. You could practically feel the texture of the fabric, sense the weight of the cloth just by watching him. Each stitch was perfect, every piece of ornamentation serving to emphasize the careful artistry that clung to him.

It has to be him.

The photograph could never truly capture the weight of his presence, but now, watching him move, you were certain.

Geto Suguru - Cult leader, Special Grade Curse User, the man your client wanted dead. The man whose cursed technique you craved to collect...

..was truly a captivating view.

𖤓

For the next few months you followed Geto Suguru from obscurity, like a shadow that never disappeared, no matter how intense the light of day was. By the third week, his patterns were etched into your mind - when he woke, when he slept, where he trained, who he trusted.

The first few weeks were standard.

Observe routines, write down habits, identify behaviors, learn about character, relationships and safety measures.

One of your techniques allowed you to dissolve into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. It was fitting, then, that you had become exactly that - a shadow in his world, always there, always watching, never revealing yourself.

You first started with something basic, like listening to his speeches at cult headquarters, drawn by the intensity with which he spoke about his purpose.

His views were radical, even bizarre, clashing with your own sensibilities. Yet, as unsettling as they were, you couldn’t help but acknowledge that in some ways, he might be right. Not in everything, admittedly, but in enough to make you question.

He was undeniably charismatic. People hung on his every word, their eyes fixed on him like he was their savior, the one who could bring them the salvation they craved. It wasn’t surprising, pleanty of people were so lost that they belive in everything someone can say.

What did surprise you, however, was the sound of his voice. You couldn't expect this. It didn’t match the man you’d been watching from the shadows for so long. You expected something sharp, commanding—something that fit his tall, lean frame and his tilte as a leader. Instead, his voice was affable, syrupy, a smooth stroke across glazed canvas. There was a warmth to it, a richness that flowed over his audience like a soft breeze, disarming them with its elegance and making his words feel like they effortlessly slipped into their minds.

He had the ability to inspire, to reshape people’s perceptions of reality, to make his visions feel like truth. Even you, standing in the background, found yourself momentarily caught in his web of persuasion, wondering if, perhaps, there was something to his philosophy after all.

But the longer you followed him, the more you saw beyond the facade.

This elegance and smoothness hid another, far darker side. Beneath that affable demeanor and polite smile was a man who could remain utterly composed, even as chaos unfolded around him. It was unnerving to witness, how he never flinched, never lost his calm, even when the situation demanded anything but tranquility.

You saw it firsthand. There was a time when a sponsor - someone who had promised to support his cause - failed to deliver. The punishment was swift and brutal. A curse, summoned with the same grace he used in conversation, wrapped itself around the unfortunate man. It began to devour him, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. The room was filled with screams, the air thick with fear and the stench of death.

But Geto remained still. His smile never wavered, his eyes never betrayed the slightest flicker of emotion. He simply watched, as though he were observing something routine, unremarkable. His voice, when he finally spoke, was as calm and smooth as it had been during his speeches, as if he were discussing the weather, not the violent death happening before him.

That was the duality of Geto Suguru. He could shift seamlessly between the benevolent leader his followers adored and the cold, calculating figure willing to let a man be torn apart without so much as a blink. It wasn’t just cruelty - it was control. A calculated display of power, meant to remind those around him that while his voice may be velvet, there was iron beneath it.

In those moments, you saw the full depth of the man you were tracking. He wasn’t just charismatic. He was dangerous. A force that could twist both his power and his personality to fit any situation, never losing his grip on the people or curses that surrounded him. It was chilling, and yet, it was precisely this balance of charm and ruthlessness that made him so compelling.

So hard to pin down, and even harder to predict.

𖤓

When he returned from his speeches, cradling his two children in his arms, everything about him shifted. His smile, so often reserved or calculating, softened into something genuine, warm, and deeply caring. The two girls, nestled against him, wore smiles that radiated the purest joy you’d ever seen, sincere in a way that disarmed you completely. And you understood why. In those moments, they weren’t in the presence of a cult leader or a powerful sorcerer - they were simply with someone they called a father.

He cooked meals for them, simple and unpretentious. In the mornings, he walked them to school, carrying their bags and making sure they had everything they needed. He helped with their studies, patiently guiding them through lessons with the same focus he applied to anything else in his life.

He spoiled them endlessly, indulging their every whim with sweets and new toys, as if trying to make up for the darker realities surrounding their lives. Bags of candies would mysteriously appear in their hands after long days, and their rooms were filled with the latest toys, dolls, and trinkets. It was clear that nothing was off-limits when it came to their happiness.

Sometimes, you’d catch him spending entire afternoons with them, playing in their room or on the roof of the worship headquarters. Their laughter echoed through the walls, so out of place in such a grim environment, yet entirely natural in their presence. These moments seemed pulled from another life, a life that didn’t belong to a man of his power and position. In those hours, Geto wasn’t the man who summoned curses or commanded followers with radical ideals. He was just a father, a teacher, someone who valued the simplicity and joy that his children brought into his world.

It was a strange dichotomy, seeing this softer side of him. It made you question how someone who could sit calmly as a curse devoured a man could also hold so much tenderness in his hands when it came to his daughters.

Watching him with them, it was impossible not to acknowledge that, whatever else he was, he was a devoted father, a man who, in those private moments, seemed to find a kind of peace.

The perfect kind of tranquillity that you could easily disturb. They are lucky that you were commissioned to do a clean job, without additional casualties.

You would take advantage of this visible weak point, without any problem.

𖤓

You observed him daily, each training session a display of skill honed with painstaking precision. His movements were fluid, deliberate, a mastery over both body and cursed energy that left little room for error. Every gesture, every technique, was calculated down to the smallest detail. There was no wasted effort.

He began each session with strength exercises, his body moving with a kind of restrained power that spoke of years of relentless discipline. Clad in a dark, form-fitting training suit, his movements were both fluid and precise, the fabric hugging the sharp lines of his lean, muscular frame. The suit itself was simple, practical, black with subtle markings along the seams, designed for ease of movement yet offering no distraction from the task at hand. His long, dark hair was usually tied back, but occasionally a few loose strands would slip free, sticking to the nape of his neck as beads of sweat formed along his skin.

Push-ups, pull-ups, lunges - he moved through each exercise with a sense of rhythm, his body cutting through the still air like a blade. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. His core strength was visible in the way he balanced himself, the quiet strength of his legs when he transitioned from one position to another. His breathing was steady, controlled, as if he were channeling not only physical strength but mental focus into every motion.

Everything before moving on to what fascinated you most - his control over curses.

Each curse, once summoned, was inspected with meticulous care. What surprised you was his flawless memory of each one, no matter how recently acquired. He never seemed overwhelmed by their numbers, as though he held their essence in his mind as clearly as if they were physical objects in his hands.

Often, he would stand in the middle of the square behind the base, surrounded by the dark entities he had summoned, and simply think. You could see him piecing together strategies in his mind, testing new combinations of curses. He would send projectiles flying, measuring their reach, or summon smaller curses to see how they interacted with one another. He was always refining, always pushing the boundaries of what his curses could do.

It was almost hypnotic to watch. His ability to devise new strategies and possibilities was relentless, and more than once, you caught yourself silently offering suggestions, wondering if his latest idea could be improved upon.

