#and the finale on Sunday

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 27 <3

Ushijima x dirtytalk

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 2,3 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"Here, Wakatoshi-kun! Look at this!"

A phone gets shoved into his face, the brightness level way too high for comfort, but he squints to take a look at the screen. A small grunt leaves his lips at the lack of greeting from his red-haired friend, but he chooses to focus on the screen instead.

It's an Instagram post with a picture of him, one taken during the Olympics. He looks at the picture, confused, but then Tendou starts scrolling through the comments

"I'd combust if he called me 'baby' with that deep voice."

"Do you think he's vocal in bed?" Reply: "He doesn't talk much in interviews, so I doubt it." Reply: "What a waste. His voice is so hot."

"LOOK AT HIS ABS *drools*"

"The world is going crazy ever since you said 'baby' in that one interview!" Tendou wildly gestures with his phone still in his hand, his grin almost smug when he elbows Ushijima. A frown appears on the spiker's face as he tries to recall the interview. It was one that he wasn't too fond of, due to the number of personal questions that had been asked. Way too personal questions for his liking.

"Ushijima-san, do you have any plans to start a family soon? When can we expect a baby, a little Ushijima junior?" "Baby?" he had echoed, clearly taken aback by this question, something that the interviewer probably failed to notice, but to the people close to him, it was fairly obvious. The silence after this question lead to speculation on the internet about his relationship status, something that he has kept private so far.

"It wasn't in a sexual way." Ushijima states after skimming through more comments, raising his eyebrows when the messages get more explicit and vulgar. "I was surprised when he asked the question."

"Doesn't matter! The world is going feral now, everybody wants to be Wakatoshi's baby! And even I have to admit that I got butterflies when I heard you say that. Y/n is really lucky~" Tendou hums, mischief clear in his eyes, but Ushijima fails to follow his train of thoughts with this.

"Why is she lucky?"

"Because she gets you to say sweet and dirty things to her all day long. You can't fool me, Wakatoshi-kun; I'm not only your best but also your oldest friend." Tendou winks and strolls ahead, oblivious to the way Wakatoshi is left standing there with a frown on his face, still.

xxxxx

"Y/n?"

You rub your arms dry with a fluffy towel when his voice comes from the other side of the door.

"Hmm?" you hum, smiling excitedly because he is finally back home. "I'll be out in a second."

"Yes, please. We need to talk." You hear him lean against the door frame, clearly waiting for you to come out.

You freeze at his words, eyes growing wide when realization settles in and you fully comprehend his words. "Talk? Talk about what?" you know that you sound shrill and loud, but you can't help yourself but to feel nervous at his serious tone- even more serious than normally.

"About us." Your jaw drops, and you quickly reach for your bathrobe, hastily unfolding the fabric to its full length.

"What do you mean about us? Is there a problem with us?" You finally manage to pull your arms through the fabric, quickly wrapping the fabric along your body before you open the door. You're met with Ushijima's broad chest as he quickly straightens to his full posture. His olive eyes roam over your body, lingering for a short moment on your exposed cleavage before they return back to your face. He looks nervous, there is no other way to put it. "I'm not sure. I think there could might be a problem."

"And what would that be?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes boring into his face as if you could find answers for his unusual behavior there. You've never seen him like this before. His usual warm eyes are clouded with worry, his hands fidgeting with his phone in his hands. "Toshi? What is it? Please, talk to me." You're tempted to take the phone out of his hands, but you refrain from touching him, not when you don't know what's going on.

"Are you happy with our sex life?" His eyes don't leave your face, not for even the slightest second to see your reaction, and your jaw drops at the sudden question- you expected a lot, but definitely not this.

"I'm- I mean, yes I am? Shouldn't I be? Are you unhappy?" You take a slight step back, creating distance between the two of you, baffled by the sudden implication that he thinks that you're not satisfied. Or that he might not be. Sex with Wakatoshi is great- hard, rough, and passionate. He knows how to fuck you, that is for sure, but he also knows how to be gentle and sweet, how to take care of you and spoil you, especially during aftercare. You lack nothing in your sex life with him- and you hope that he feels the same.

"I am happy. Very. I enjoy sex with you very much much," he states firmly, but that only confuses you more.

"Why are you asking me then? What made you think that I could be unhappy?" You move closer to him, worry etched in your features when you finally take his phone and put it aside to grab his hands.

"Do you want me to talk more? To be more vocal? I saw a video and people kept on commenting how they want me to call them 'baby' and some more things. Would you like that too?" The way he asks nonchalantly like he was just talking about dinner made this even more embarrassing somehow.

"For you to call me 'baby' during sex?"

"Hmm." He nods and looks expectantly at you, his hands squeezing yours while his gaze seems somewhat calmer now that he is convinced that you're satisfied.

"You... you can call me whatever you want. I'm fine with it." You try to sound unbothered and calm, but the slightly shaking note shows how the thought of him calling you "baby" or "his pretty girl" while he thrusts into you does something to you. He nods, hesitating for a second, but then his hands suddenly drop yours to pull you in by the waist, his other hand coming to your chin while he leans down until his lips are close to your ear.

"My baby. Or would you rather be my babygirl?" His honey-like voice almost puts a spell on you, and you find yourself shivering in his arms, thighs involuntarily clenching together. "S-sounds good, Toshi." You bring your hands up to his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt and his slow and steady heartbeat.

"And what would my babygirl like me to do? Does my babygirl want to be touched?" He lowly mumbles against the shell of your ear, your heart now beating faster when his hands start to roam over your body. "Yes," you breathlessly answer, hands slightly clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Definitely not what you had expected as the outcome of the conversation, but vocal Wakatoshi makes your pussy throb with every single word.

"My babygirl needs me to touch her, huh? I will take care of that pretty little princess cunt." He kisses your cheek, and your legs feel like jelly at this point. You cling to him, hanging on every single one of his words. You feel your arousal growing, feel how you start to get wet the more his hands keep touching you.

"More," you whisper, feeling hot and bothered while he keeps on touching you and pressing kisses to your neck. "More? Is my babygirl needy? That pretty princess cunny needs me to touch her?" He lifts the bathrobe just enough to place one hand on your thigh, and you feel like your body is on fire when he touches you there.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands now finding purchase on his shoulders while you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "What does that little princess cunny want? My fingers?" He grazes his fingertips along your thigh, moving dangerously close to your pussy under the bathrobe- bare, and basically creaming for him the longer he keeps playing with your body.

"Or my tongue?" he licks along the column of your neck, and you gasp at his words, the sensation hot and forbidden god. "I want to taste you, baby. You always taste so sweet. Do you want my tongue between your legs? Licking at your pretty pussy?" His fingers reach your throbbing pussy, slightly parting your folds and dipping in your wetness.

"Do it, do it, Toshi, please," you press your legs together around his hand, effectively caging him right where you need it. "Hmm, but you have to cum on my fingers first." He pecks your cheek and pulls his hand away from your legs, just to place it on your hips to guide you towards the bed. "Lay down for me, baby. Open that bathrobe for me."

His baritone echoes through the room, and you feel yourself doing everything like you're in a haze, full of need for him. "Hmm, that's my good girl." He hums apporvingly when you discard the bathrobe on the floor. Your body is trembling in the cool air of the room, but Ushijima is quick to join you on the bed and to hover above you, radiating so much heat that you instantly feel warm.

"Baby, spread your legs for me. Show me everything." You take a deep breath and slowly part your legs, revealing your glistening folds to him. A shiver runs down his body, and he clears his throat before he speaks again, his voice now lower when he is obviously bothered and turned on by the situation. "Look at how wet you are for me. All for me."

You frantically nod, anticipation rushing through your body while you wait for him to touch you. His fingers finally roam over your thighs, and your head falls back into the pillow at the way he touches you, the way he knows exactly where and how to touch you.

"So impatient. I can't wait to be inside of you, to feel you around me." Your gaze falls to the tent in his pants, the thought of him fucking you making your head spin and your pussy throb with need. His fingers move between your legs, moving along your folds and pressing against your clit. You moan at the sensation, your hands fisting the sheets when his thumb prods on your entrance.