Even though he trained alone, there was a sense that he knew he was never truly by himself. He always seemed vaguely aware, as though he could feel your gaze, but he never let on. For him, training wasn’t just preparation for combat, it was a form of deep concentration, a space to plan, strategize, and reflect.

In the moments when he paused, resting after hours of intense focus, you could almost sense his thoughts drifting. He seemed distant then, as if his mind was wandering far beyond the physical space around him, perhaps contemplating the weight of his purpose, the future, or the fate of the world he was trying to reshape.

𖤓

There were days when you accompanied him on trivial matters—mundane errands like shopping, blending in among people as if nothing about his life was extraordinary.

It was strange, really. He always chose shops run by sorcerers, no matter how inconvenient or far they were. In these places, his demeanor softened. His face would light up with a gentle expression, his posture loosening. When speaking to fellow sorcerers, customers, salespeople, shop owners, he was almost casual, relaxed. He’d exchange words about everyday matters, asking after their lives with genuine interest, smiling as he listened to their problems or needs. It was a side of him that showed a quiet, almost paternal care for his own kind.

However, when sorcerer-run shops weren’t an option, he would settle for regular stores, those run by non-sorcerers. On the surface, his behavior didn’t change much—still polite, still composed. But after watching him for so long, you began to notice the subtle differences. There was a barrier, invisible but palpable, that separated him from everyone else. Even as he spoke to them, he remained distant, almost indifferent. His face held the same gentleness, but there was a quiet detachment beneath it, a sense that he was more than they could understand, and he made it clear in the smallest ways. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but an awareness of the divide that existed between him and the rest of the world. He was accessible, yet never truly one of them.

𖤓

On one occasion, you watched him as he sat at his desk in the dim light of his flat, practicing calligraphy. The black ink flowed across the paper with a precision that mirrored the discipline in every aspect of his life. Each brushstroke was planned, filled with a quiet sense of calm and inner balance. For him, this was not just art, it was a form of self-improvement, a meditative practice that demanded focus, patience, and reflection.

His face, normally composed, now carried an intensity of concentration that fascinated you. His eyes were sharp, tracing each line as though it held more significance than just its form. Every letter he wrote seemed to symbolize something deeper, every stroke a reflection of his life, carefully crafted but never without purpose. You could sense the connection between his mind and the ink, as if the act of writing was a metaphor for the control he sought in all things.

At times, his hand would pause mid-stroke, his brush hovering just above the paper. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the work before him, considering how best to proceed. His concentration was palpable, as if the next mark could determine the balance of the entire piece. He would tilt his head just so, analyzing how the ink should glide over the expensive parchment, the way it should settle, just as his long black hair cascaded down his back with an effortless elegance.

When an error occurred—a stroke too thick or too light—he never hesitated. He would calmly set the paper aside and begin again, his patience unwavering. Sometimes, he would discard entire pages, whole phrases rewritten until they reached his exacting standards. You knew that many nights, he worked late into the hours of dawn, refusing to rest until the parchment was perfect, every line a testament to his dedication.

The completed works that hung in his office were impressive—each one a masterpiece of balance and precision, filled with a quiet power that matched the man himself. They weren’t just pieces of calligraphy; they were expressions of who he was, his relentless pursuit of mastery in every facet of life. Watching him, you couldn’t help but admire the depth of his commitment to both the smallest details and the grandest designs.

𖤓

One night, you witnessed something that shattered your carefully constructed perception of him. As usual, you stood cloaked in the safety of shadows, concealed by a cursed technique that allowed you to observe Geto closely without consequence. He sat alone in his study, dressed in his night robes, hair wet and loose, falling smoothly over his shoulders. The dim lamplight cast a long, solitary shadow across the room, highlighting the stark loneliness in his posture.

In his hands was an old photograph, though the details were initially too obscured for you to make out. His shoulders were slumped, eyes fixed on the image, completely still. The sight was so unlike him, and before you could piece together why, you saw it, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, as if trying to maintain his stoic façade, but it was futile. More tears followed, staining the photograph. It was a rare, raw moment, one that you had never associated with someone like Geto Suguru.

It felt wrong, almost invasive, to witness this vulnerability, but curiosity gnawed at you. You stepped closer, using the cursed technique to remain hidden, desperate to understand what had broken the man you thought was unbreakable.

And then, you saw the photograph.

Three people stood side by side, radiating camaraderie and carefreeness. On the left was Geto, unmistakably younger, with his hair neatly tied into a bun. His expression was calm, indifferent even, yet there was a rebellious spark in his eyes, emphasized by the crude hand sign he flashed at the camera. The person in the middle had short, reddish-brown hair and a radiant smile, eyes closed in pure joy, clutching a lollipop. And on the right...

Your heart skipped a beat.

The person standing slightly taller had striking white hair, wearing round sunglasses that had slipped slightly, revealing crystalline blue eyes. He was grinning broadly, flashing a peace sign with the same carefree energy.

Your senses sharpened, and the realization hit you with startling clarity. Those eyes - everything about him matched the description you had once heard. You studied Geto’s face again, now buried in his hands.

He knew him. There was no doubt now.

This job, already complex, had just become far more interesting.

You were tasked with eliminating Geto Suguru, and yet, standing there, watching him fall apart in the privacy of his grief, you began to feel that he was more than just a target.

He was the gateway you had long sought to get the information you needed to find.

He was a flesh and blood man who had his own desires, hopes and secrets. Secrets that may never have been meant to be uncovered, but which were now beginning to attract you more and more.

You knew that your task was coming to an inevitable end. But as you looked at it, feeling its complexity, you began to wonder if it would really be the end.

Were you in a position to find out the information you were looking for, before he expels his last breath?

𖤓

The night outside the cult’s headquarters was still, an undisturbed blanket of silence cloaking everything - a perfect contrast to the work that lay ahead. You moved effortlessly, slipping through the darkness with a kind of elegance born from experience, your presence vanishing into the shadows like ink on black velvet. The building loomed above, riddled with traps, intricate wards designed to keep the unprepared at bay. But of course, you were different. You had planned for this, down to the smallest detail.

Time, as always, was a matter of precision. You watched, waited, not in haste but with the patience of someone who has done this before. The secretary, rarely one to leave her station, finally rose. Her footsteps, barely audible, faded as she disappeared into the depths of the hallway. It was then that you moved, an invisible force in the room.

The security system awaited you next, but it was no match for the methodical motions of your hands. The control panel’s buttons yielded to your touch, each one pressed in deliberate succession. A soft, almost imperceptible click signaled the system’s deactivation, and the silence that followed was absolute. No one would suspect. Not until it was far too late.

Geto Suguru was still in his office. You had known he’d be here - his habits were a well-worn path you had studied for weeks. He liked to linger, alone, long after the cultists had gone, the weight of his decisions pressing into the late hours. Tonight was no exception.

Your feet carried you soundlessly behind him, your cursed technique weaving a veil of invisibility over you like the thinnest layer of silk. He strode ahead, his robes flowing in the faint light as he made his way down the hall. The door to his office closed with a quiet click.

This was it.