"You look so pretty like this. Just waiting for me to touch you, to fuck you. And you feel so good around my fingers." He pushes his thumb inside of you, and you almost close your legs around him. "I will make you feel so good. I will make you cum on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock." You clench around the digit at his words, your eyes focused on his handsome face while he keeps on rubbing your clit. "More, please more," you whine your body shaking underneath his. "Shhh, I'll give you more. I'll give you what you need, baby." His eyes roam down your body and you almost protest when he pulls his thumb out, just to quickly replace it with three of his fingers. "Oh, Toshi," you whine, your hips arching into him, and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. He keeps the fast rhythm, pulling his fingers out, and pushing them back inside, curling them pulling them out again. "You feel so good. You're is creaming for me, look at that." His words only add fuel to your desire, and you grab his shoulders to push him down to you to connect your lips in a needy kiss. He groans into your mouth, his movements slowing down for a few moments before he sets his rhythm again, a fast and punishing pace now.

Your nails rake along his bare shoulders, leaving red marks, and he groans at the sensation. "Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you clench around me. Cream on my fingers, make a mess for me," his voice sends you over the edge, and you moan his name when you cum, your walls pulsing and clenching softly around his fingers. He groans your name, sweet praises of how you're his good girl, how pretty you look under him, how much he loves you, leave his lips and your body arches from the bed into his while your face contorts in pure bliss.

He prolongs your high, making sure to keep his pace and to curl his fingers just the right way, and your body goes limp when he finally slows down. His lips meet yours, pressing chaste and loving kisses to your face. "Was that okay?" The slight frown on his face is back, a clear sign of him being deep in thoughts when he pulls back after a few more kisses.

"More than okay. I think I could cum from your voice alone." You smile up at him and cup his cheek, the afterglow making you feel so good while you lay under him.

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity now sparkling in his eyes at your words, and you are quick to explain further. "I- I didn't mean that literally. Like- I just wanted to say that your voice is hot. And you are hot." Your cheeks heat up when he simply nods and hums, a mild smile on his lips.

"I want to test that out. Let's see if I can make you cum with my voice alone, baby."

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ushijima #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #this got longer than I thought it would #I thought the small bit of backstory would be a nice touch #I hope you enjoy this! #just two more days #T.T #I'll probably post Suna's part on friday #and the finale on Sunday #just to let you know! <3 #I just realized how much I'm missing Tendou T.T #I'll probably write something for him soon! <3 #BTW! I am pretty convinced that Ushijima looked up some phrases online beforehand #and he will use baby for an eternity now #But he'll eventually come along and start to use a variety of names and dirty things to say

[annqer]

Don't you want to become a cult leader?

#I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO MAKING THIS YEAAAA #its been on my mind for so long #the audio fits sunday really well #and its right up my alley art wise too #aughhh sundayyy mr sundyayy opleasss sundayy #the devoted followers in question are me btw #tw body horror #tw scopophobia #sunday #hsr #hsr art #hsr fanart #honkai star rail #star rail #penacony #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail sunday #sunday honkai star rail #art #fanart

[quick-catton]

thank FUCK for the new jacob content we've been in a drought truly

#this shirt is so felix catton coded tbh #thin ice though bc if this man doesn't show up at the baftas on sunday #that's my final straw #i'm so serious i WILL swerve into oncoming traffic #jacob elordi #saltburn

[rabbit-rays]

post canon mobility aids cloud save me....save me post canon mobility aids cloud

#ff7 #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #blue had to send me his advent children outfit for this and i almost died laughing i love you girl what are you wearing #anyways. protagonists being disabled at the end of their stories is important to me. lalallalalaaaaa.... #i coulda fixed some of this but im not putting that much effort in. man its a sunday afternnoon who cares #EDIT. SECOND TIME IN RECENT HISTORY IVE FORGOTTEN AN ID??? I may be stupid. its in alt now

[moxyphinx]

when you see your secret wife for the first time in months but you're in public and supposed to hate each other

#wheel of time #twotedit #wotedit #the wheel of time #moiraine damodred #siuan sanche #moiraine x siuan #wlwedit #siuaraine #siuraine #fishwives #fantasyedit #gif #mine #* #wot* #finally back for #siuan sanche sunday #i don't think i was able to capture it #but that almost imperceptible smile siuan has in 1.06 #MAKES ME NUTS #also thinking about the sophie-ism #when she avoids eye contact as a power move #she's BANANAS #anyway #i feel like i've forgotten how to photoshop #so that's fun

[raceweek]

// on alex and resistance

#she’s here she’s finally here #i realised that the fact ive been compiling for like. years. was a huge hindrance so maybe at some stage i’ll do some more but #she’s here! #and im so relieved im sort of happy with it that im just hitting post at 7pm on a sunday in the middle of winter break #alex albon #webweaving

[namarikonda]

Kasmir (he/she), firbolg rogue & courtesan 🗡️💰🪙✨

#artists on tumblr #digital art #dnd art #ttrpg art #character design #dnd #dnd character #dnd oc #art #my art #kasmir #firbolg #rogue #oc #original character #finally played her in her first session last sunday heehee #he beat up the party artificer oops<3

[jastertown]

POV: you are the Universe

#isat king #isat the king #in stars and time #isat #isat fanart #my art #super proud of this one teehee. finally feeling like i'm close to grasping the isat style #and yes the vibe IS intended to be 'i frew up' #scheduling this for [checks calendar] easter sunday. happy easter to those who observe

[scourge-sympathiser]

SCOURGE SUNDAY 025/???

BLESSING leader of WATERCLAN

#scourge wc #warriors #warrior cats #scourge warriors #wc scourge #scourge #scourge warrior cats #bloodclan #scourge sunday #this 1 goez out 2 the classic fanz LOL if u recognize him this is post number 3 with inverse scourge #didnt change his deisgn much bcuz to be honest i open at work tomorrow n it is. 1:30am #alwayz wanna do colored lashez but somhow i find thm... so hard....... #also evry1 keep an eye on my non warriorz blog im close 2 finally finishing a big ref commission im rllyyy hapy with #im very funny as a person bcuz i feel bad for how long it haz taken me but 4 som reason my reaction 2 tht is to. put off working on it #n thn i feel worst. repeat forevr #also might make a just stright up inverse color verison of this design somtime the patterning is fun i think tht would be neat #ok gn #or as it will be once i actually post this. gm

[cinamun]

All the luck we can get | Next

#ts4 #indya #black simblr #welp #there you have it folks #a much needed conversation #an upcoming wedding #and Charlie finally got his dance #see y'all back on Sunday! #ts4 story #sims 4 story #simblr #ch24

[maddiedrawz]

✨supercorp🎄

think i only want you under my mistletoe💕

#FINALLY CHRISTMAS DOMESTIC FLUFF GOODNESS WEEEEEE :DD #supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara zor el #kara x lena #supercorp fanart #supercorp sunday #art #artists on tumblr #dc comics #dc fanart

[mar64ds]

I GOT A BIG ARO FLAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ignore flowey

#pov you're papyrus #i got this and a mic for my birthday. can you believe it finally a mic for my horrible audio #my birthday is this sunday but they arrived earlier 👍🏻

[anakinh]

before || after

#ffedit #ffgraphics #vgedit #gamingedit #dailygaming #crisis core #crisis core reunion #sephiroth #ffvii #final fantasy #ff7 #mine #mineff #minegifs #1k #merry new year i guess #was gonna post this on sunday as per usual then i realized that TODAY was sunday #so here it is later than the usual sunday but meh #honestly the change in sephiroth is really impressive #same model but so different

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

if i fell through the floor i would keep falling ; suguru geto

synopsis; geto knocks at your front door one morning ten years after leaving everything he knew behind, fully expecting to be met with a middle finger or a hand to the throat. when you invite him in, instead, he can’t help but feel somewhat perplexed.

word count; 7.5k

contents; suguru geto/reader (platonic or romantic, up to u!!), gn!reader, geto-typical angst with lots of yearning, open-ended, geto’s pov, reader is a softie, mutual pining kinda, geto is terminally bitter and terminally lonely and also kind of a bitch but we love him

a/n; i’m extremely normal abt suguru geto and the debilitating loneliness he must’ve felt during the ten years after he left <33

”it’s been a while.”

the smile on his face must be sweet, he thinks, illuminated by the blurry light of the morning sun. as charming as it’s always been. coated in a thin layer of lighthearted deceit, a cruelly projected sense of normalcy.

with a hand raised up in cheerful greeting, geto gazes down at you.