You slipped inside just as he settled into his chair, oblivious to the disruption in the air around him. The lamplight threw a soft, golden hue across his desk, illuminating the cluttered expanse of papers, scrolls, remnants of a long day. He sighed, a sound that conveyed the heavy burden of leadership as he leaned back, readying himself for the night’s work. That’s when you stepped from the shadows, your form coalescing into view like a slow brushstroke on the canvas of his solitude.

For a split second, he froze. But then, instead of fear, amusement painted his face. His laugh was low, almost a purr, as if death itself had become an old acquaintance.

"So, death pays me a visit tonight?" his voice, smooth and unruffled, slipped easily into the quiet. "You’re not the first, you know. There have been others. All of them thought they could do what you’re here for."

Before he could even think of making a move, you acted swiftly, severing his access to his cursed techniques in a single, decisive moment. His power - so closely tied to his identity - was locked away before he could call upon a single curse. He blinked, a flash of surprise crossing his face, but his composure remained almost unnervingly intact.

"Don’t bother." you said, your voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the quiet like a blade poised just above skin. "The katana under your desk and the dagger on your thigh - neither will help you now."

His gaze flickered toward his desk, where the concealed katana lay waiting, then down to his thigh, where the dagger’s hilt was nestled beneath the folds of his robe. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, but he didn’t reach for either weapon.

With slow, measured steps, you moved forward, taking the seat across from him, the tension in the room palpable but controlled. There was no urgency for violence—no rush to end this confrontation. You had the advantage now, and that knowledge kept you calm, steady.

"Let’s talk." you offered, your voice void of malice, almost casual, as if you were suggesting a conversation over tea.

Geto leaned back in his chair, still smiling, though you noticed the flicker of intrigue behind his eyes—he hadn’t expected this.

"A conversation, is it?" he mused, his tone light, but the undercurrent of curiosity was unmistakable. "Interesting. You have me at a disadvantage, and yet here you are, offering words instead of death."

"I wouldn't call it disadvantage, I'd call it mercy, but however you prefer."

His hand hovered over the desk, the motion slow and deliberate, no longer a threat. He knew, as well as you did, that his usual methods of escape or attack were useless. The fight was already over, and now all that remained was the question of why. You could feel his curiosity hanging in the air, thickening the tension between you, though it remained strangely civil.

"Very well." he said finally, folding his hands in front of him. "Let’s talk. But tell me, what do you hope to gain from this conversation?"

"Information." you said, leaning back in your chair, mirroring his posture, your eyes never leaving his. "Corpses don’t talk."

Geto’s amusement lingered, a faint glimmer in his dark eyes, but beneath it, you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—he was keenly aware of the limits now imposed on him.

Without his techniques, without his weapons, the usual paths out of situations like this had been cut off. Yet, even in this vulnerable state, he wasn’t rattled. If anything, he seemed curious, his attention sharpened by the unpredictability of your approach.

You leaned back in the chair, your gaze unwavering on Geto Suguru, who still wore the faintest trace of amusement on his face. Yet, beneath that surface, the tension in his posture was unmistakable. He knew his options were narrowing—no techniques, no weapons, and certainly no room to strike back.

"Years ago.." you began, your voice calm but pointed, "you participated in the mission to protect Riko Amanai. We both know how that mission ended."

For a split second, his smile faltered. His gaze sharpened as he processed your words, but he didn’t interrupt. He was waiting, measuring you, calculating your intentions. You didn’t bother giving him the space to respond.

"Toji Fushiguro.." you continued, watching his reaction as the name slipped past your lips "... he claims he killed Satoru Gojo during that mission. But we both know Gojo is alive. Untouchable, even. So I’m curious, what did Toji use to hurt him? Was it a tool?”

The atmosphere shifted. For the first time, Geto’s eyes darkened, the mask of playful indifference slipping entirely. The name 'Toji Fushiguro' was a raw nerve, one that visibly rattled him. He shifted in his seat, and the subtle tension in his jaw told you everything, the memories, the bitterness, the unresolved pain from that mission were surfacing.

"Why do you think what he says is true?" he asked, his tone cold but steady. "Satoru is alive and well."

"Toji may be a bastard and a fraud -" you replied, leaning forward just enough to make your point clear, "-but he’d never lie about killing Six Eyes. His pride wouldn’t let him.'"

The room felt heavy with the weight of that truth. Toji Fushiguro’s reputation as the "Sorcerer Killer" had been well-earned, but something had given him the edge over someone as powerful as Gojo. Something dangerous, and you needed to know what it was.

Geto’s expression hardened. He was stone-faced, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—loyalty, perhaps. He wasn’t going to betray Gojo easily. That much was clear.

"Even if I had that information.." he said slowly, his voice cool but unwavering "..why would I give it to you?"

Your patience, thin to begin with, began to fray.

And then, suddenly, Geto moved, faster than you anticipated. His hand shot out, aiming for your hair, while his other hand reached for your wrist, intending to slam you against the table. His reflexes were precise, well-practiced, and had you been anyone else, he might have succeeded.

But you weren’t anyone else.

His hands passed right through you, grasping at nothing but air, as if you were made of smoke. A faint, amused smile touched your lips as you watched him realize his mistake, his hand still extended toward you - now useless.

You let out a soft, almost mocking laugh, that echoed in the silent room.

"I told you, Geto." you said, the amusement in your voice unmistakable. "That kind of play belongs in the bedroom. And it’s not going to work here."

His eyes narrowed, frustration flickering beneath his calm exterior. His hand dropped back to his side, but his expression tightened, a clear sign that he hated this feeling of helplessness. He wasn’t in control anymore, and you had just reminded him of that fact - subtly, but unmistakably.

You leaned forward, your tone dropping to something quieter, more dangerous, your gaze locking onto his.

"So." you said, voice sharp enough to cut through the air "Will you tell me? What did Toji use? I know he wasn’t lying."

The room fell silent again, the tension now palpable as Geto weighed his next move, knowing full well you weren’t leaving without answers.

You sighed, a subtle edge of exasperation creeping into your tone as Geto maintained his stubborn silence. His loyalty to Gojo was admirable, but it was beginning to wear thin, his resolve starting to crack under the weight of your persistence. You weren’t here to exploit weaknesses, but to prevent a far greater threat—one he seemed too proud to acknowledge. The real danger wasn’t you. It was the ones hunting for the same answers you sought.

Without breaking eye contact, you stood from your chair. In one fluid motion, you teleported behind him, your movement so swift that he barely had time to react. Before he could resist, your hand gripped a fistful of his long, dark hair, pulling it back gently, yet with enough force to assert control. At the same time, chains of cursed energy materialized, wrapping around his wrists. They were meant to cause pain, enough to hold him still, preventing any further struggle.

"You’re still silent." you murmured, your voice low, close to his ear. There was no malice in your tone, but a quiet firmness that left no room for misinterpretation. "I’ve already told you. This isn’t going to work. You can resist all you want, but we both know this conversation won’t end until I get what I need."

His body tensed, muscles coiling with frustration as he tested the chains, but they held fast. His pride kept him from yielding easily, but the tension in his posture was clear. You tugged his hair back, just enough to force his eyes to meet yours, the angle sharp. His expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something else behind the frustration. Perhaps curiosity or perhaps the first signs of understanding.

"I don’t want Gojo dead." you repeated slowly, each word measured, leaving no space for doubt.

"I need to know what can hurt him. Where his limits lie. Because someone else is looking for those answers, and when they find them, we both know what happens next. Sorcerers fighting for power, tearing each other apart. A new era of chaos, like the Heian one. And we both know how dangerous that is."

Geto’s gaze faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words sank in. His silence was no longer one of refusal—it was hesitation, contemplation. You pressed forward, knowing the balance was tipping.

"Is that really what you want?" you asked, your voice softening, shifting from a demand to an appeal. "Your vision of a perfect world -will it survive if everyone’s fighting for the title of 'the strongest'? If they’re killing each other without mercy? Gojo’s absence would plunge everything into chaos. You’ve seen what happens when balance is broken."

His resistance was weakening. You could see it in the slight tremor in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw slowly easing. The room felt still, heavy with the gravity of the situation. You tighten your grip on his hair, letting him know the meaning of your words.

"I’m not your enemy." you whispered, the intensity in your voice tempered with sincerity. "But I need to know. What is the one thing that can kill him? What did Toji use?"

The room hung in silence, the tension palpable as the moment stretched between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Geto exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the decision had finally settled on him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark but resigned, and spoke quietly, his voice barely a breath. "The Inverted Spear of Heaven." he said. "It’s the only weapon that nullifies cursed techniques. That’s what Toji used to kill Satoru, if only for a moment."

You listened intently, hanging on to Geto's every word as he spoke, and as he revealed the truth, you tightened the chains around his wrists just a little more.

"But Gojo survived," you prompted, voice steady, though tension hummed between you. "How?"

Geto's gaze met yours, calm but resolute. "Because Gojo always comes back," he said, his voice soft yet certain. "He was pushed to the brink, but in the end, he found a way. That’s what makes him different. Even when you think he’s finished, he’s not."

There was an unspoken challenge in his eyes, a tension that, despite his current position, had not broken. His breathing had steadied, but the energy in the room was thick—simmering with something unresolved. His body remained taut, muscles straining against the cursed chains, though his eyes, steady and dark, dared you to push further. That fire inside him, despite everything, still burned.

You leaned in closer, voice a soft, intimate murmur yet laced with the same unyielding control that held him. "I kinda like this," you mused, letting your words linger in the air between you, "how hopeless you are in my grasp. And I think... maybe you do too."

For a split second, something raw flickered in Geto's eyes, something dangerous and defiant. He didn’t reply, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Despite the chains binding him, despite his power being stripped away, there was a part of him that refused to submit. It was that glimmer of rebellion that made this moment all the more electric. He knew what's coming.

Unexpectedly, his voice broke the silence, soft but with a strange calmness. "If this is my end, can I at least have a last wish?"

Your brow arched, amusement curling at the edges of your lips. "I never do that, but I will make an exception." you replied, your tone indulgent, as if granting him one final luxury before the inevitable.

His lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk, laced with something darker. "Kill the one who sent you after me."

You laughed softly, dark and teasing, impressed by the audacity behind his words. "Clever." you murmured, the spark of amusement glinting in your eyes. "I agree."

He was lucky that you have developed a fondness for him.

You released your grip on his hair, though the cursed chains remained, holding him still. Reaching for the knife at your side, you pulled it free in a slow, deliberate motion. The blade gleamed in the dim light, casting a soft glow as you held it between the two of you.

Gently, you lifted his chin again, this time with the flat of the knife, and traced the sharp angles of his jawline with your fingers. His skin felt cool beneath your touch, and you could feel his breath catch momentarily, his body tensing beneath the intimate pressure of the blade.

"It’s a shame… really." you murmured, your voice quiet, almost regretful as the blade hovered dangerously close to his throat. "A huge loss to let that beautiful face wither."

Your hand grazed his cheek in a tender, almost intimate gesture that stood in sharp contrast to the violence promised by the knife. You could feel his breathing quicken at the contact, his body responding to the unexpected softness. But then, as if accepting his fate, Geto exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips, his eyes softening with a sense of calm surrender.

"I didn’t think death would be so beautiful." he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet carrying the weight of his resignation.

You returned his smile, something sad and knowing flickering in your eyes as the knife rested lightly against his skin. His fate was sealed, and you both knew it—yet there was no fear in him, only acceptance.

𖤓

The alley was shrouded in darkness, the dim flicker of distant streetlights barely reaching the edges of where you stood, as though even the light hesitated to touch this forgotten corner. The air hung thick with the remnants of rain, a dampness that clung to the walls, slicking the pavement that gleamed faintly under the errant shimmer of passing headlights. The city buzzed in the distance, its pulse faint but steady, yet here, in this narrow, forsaken space, time seemed to slow to a whisper. Shadows stretched long, silent sentinels watching as you waited, patient and still, against the cool brick.

Your senses were sharp, attuned to every murmur of the night. It wasn’t long before the man arrived, his form out of place in the cloak of darkness. Wrapped in a cheap coat, he moved with a fragile unease, his footsteps soft but betraying the tremor beneath. The tension grew, the air thickening with each step he took toward you, until he finally came to a halt before you. His face, gaunt and pale beneath the scarce light, gleamed with the sheen of sweat, though the night was cool. His voice, shaky and uncertain, trembled as it cut through the stillness.

“Is it done?” The question, brittle as a dried leaf, hung in the air.

You let the silence linger, tasting his unease before you nodded, your voice steady, emotionless. "It’s done. No one’s seen Geto Suguru for a week now. His followers grow restless. You must have felt it."

Relief washed over him, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted. With fumbling hands, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, nondescript bag, thrusting it into your hand with the desperation of someone eager to escape the moment. "Thank you… for your services," he muttered, the words rushed and hollow, already turning to leave, his back to you before the exchange was even complete.

But something held you still, the weight of the bag wrong, off. Lighter than it should be. A frown crept across your features as you opened the clasp, the soft click echoing through the alley. Inside, the faint glimmer of money caught your eye, but it was too little—only half of what had been promised.

"Wait."

The word, simple yet edged with the weight of authority, stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly, his face twitching with forced calm, a weak smile stretched thin across his lips. "What’s the problem?" he asked, though the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him.

You held the bag aloft, its lightness speaking volumes. "This is only half."

The man’s face twisted, pride battling with uncertainty as he stammered a response. "My supervisor said it was a fair price. After all, you’ve gained Geto’s power, haven’t you? That’s worth more than money."

There was a false confidence in his voice, but it crumbled under the weight of the moment. His chest puffed slightly, as though pride alone could shield him from what was coming, but his eyes - nervous, darting - told another story. He stood on the edge of something sharp, something inevitable, and he knew it.

You sighed, a soft sound like the wind through withered leaves. "He said you’d do something like this."

Before he could react, his body seized, convulsing violently as his legs buckled beneath him. His neck was covered by a barely visible thread, that sunk into his neck by a single stroke of your finger. You snapped your fingers and the thread penetrated deep into his flesh, opening his throat. In an instant, he crumpled to the wet ground, eyes wide in shock, life flickering out like a candle in a storm. The shadows seemed to deepen, the silence folding in on itself as the man lay still, his fate sealed without fanfare.