— admittedly, he’s a little underwhelmed by your reaction.

astonishment or bafflement was maybe a little too much to ask for. you don’t look very surprised to see him at all; almost as if you were expecting him to show up in front of your apartment at the break of dawn.

and, really, maybe you were. after all, satoru must have told you already. why wouldn’t he let you in on their touching reunion, the promise of war that spilled so easily from his lips?

of course you would have heard of it by now.

still, geto can’t deny that it’s just a little bit disappointing. he would’ve liked to see your wide eyes, would’ve liked to hear you stammer a bit. the expression you’re currently sporting is something else entirely.

you look sad.

there’s a fondness in your eyes, though, unmistakable. a spark of it, entirely impossible to ignore, that catches him off guard. and there’s a softness in the way you raise your head to look up at him, a familiarity that flickers in the depths of your irises.

geto is just a little bit put off by it.

it looks the same as always. you look the same as always. and geto’s heart constricts, where it rests, tucked away deep within the confines of his ribcage.

a moment passes. the sun peeks out from beneath the curtain of the horizon, the violet and indigo of the morning sky melting into that familiar burst of ochre. and geto is content, to silently admire the way that you glow in its light.

he waits, patiently, for your expression to shift. to melt into one of anger, or repulsion, or any other kind of bitter hue.

it never does.

a sigh flows from your parted lips, instead. a soft little breath. in the bitter cold of a morning such as this, it turns into vapour as it drifts through the air. you blink, tiredly, eyelashes fluttering with something akin to exasperation.

”you’re a cruel guy, you know that?”

geto blinks. a fickle moment passes.

then, he smiles.

you’re admonishing him, but you’re doing so almost gently — with an easygoing kind of disapproval. as if you’re still in high school, huffing over the teasing bout of laughter he lets slip when you trip over air.

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, an action he’s grown awfully used to over the years. smiles are a form of currency, he has come to realize — smiles of deceit, of fondness, of barely contained disgust. all kinds of smiles, whether plastered on or genuine. a means to meet an end.

a single tug of his lips, encompassing an immeasurable number of unspoken words.

the smile that geto graces you with is an amused one. it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s friendly enough. ”so i’ve been told.”

for a minute, you do nothing but observe him. there’s a turmoil behind your eyes that seeps out in the way you look at him, the way you shift from foot to foot and gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously. geto doesn’t interrupt, observing you in turn. waiting for one of you to move the first piece of this little morning game of chess.

in the light, he can almost delude himself into thinking that your eyes change colour, different shades and hues dancing around your dilated pupils. as you gaze over the contours of his face, a certain kind of affection blooms within them, one that geto expected to have faded over the years. 

but it’s still there. and it’s the same. a little more blurry, maybe, a little faded at the edges — more matured. but still the same, despite that. 

(a memory comes to him. one of you, and him; sharing a bag of chips on the school’s rooftop when neither of you could sleep.

bathed in the light of the moon, your eyes glimmered with that very same affection, like a shooting star breaking out across the night sky.)

one long, careful, tender moment passes by. 

the intense contemplation on your features is almost enough to coax a chuckle from the depths of his throat. an urge to tease you creeps up on him, slowly, but before he can open his mouth you seem to come to a kind of conclusion.

and so, you step to the side — allowing him to see inside your apartment, catch a brief glimpse of the interior. you look oddly comfortable, at peace, having made your move; the next piece is his to place.

what a surprising move, though. geto can’t help it if his eyes widen just a smidge, if he blinks in a way that could almost be interpreted as briefly confused. out of all the possible scenarios he’s played out in his mind over the years, this wasn’t the one he expected to merge with reality.

”wanna come in?” you ask, tentative. your voice is inviting. a little clumsy, although he supposes that could just be because of fatigue. it is early, after all.

geto takes a moment to think.

as far as he can tell — and he always can, in one way or another — there is no deceit hidden in your expression. no signs of bloodlust, no spark of violence, no quiet resentment bubbling beneath the surface. earnest. that’s all it is. a little awkward, but candid. pure, in a way.

you aren’t trying to trick him. you’re genuinely, seriously, honest-to-god inviting him inside your apartment.

the next move is his to make.

and geto knows exactly what he should do. he should decline, politely, excuse himself with feigned remorse and a jovial invitation to his own personal hell.

(surely, you already know. the others have almost certainly told you by now. geto just wanted to personally invite you, himself. face to face.)

right. that’s what he should do. that’s the winning move.

and yet, he finds himself moving.

lips curling up on their own, without his approval, geto moves forward. one step is all it takes for him to cross the threshold of your home; a boundary he didn’t expect you to offer up so callously, truth be told, but who is he to deny the wishes of a dear old friend?

”why, thank you,” he smiles, voice pleasant, smooth like silk.

(for just a little while, he supposes he can indulge himself in the opportunity you’ve so graciously given him. just for a bit.)

geto doesn’t bother taking off his footwear, and he knows you couldn’t care less either way. allowing him to pass you by as he waltzes into your very own space, you close the door behind him. he half-expects to hear the click of the lock, but it never comes.

a particular scent envelops him, as he stands by the coat rack, unmoving — he has no intention of taking off his robes, heavy with his carefully nurtured devotion. a symbol of his choice.

the scent is familiar, but also unlike anything he can recall within the borders of his memory; a soothing blend between fresh laundry, and sunlight, and cat fur, and something rather sweet.

there’s more to it than that, though. a certain scent geto could only ever describe as you. 

(his heart aches with longing.)

as he ponders the intricacies of the fragrance, geto is acutely aware of the stare burning into his back. how careless of him, to leave it facing you, unguarded and vulnerable.

what a perfect opportunity he’s presented you with; the great curse user suguru geto, forever exiled and wanted dead, now merely a fly at the mercy of the web you’ve created. trapped in your apartment with his back turned to you, a mere lamb to the slaughter.

how easy it would be, for you to plunge a knife into his flesh. to curve your way along his spine.

you do nothing of the sort, though. and for some reason, the realization that you aren’t going to irks him, even though deep down he knew that would be the case. still, it crawls its way under his skin, along the arteries of his forearm, an itch he yearns to claw away.

how foolish. how very like you.

(what a cruel thing change can be, when no one else seems to succumb to it.)

unable to do anything but accept it, however, geto turns towards you once more. you stiffen, as if burned by his gaze, and a part of him delights in it.

”how have you been?” he asks, bright and courteous. there’s a genuinity to the question that geto can’t deny. something about this situation sends a spark of fondness running through his veins.

at the sound of his voice, your eyes soften again. it’s a subtle shift, but he doesn’t miss it. doesn’t think he ever really could, because even though the light inside your eyes makes him uncomfortable, down to the very marrow of his bones, he can do nothing but bask in it. in your attention, in that heavy gaze.

a single word could never hope to faithfully describe the emotion smouldering inside it — but if forced to, geto would humbly settle on resignation.

it’s almost as if you still haven’t fully accepted it, ten years down the line, that you’re only just beginning to. like even now, you’re convinced that it’s nothing more than one big joke; that he’s about to reveal a hidden camera, and gleefully tell you that it was all a prank to get back at satoru.

naive, naive, naive. but geto can’t deny that it tastes sweet, on his tongue — to imagine that you might still have some faith in him, after all this time.

a sigh leaves your lips. you sound a little bit exhausted. it sends a pang of ache to the very center of his heart, and a part of him yearns to soothe you. another part relishes in the pain he must have brought you over the years.

the rest of him smoothly tucks those stray thoughts away, as he brushes non-existent dust off from his robes.

then, your eyes take on a more tender hue. you ignore his question entirely, and speak in a low voice. raspy and sincere, and maybe just a tad bitter, given everything.

”those robes don’t suit you, suguru.”

— a shiver travels down his spine.

suguru.

(the way your lips form around the syllables is still so lovely.)

you’re full of surprises, as always. at least to a certain extent, he was expecting you to settle on geto, to draw a firm line in the sand between him and you. the ocean and the land, always meant to be separated by that thin line, kept apart in each other’s best interest.

but geto is beginning to accept that you’re going to do this your way — sincerely.

the statement is a veil, obscuring a million unspoken thoughts, double meanings that aren’t particularly hard to discern. a silent rejection, a quiet disapproval. there’s a grief to it that sits heavy on your tongue.

taking a moment to collect himself, geto meets your gaze, and all its weight. his lips curl up into a sad smile, a little fatigued. he wonders if you can hear it, in his voice.

(maybe it was stupid of him, to think he could keep this meeting professional.)

”… is that so?”

you continue to look at him, as if waiting for something else. but geto doesn’t give you what you want, that touch of tender honesty he’s sure you’re hoping for.

”i think they suit me just fine,” he playfully disagrees, instead, tone bordering on something childishly stubborn.

you wait just a single moment more, still clinging to that hope for something sincere, anything. 

then you huff. it sounds vaguely amused.

”you look like a con artist,” you deadpan, eyes flitting down to examine the outfit again. geto would be offended by your rudeness if you didn’t also happen to be right.