From the dark, a figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows as though he had always been part of them. His robes flowed like ink, blending into the night, his movements fluid, almost serene in their grace. His inky black hair cascaded over his shoulders, catching the faintest hint of light, while his sharp, flawless features held a cold beauty, carved from darkness itself.

"I told you he’d cause trouble." Geto said with a slight, knowing smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced down at the lifeless body.

You tossed the bag over your shoulder, unbothered, meeting Geto’s gaze with a cool, unyielding calm. "You’ve got two weeks to pay me the rest."

Geto chuckled, a sound like velvet, though there was an edge beneath it, something darker that lingered. "And how do you know I don’t have that money now?" His voice, smooth and playful, hinted at the game he enjoyed.

You raised an eyebrow, your tone steady, laced with certainty. "I know more than you think. Your funds aren’t what they used to be."

His laughter was soft, almost charming, but beneath it was the sharp glint of calculation. "Two weeks, then?" he echoed, as if testing the waters.

"Two weeks." you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of finality. "And if you try to cheat me, I’ll finish what I started."

For a moment, the alley held its breath, the world balanced on the edge of your words. Geto’s smile didn’t falter, but the spark of danger flickered in his eyes, acknowledging the truth between you.

And then, without another word, you dissolved into a swirl of black mist, your form blending into the night as though you were nothing more than a shadow yourself. The alley fell silent once more, the city’s distant hum the only sound that remained.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #cult leader geto #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk #geto x y/n #suguru geto x y/n #jjk dark content #jjk suggestive #jjk suguru #jjk curse users #dark themes

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noisycowboyglitter · 2 months

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bippiti · 7 months

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catalyst clc16 x rockstar! reader

as you head to your next stop on your tour, you find your heartbeat quicken at the thought of someone. not your fans, journalists, no, him

an part 3! any feedback is appreciated and please like + rb!

tags @raevyng

previous part

if you want a visual guide for the band .

yourig charles_leclerc

you landed in nyc, stepping off the plane and texting

you

still on for tn?

charles

ofc :)

smiling, you got off your phone. as you walked into the airport, almost immediately you and your band mates were surrounded by fans. you pulled a sharpie out of your pocket, after being in this job for a while you start preparing to sign things wherever you go.

by the time you got into the car your hand ached. everyone was tired but there were plans for tonight, albeit different ones for everybody. sio was going out to meet with one of her friends that she met on holiday a few years back. they lived in New York City and were a designer with their own brand. she swiped through their insta, pausing every so often to show different pieces and the new collection they were planning on launching. it was really cool, you could tell she was excited about it. ludo was planning on visiting this italian place called ‘proprio come casa’. she had seen it all over tiktok, and being italian, she was excited to see if all the hype about it was true. edisa was going to go shopping and explore times square. she had been to nyc a couple times but hadn’t had the time to appreciate it fully. tonight was going to change that though. hae-won was planning on buying a new guitar pick, she had this tradition of buying one for each city she travelled too, but it had to be as unique as possible. no two picks in her collection looked similar. soon enough they were asking what your plans were over the small you told them that you were going to meet up with a certain f1 driver

“OH MY GODD” sio yelled excited as she began to ask you questions at 50mph. “where’re you going? what are you wearing? what are you gonna- actually never mind that’s so exciting!!”

everyone else showed their interest, albeit not as loudly as sio did. haewon leaned in, focusing in especially when what you were wearing came up. ludovica leaned back into her seat, eyes staring into yours with a knowing glint. idisa didn’t even need to speak, her eyes said it all.

you began rattling off all the details to them, listening intently as you spoke. when you got to your hotel, they helped you pick out an outfit.

(pick whichever one u like or make one up)

after getting together the seemingly perfect outfit, you waited for him to text. hearing a notification you grabbed your phone, getting ready to walk out the door

charles

im here, in the la ferrari

you walked outside and stopped in your tracks. the car he was in was you in car form. it was wine red, had the ferrari horse on it. stunning. it was literally perfect.

you smiled, stepping into the car.

“so, what’re we gonna do?”

“you’ll see” he said as he stepped on the gas

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #scudia ferrari #charles leclerc x yn #f1 x reader #f1 smau #charles leclerc smau #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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srbachchan · 4 months

Text

DAY 5939

Jalsa, Mumbai May 22, 2024 Wed 10:14 PM

And a statistical video ..

🪔 ,

May 23 .. birthday greetings to Ef AMIT Ladva from Ahmedabad ..❤️

all good wishes from the Ef family for this special day .. love 🌹

A day of nothingness .. pity .. nothingness brings nothing .. no desire, no effort, no routine , no discipline ... nothing .. it is the most wasteful exercise ever .. and they that lament its absence in their busy occupied lives , never ever fall for this trap of having nothing to do .. it is the most wasteful denominated degree in your existence ..

I speak for myself of course .. it may differ with others .. maybe they do need that moment when they be in 'nothingness' .. ad quite like it .. like it to the extent of being in it ever .. well bless you .. you are in the category of unique individuals .. !

There is actually a lot to do .. the riddance of excess be prime .. paper work that does not need the attention it deserves .. reading .. so much before thee, that it is frightens one .. where to begin and where to not .. which truly is contrary to the :

राह पकड़ तू एक चला चल, पा जाएगा मधुशाला .. catch but one path and travel on it .. thou shall find the House of Wine - the desired destination

.. the object of your projected mind ..

the normal usages of the factors obstructing the day doings , do appear in abundance .. but the will or the need to be in it to perform it does not come to the front .. and you lie around in this blanket of blankness .. uninterested uninvolved and deflated ..

heck the number of the DAY .. the date the location , month year , time .. the Calendar for the wishes for the special days .. the text as it forms without any preparation .. puch the first word in and the rest of it ,begins to magically flow along .. no stoppages, no barriers, nothing .. no nothingness in this .. none at all ..

But yes .. there has been a learning .. a learning for the next technical communication centre .. and with the help of them that excel in them to be able to do it .. yes do it .. myself ..

Apart from this there is immense reading to do .. the reading of scripts that lie by my side .. and to report to the concerned, my evaluation of whether it can have my involvement in it ..

And ..

yes .. tomorrow shall be that dedication on it ..

HAH .. !!

Famous last words .. tomorrow ..

It never comes and in all likelihood shall not come either ..

But no harm in addressing it ..

Keep well .. keep hydrated .. keep calm and cool ..

Amitabh Bachchan

and the Ef Moses, collects these details for my benefit

9 films of you. Till 1986 Incredible

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sky-kiss · 11 months

Text

Raphael x Tav/Reader (GN): Woops, My Hand Slipped

The finest wines, the richest foods; the devil has tasted every one of them over the course of his long life. He has supped on the flesh of kings and the souls of demi-gods. There is nothing new under the sun.

But you are sweeter.

Raphael smirks, dragging his teeth across your belly. He has broken flesh in some places, a more difficult task in this human shell. They are blunt and comparatively inefficient, but he likes how you look together. Delicious as it is to couple with you in his infernal form, you are so pliant, so welcoming to this vessel. You take him so easily.