”how sweet of you,” he purrs, shooting you a smug smile. the words are lighthearted, mildly teasing. “that’s exactly what i’m going for.”

you give him an unimpressed look, that he mirrors with a perfect smile — and then you give in to another amused exhale, paired with a soft shake of your head.

there it is again, geto thinks. that sense of déjà vu. it’s equal parts eerie as it is comforting.

silence lingers in the air around you, as hazy sunlight flits in through the gap between your curtains and cascades across the floorboards. until you clear your throat endearingly, and walk past him.

”well, make yourself at home,” you murmur in passing.

considering the circumstances, the words are spoken fairly naturally, and geto has to resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this is. inviting a wanted criminal into your home, a literal mass murderer, and treating him with the same politeness you’d show to any other guest.

what would the elders think, he wonders, if they knew? would they brand you an accomplice, question your motives? put your head on the chopping block right next to his? he wouldn’t put it past them, the pieces of shit.

but despite his amusement, geto doesn’t laugh. he only watches as you make your way to the kitchen counter, a firefly catching his eye in the summer night.

(except you aren’t a firefly, and it’s not summer. it’s winter, and you’re someone geto wishes he didn’t still care for.)

”i was thinking of making tea,” you hum, voice soft but still easy for him to discern from his spot in the living room. ”do you want some?”

geto’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile. his voice is teasing, as it flows out from his lips.

”how generous,” he chirps, still idly watching the way you move around the open space, your hair changing colour in the flickering light of the sun. ”satoru could learn a thing or two from you.”

he expects you to flinch. a suitable reaction, to how casually he brings up his reunion with his best friend, like it’s nothing. like it means nothing. like nothing’s wrong.

geto knows it’s cruel, which is exactly why he does it.

but you don’t flinch. you don’t even stiffen. and he senses no anger in your body language, in the silence that settles in the space between his words and yours. all you do is exhale sharply, a little exasperated.

”you shouldn’t be so cruel to him.” a beat. your voice sounds just a little smaller when you continue. ”he’s missed you, you know.”

the reply is nearly instantaneous, and it’s bare. honest. you sound like you’re scolding him, but it’s more protective than angry. and it’s gentle, like you’re patching him up after a mission, reprimanding him for not being more careful.

at this point, geto can tell you have no intention of playing along. how annoying. he wishes you would — that earnest sadness and regret of yours is almost unbearable, and the gentle bluntness you present him with cuts much deeper than his casual cruelty ever could.

you aren’t going to play along, aren’t going to pretend you don’t care. geto wonders why you won’t, why you’re the only one who still refuses to.

satoru certainly has no issue with it. playing along, putting up a front. attempting to treat him coldly, as an enemy. but geto knows him, knows his soul like the back of his hand, and he could tell it was trembling when their eyes met. from underneath those bandages of his, the thin layer of cowardice that shields those precious eyes from the rest of the world. from geto.

and shoko is just as unbothered as ever. always playing it cool, never caught off guard or shaken to her core. geto can’t even tell if it’s an act or not, anymore. but he knows that she was angry, when they spoke that day, ten years in the past. knows she wanted to tell him off, but chose not to.

both her and satoru are like that. always have been. closed off, accustomed to bearing an unbearable weight, resigned to the ache that it brings them. acting distant in a desperate attempt to mend it.

you, though?

you were always a little too sincere for your own good, a little too true to yourself. it must hurt you, he thinks. it must hurt you even just to look at him. yet you continue to do so, unflinchingly.

that’s simply how you are.

you’ve always enjoyed dipping your toes into the grief of it all, leaning into the pain. always the first to take that step into the abyss. content to tear yourself open for everyone to see, even if no one follows suit.

never averting your eyes. never taking the easy way out.