He bites. Partially to see you tense, to collect the sweet little noises you make. A touch of pain and more pleasure. The cambion's hands smooth up the inside of your thighs, spreading you wide for him. Too wide, but he likes the way you wince, the hiss of breath at the stretch. There are rare moments when he’s softer and less contentious, but they are few and far between. Raphael makes it a dance, a push/pull, leaning more heavily into the push. He wants you to beg, wants to strangle you on the line between too much and not enough.

Raphael has stripped you nude; he wears his doublet. Its fabric scratches against your thighs. You manage to catch the pant leg with your toes, tugging. You want him skin-on-skin; the more you push, the more he punishes. Raphael makes a tsk-ing sound. He pulls your legs around him, holding them tight around his hips, leaning forward until you’re nearly bent in half, whimpering. Raphael laughs, brushing the back of his fingers across the flexing muscles in your belly.

“What a treat you are, and all for me. Say you're mine, hmm? Say you're mine, and we might have done with it, pet.”

He presses his thumb to your lips. Your tongue flicks out to taste him. The devil shivers, rocking against you without thinking. For as much as Raphael likes to play at control, his grasp is tenuous. Eventually, his hunger will overwhelm the urge to play with his food.

You manage to fist a hand in his hair, dragging him into a kiss. He tries to laugh. It comes out choked, needy when you yank or suck his lower lip between your teeth. He tastes of all those fine wines and foods, of sulfur and spice. Half a dozen different flavors blend into something uniquely Raphael.

He groans against your lips, and you chase that sound, drunk off it, rocking together in the dark, lost in your hunger.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #my writing #woops #my hands slipped #not working on what i should be #raphael x reader

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pinegreenapples · 28 days

Text

Your Teeth In My Neck (Fucking Sucks)

"Whatever. We're getting off topic." Vox waved his hand. Alastor gave a mocking tilt of his head, his arms spread wide as if to implore Vox to speak. "So last time we fucked, it was good, real good. Except for the part where you ripped out my carotid artery and had a little snack while I cauterized the fucking chunk missing from my neck." Alastor's smile widened. "Yes, I remember." He swirled his wine. "Your arteries have such a unique flavor. Not nearly as chewy either because of your mechanical kidneys!" Vox leveled a glare at Alastor but the other simply smiled larger. "Yeah. So, then I was thinking over all the times you've deigned to sully yourself with me and I noticed a pattern. You-" Vox pointed a finger at Alastor's chest. "Are a fucking biter."

Ever since Vox had lifted the wards on Vee Tower, Alastor had decided that-to use some of the Spanish Val had taught him-Vox's casa was his casa. Nowadays, he could often find Alastor lounging on his couch in the evening or rummaging through his record collection with an expensive vintage in hand.

It wasn't with any sort of rhyme or reason that Alastor visited, as always, he was a creature powered by whims and boredom. Sure, he was cunning and calculating and all that, but at his core, Alastor was a thrillseeker and a little shit.

So he loved showing up unannounced and ruining Vox's evening plans. Granted, sometimes he greatly improved the trajectory of Vox's evening (who wouldn't say yes to getting some pussy?) but generally he came over to be a nuisance and enjoy Vox's company.

Tonight was no different as the voice of Ella Fitzgerald greeted Vox when he stepped inside his penthouse. Alastor had taken up residence on his couch and was lazily conducting the music with one hand while the other held open a book. A glass of merlot sat next to him on the side table. No coaster in sight, the fucking bastard. It was like he knew that Vox had had that table imported from Earth.

"Hey." Vox greeted. He toed off his oxfords and tossed his wallet into the little rhinestone dish Val had gotten for him last Hellmas.

"Evening." Alastor replied. He turned a page and kept reading. Vox rolled his eyes fondly at the other's antics. Alastor loved to play little games like, pretend to ignore the man you came to see, and I'm God's gift to demonkind and you're just a lowly sinner-why would I pay you any attention? Too bad that Vox saw right through his fake ass.

He made his way to the kitchen and began to unpack the takeout he'd bought from its bags.

"Hope you're hungry. I bought sushi." He called out.

Alastor's nose twitched as he took in the smells emanating from the bags.

"Did you buy the-"

"The Envy ring sashimi? Yeah, I did." Vox pulled the container out and shook it for emphasis.

Alastor raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"Well, I suppose I could eat a bite or two." He hedged.

Vox knew better.

"Sure you could." He snorted. "I got two orders this time so I expect to get at least one before they all disappear, capische?"

Alastor hummed.

"I make no such promises!"

The deer closed his book and scooped up his wine. He meandered over to the end of the bar to watch as Vox opened up each container and then collapsed the bags. One remained standing however, a smaller bag with no telltale fish emblem from Vox's favorite sushi shop.

"And what sort of tchotchke have you brought home today?" Alastor pointed to the last bag on the counter.

Vox spared a glance over at the bag. He shrugged and grabbed two plates from a cabinet.

"It's a gift for you, actually."

"Oh? Well do tell!" Alastor preened.

"Well, I was thinking about our nights together and I wanted to try something out." Vox slid the bag over. "Here."

Alastor peered into the bag and then hummed in disinterest. The bag disappeared into a shadow and Vox felt something hit him over the head.

Out of instinct, he raised his hands to catch the bag.

"I fail to see what that is for, but I'm sure your depravity has an explanation that will burn my ears."

Vox snorted.

"You say that as if you didn't literally attend orgies as a voyeur when you were alive." He said as he plated up some sushi for them both.

Alastor smirked.

"Attended, certainly. Participated? Hardly." He leaned forward on his elbows and tucked his chin on his interlaced fingers. "It was rather less than sanitary, and I do so hate to ruin a good suit."

"Besides, it wasn't like I sought it out. Jazz is just so liberating! A few dances, a few drinks, and suddenly everyone's swinging on the dancefloor with a little less decorum!"

"Uh-huh." Vox replied. "Doesn't make you any less of a fucking freak."

Alastor cackled.

"Well now, my dear, that'd be the kettle calling the pot black, now wouldn't it?"

"Whatever. We're getting off topic." Vox waved his hand.

Alastor gave a mocking tilt of his head, his arms spread wide as if to implore Vox to speak.

"So last time we fucked, it was good, real good. Except for the part where you ripped out my carotid artery and had a little snack while I cauterized the fucking chunk missing from my neck."

Alastor's smile widened.

"Yes, I remember." He swirled his wine. "Your arteries have such a unique flavor. Not nearly as chewy either because of your mechanical kidneys!"

Vox leveled a glare at Alastor but the other simply smiled larger.

"Yeah. So, then I was thinking over all the times you've deigned to sully yourself with me and I noticed a pattern. You-" Vox pointed a finger at Alastor's chest. "Are a fucking biter."

"Guilty as charged." Alastor grinned and raised his glass in salute before taking a sip.

"So as I was thinking about all the times I had to patch up a nasty gouge from your teeth, I decided maybe the solution wasn't to get you to stop biting, but instead for you to bite something else."

Vox reached into the bag and pulled out the gift.

"Voila! Your very own chew toy that isn't me."

For the first time in a while, Vox was treated to the very special experience of a stunned Radio Demon. Alastor's glass had paused halfway to his mouth and his signature smile had dimmed down to almost a frown, with his lips pressed tight. His ears flattened and his eyes flickered between shock and indignation.

Vox drank it all in. And recorded it too-for posterity. It took Vox moving the toy closer to him before he finally snapped out of his stupor.

"Get that thing away from me before I take your hand for my evening snack." He snarled.

Vox smirked and wiggled the toy. To be honest, this reaction was absolutely worth the trip to the pet store alone. Vox hadn't seen Alastor so scandalized and offended in a long time. He was gonna have to make a montage of this later to enjoy.

"Aw c'mon, Al, give it a tryy-ahhhh fuck!" He swore as Alastor's teeth clamped down on the toy through the meat of his hand.

"Shit. Fuck! That smarts." He hissed. He shook his hand to dislodge the absolute freak of a demon he had fallen in love with but all Alastor did was growl and sink his teeth in deeper. Blood burbled up from between Alastor's teeth, down his fingers, and onto the floor with a gross plop.

Vox scowled. Great, he was gonna need to call his cleaning service for a deep clean tomorrow if this was where the evening was headed.

Vox tried smacking him next but Alastor simply growled louder, his antlers cracking as they grew. His frequency sent out a short burst of warning and Vox quickly withdrew his fist.

"Al, c'mon. That's my fucking hand. I need that."

Al merely hummed and began gnawing on the flesh between his teeth. His tongue lapped at the blood still gushing from the punctures in Vox's hand. It rasped over his raw skin like sandpaper, dragging over every cut. Vox grimaced at the unpleasant sensation.

Alastor was a weird amalgam of predator and prey with the instincts of both and one of the weirder things about him was his tongue. It was covered in hooks like a large cat's and just as rough. Vox had literally seen him lick the skin off a deer carcass down to the muscle underneath like some fucked up red mountain lion about to start a feast. Needless to say, it was fucking gross to watch.

So no, Vox was not enjoying the way his beloved's tongue was laving over his palm and fingers.

It was better than losing his fingers to Alastor's gullet, yeah, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Vox could admit that he was maybe a slut for pain, but getting fucking vored was not a kink he was into.

Vox sighed and rocked back on his heels. It was probably gonna be a while before he got that hand back, so he might as well get comfortable. At least he would probably regenerate most of it by lunch tomorrow. He could just take all his meetings digitally to avoid the handshakes.

Alastor's teeth sank even deeper-stupid fucking cryptid ass with an unhingeable jaw- and Vox yelped. The chew toy wheezed out air as Alastor's teeth sawed back and forth.

"Motherfucker! Al!" He snarled. He tried to tug his hand to his chest and ended up bringing a radio demon with it, still attached. The movement dislodged his beloved nutcase somewhat and the strangest thing happened as Alastor's tooth snagged on something embedded in the toy.

A loud weee-wooo! squeaked out into the air and both Alastor and Vox froze.

Now, when Vox had gone to Demon's Den Pet Supplies, he had not been paying the most attention as he wandered the aisles looking for the most annoying chew toy he could find. He was half reading emails, half scanning the toys for the most obnoxious one and at the time, he hadn't thought to actually read the labels before he picked up the lurid yellow and orange toy and decided that this one would offend Alastor's sensibilities the most.

And because he did not read the label, Vox was now attempting to make peace with the fact that he most likely would need to call his EMT team to stitch him back together and take a couple sick days after Alastor was done with him.

"Heyyyyy Al, let's not be too hasty now, okay?" He chuckled, eyes lasered in on Alastor's face. "It was just a joke, yeah? Just a little prank! No need for any further maiming."

Alastor growled and Vox flinched.

Oh this was so gonna hurt.

A beat.

Another.

Vox cracked open his eyes and stared down at his lover.

He blinked. Then he closed his eyes and opened them again.

Alastor's eyes were wide and dilated, focused down on the hand in his mouth and his ears were twitching wildly.

"Al?" Vox tried. "Alastor? You in there, bud?"

His ear flicked towards Vox's mouth but then swivelled away as if searching for something.

Vox frowned. He sent out a tendril of static and was met with a vibrating intensity, almost as if Alastor was waiting for something.

"What the fuck?" He muttered. Well, maybe whatever had set Alastor off was enough to get his hand back. He tugged his hand again, his other one tried to pry open Alastor's jaw. Alastor's ears airplaned downwards and his eyes darkened further. Vox kept going.

Alastor snarled at his impetuousness and clamped down harder. Vox yelled as his abused nerves took another beating from Alastor's teeth but his scream wasn't loud enough to cover the second weee-wooo! that sprang forth from the toy still trapped in his hand.

Alastor's ears shot upright and his eyes got bigger.

Huh.

Vox slowly squished his hand as best he could inside his dickhead of a lover's mouth and squeezed the chew toy one more time.

weee-wooo!

Vox cringed as it rang out but he kept his eyes trained Alastor. Once again, Alastor's ears perked up and he chittered-he fucking chittered.

"Holy shit." Vox breathed, "Holy shit!"

He started to cackle.

"You fucking-" He gasped. "Oh! Oh, this is too good!"

And the best part of all, was that Vox had bought two. He summoned the other toy to his free hand and squeezed it by Alastor's head. It let out a shrill shriek and Alastor turned so fast his neck cracked. Vox squeezed it again and Alastor's mouth loosened. A rumbling sort of chitter emanated from his chest.

Vox squeezed the toy one more time then tossed it as hard as he could against the nearest wall. In seconds, Alastor had melted into shadow and pounced on the unsuspecting toy. A terrible chewing started up interupted by little weee-wooo!s. Vox smirked and turned his attention back to his latest love tap from his beau.

Vox flexed his hand. He had all four fingers but his palm was sliced to bits. There was practically no skin left and it stung like a mother fucker. He'd definitely have to wrap it. Probably would need to wear gloves for the next few days too. Typing was going to suck so much tomorrow.

He sighed.

Sometimes, Vox wondered what the hell he saw in that psycho.

He rolled his hand in his jacket and made his way to the bathroom. The fabric snagged on the edges of the lacerations and Vox kept up a solid litany of swears as his hand continued to burn like it'd been dipped in lava.

As he ran his hand under the sink, he could still hear Alastor going to town on toy in the living room. He started chuckling again. His chuckles turned into hearty laughs and soon he was wheezing and bent over the sink.

Alastor, the mighty Radio Demon, felled by a fucking chew toy. It was too good to be true.

Vox had heard about why dogs loved chew toys, something about them having an overactive predator drive and the noise reminded them of prey, but he hadn't thought that his little predator would maybe have the same instincts baked in.

"Awww, Alastor's been too cooped up in that little hotel," he joked to himself, "Can't get any enrichment through murder!"

"Poor, poor Radio Demon!" He wheezed and reached for the gauze. "Doesn't little Miss Morningstar know how to take care of her pets?"

Vox had to stop to laugh again. He couldn't help it. He had never seen Alastor like this before and it was honestly priceless. It took him several minutes before he sobered up enough to continue dressing his hand and strode back out to the living room.

Alastor was kneeling by the wall with one hand holding the toy in his mouth, teeth clamped around it like a bear trap. His eyes had blacked out completely and his antlers had grown to their full 12 point rack. The toy was making pathetic little mewls as his teeth crunched down.

Vox whistled. His internal server whirred as he snapped picture after picture.

"Damn, Al. You're in deep, huh?" He muttered, waving a hand in front of Alastor's face. All his beau did was growl a warning and hunch deeper over the toy.

Vox brushed his frequency against Alastor's, but there was little to no thought coming from the other. He got a few vague impressions and a contented sense of satiation before he pulled back.

"Well, this wasn't how I expected this evening to go, but I suppose I'm not complaining." He commented. "Will you kill me if I eat all the sashimi?"

Alastor just kept chewing.

"More sushi for me then!" Vox crowed and moved to the kitchen. He finished plating the sushi and brought both plates out to the coffee table in front of the couch with a glass of riesling for himself and a coaster like a civilized demon.

Alastor seemed happy to chew his toy as Vox flipped through his streaming catalogue to find something worth watching. He put on a crime procedural and settled in to eat his sushi.

Ten minutes in, Alastor approached the couch with the toy in his mouth. Vox watched as he dropped it onto his slacks and then stared expectantly at him.

He grimaced as the black saliva oozed over his good slacks and started to seep in. The toy was practically torn to shreds. It looked like someone had put it through a woodchipper and the noise box hung limply from the end like some sort of technological entrail.

"Thanks, Al. That's...that's great, baby." He managed. He picked up the toy and placed it on the floor next to him. It spilled out even more black saliva.

"Eugh, that's fucking disgusting." Vox muttered and summoned a napkin to try and dab at the stain on his pants.

Alastor snorted and pawed at the hardwood. His frequency shoved displeasure at Vox.

"Fuck! What do you want? A fucking treat? God, you're such a diva." Vox complained, but he reached down to Alastor's plate and tossed him a sashimi. Alastor caught it with his mouth and let out a gravelly purr. "There. Eat your fucking sashimi, you bastard."

Alastor swiped the rest of the sushi into his mouth with his tongue and settled back on his haunches to chew.

"You know, it really is a shame that you refuse to eat ass." He observed. "The things I would do to get your tongue inside me."

Alastor merely blinked lazily at him and swallowed. Vox sighed.

"Well I guess we're not doing anything tonight but waiting this out, huh? In that case, I'm getting out the shark onesie because you can't make fun of me right now."

Alastor merely yawned and then walked off.

Vox took that as his go ahead and got changed into his favorite pjs and the onesie. When he came back, Alastor was curled up on the couch with the first chew toy in his mouth, gnawing gently.

Vox cooed and took another dozen pictures before he sat back down and started the show again. Alastor shifted and Vox watched in amazement as he curled into his side and placed his head on Vox's lap.

"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, you are going to kill me tomorrow but it'll have been worth every second." He whispered. His fingers twitched towards his lover's ears, the opportunity presented was way too good to miss. He stroked the ears and Alastor hummed deep through the airwaves. His head nestled closer and he leaned into the featherlight pets.

"Oh Al, you're gonna kill me if you keep being this cute, you little motherfucker." Vox groaned. He'd flipped from pictures to video and was now zooming in on the happy little swish of his partner's ears and tail. Alastor had even let his frequency unfurl to tangle with Vox's. Vox let his own free in response and the two began to thrum and pulse in harmony.

They sat like that for hours, watching episode after episode until Vox could barely keep his eyes open. Alastor had fully fallen asleep on him and was letting out cute little snuffles as he breathed.

Vox looked over at his bedroom door, then back at the adorable demon on his lap. Yeah, it wasn't worth getting up for the bed. He snuggled down into the armrest and shoved a pillow behind his head and conked out.

****

The first thing Vox was aware of was little pinpricks of pain circling his wrist. He grumbled and shook his wrist.

"Vark, fuck off." He mumbled.

But the pinpricks didn't go away. They came back in a barrage of sharp shocks and Vox bolted upright. His arm tried to curl to his chest on instinct but it wouldn't budge, instead the pain made him yelp.

He cracked open his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Alastor's teeth embedded in his wrist. His eyes were black and ticking and his smile had grown feral. A low growl was emanating from the radio in his chest.

"Oh shit." Vox hissed. He tugged frantically at his hand but Alastor held firm. His teeth began to clamp down harder and Vox yelled.

"Ow ow ow ow! Hey Al, buddy, you don't want to do this!" Vox babbled. "It was just a joke! I didn't know it would do this-ahhhh fuck!"

Vox howled as Alastor's teeth scraped his bones. It felt fucking awful. It grated like nails on a chalkboard and Vox retched.

Alastor snapped his head backwards suddenly and Vox ragdolled forward. Alastor growled and shoved a hand against Vox's chest before he resumed his pulling.

Vox screamed. There was an unnatural stretch as he felt his tendons start to tear, each one snapping like strings on a harp. Blood gushed down his arm like a cyan waterfall. His vision blurred and black spots tap danced across his screen.

Alastor kept up a consistent gnawing on his radius and ulna in between pulls and Vox fought to stay conscious through the pain. Alastor's teeth nicked the bone with each bite and Vox swore he could feel his arm splintering. Bile rose in his throat.

With a sickening crack, Alastor snapped his teeth through the bone. Vox vomited, tears dripping down his casing.

"Oh God, oh fuck!" He whimpered.

But Alastor wasn't done, with one vicious tug, he ripped Vox's hand clean off. Vox's voice broke into a hoarse sob and the black spots swarmed his vision.

When he woke back up, Alastor was back to his normal size and chewing loudly on Vox's hand. Neon blue blood ran down his chin and his radio was chirping out a little ragtime tune.

Vox stared down at the bloody stump of his arm in stupor. It was pouring out blood like a fucking fountain. Vox felt queasy. He used to have a hand there.

It pulsed hot pain and he hissed. He tightened his fist over it and let out a sob as his nerves wailed. He braced himself, then shot electricity through the wound to cauterize it.

His vision whited out. All he could feel was pain for what felt like hours. He blacked out again.

When he came to once more, Alastor was humming as he licked Vox's blood from his fingers.

Vox's throat felt raw. He swallowed and tried to sit up. His mouth tasted coppery.

"I fucking hate you so much." He rasped.

Alastor turned to him with a cold fury in his eyes.

"If you ever treat me like some pet again," he spat, static thickening his voice, "I will scatter your parts across all seven rings and mount your head on my wall as a trophy."

He stalked over to Vox and let out his demonic form to loom menacingly.

Vox glared back, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Alastor shrunk back down. He dusted off his overcoat and summoned his microphone.

"Well, thank you for the breakfast, but I really must be going." He said cheerily. His hands came to adjust his bowtie. "A hotelier must always keep his duties! Ta ta for now, old friend! See you soon!"

And with that, he melted into the shadows.

Vox scowled deep at the spot he had occupied.

"Rat fucking bastard." He muttered. His fingers fluttered over the stump that used to be his right hand and he sighed.

Today was going to be a long fucking day.

#radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune #voxal #vox x alastor #vox #hazbin vox #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #ananas writes

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