(unlike him.)

geto hums, smiling a little at the sickening irony of it all.

the gentle clinking of ceramic resounds throughout the kitchen, and geto’s ears perk up. his gaze follows your hands, as they move to grab two cups from the wall cabinet. floral designs, he dully notes. blue bells on one, red camellias on the other. a porcelain teapot rests on the kitchen table, but no flowers adorn it.

without your expressions to keep him entertained, geto decides to wallow in the fleeting peace and quiet. aside from your soft breathing and the occasional clinking of teacups, there are no sounds to be heard. 

a moment that seems to exist outside of time and space, where time passes backwards and your shuffling in the kitchen is his only concern.

eager to satiate the mellow boredom in his chest, geto’s eyes begin to flit across the space of your apartment. greedily drinking in every detail he can see, as if he’s trying to memorize it all. maybe he is.

everything he can see is a piece of your existence, in one way or another. every inch of the apartment is littered with your fingerprints, your choices and fickle tastes.

like the rich yellow of the curtains you’ve picked out to frame the glass of the windows, bright and stark and blending smoothly in with the cream colour of the wallpaper surrounding it. or the forgotten cup on the table in front of the tv, a faded green. he vaguely remembers seeing you drink out of it back when things were still good, when you both thought of the school as your home.

a book rests on the duvet pillows of your couch, but he sees no bookmark peeking out from between the pages. geto wonders if you still dog-ear your books, and thinks to himself that a crime of that calibre would warrant your own exile if the world was only fair. alas, it isn’t. war of the foxes, he reads from the cover. ironic.

along the windowsills are potted plants, stacked up next to each other, green and flourishing despite the snowy wonderland of the outside world. their leaves differ in shape and size, some accompanied by blooming flowers. he imagines you watering them, dutifully, nurturing them with gentle hands and sleepy smiles. 

there are many things to look at, more and more little fragments sprouting up the longer geto continues to do so. a knitted sweater thrown over the wooden armrest of a chair. colourful candy wrappers littering the table. an old radio tucked away in a corner of the room. 

geto drinks it all in — a home you’ve painstakingly created, that you’ve allowed him into. he examines it thoroughly, the way an art dealer judges a painting on display. turning the image over inside his mind, twisting it, burning it into his retinas. soaking in every little detail he manages to find. 

your home.

(it’s so like you that it hurts.)

finally, geto thinks he’s had his fill of the living room. so he ventures into the kitchen, only a couple long strides away.

the scent that greets him this time is comforting, homey. the aroma of coffee grounds, a touch of leftover curry, a strong fragrance of blooming hyacinths and dried lavender sitting contentedly by the windowsill. through the translucent glass, geto sees layers upon layers of snow on the rooftops, and the gradual rise of the glittering sun. 

the quiet buzzing of the electric kettle is the only sound he hears, along with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, as his eyes wander along the kitchen.

the shelves are stacked with a variety of different spices, and glass jars of honey and jam. along the counters rest a wide array of kitchen appliances, from blenders to rice cookers to french presses. mugs with silly designs are stuffed into an opened wall cabinet, and geto recognizes some of them, to his silent delight. 

there are colourful post-it notes stuck to the fridge, messy scribbles of recipes and reminders. meetings, birthdays, grocery lists. even just little doodles, smiley faces and napping cats that make his lips quirk up. and polaroids — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the picture of satoru sleeping in the most uncomfortable, inhumane position he’s ever witnessed, nor the blurry image of shoko smoking by a balcony railing, sleeves cuffed and expression forlorn. he can’t imagine either of them noticed you snapping the photos.

(no polaroids of him. of course not. why would there be?)

geto tries not to look over at the fridge again, examining the floor and furniture instead. over in the corner stands a bowl of cat food, seemingly untouched. the kitchen table is covered with a checkered cloth, kept down by a plate of chocolate chip cookies. 

your kitchen is fairly small, but it’s cozy. rays of fresh sunlight envelop it in a giddy, ruminating glow. like something out of a dream.

when geto enters the space, your eyes flit over to him briefly, and he shoots you a friendly smile. your eyes do that thing, again, where they crumble a little at the corners and get a tad softer. like you’re looking at an old friend.

(he supposes you are.)

you clear your throat before speaking, as he takes in all the sights.

”what kind of tea do you want? i’ve got, uh…” 

with gentle movements, you open a wall cabinet, eyes swiftly scanning over the different labels of the many boxes, jars and sachets of tea inside. dutifully, you list off the ones you can see. 

”earl grey, chamomile… oolong, rooibos…” you continue, seemingly never running out of options, fingers tapping at the handle. ”ah, this one’s kinda weird. it’s supposed to be, like, cherry flavoured? don’t ask, satoru picked it out — but it tastes more like laundry detergent.” 

a pause. 

”it’s pretty good, though.”

geto can’t help it. the comment coaxes a chuckle from out his chest, and he’s surprised at how genuine it sounds when it spills from his lips. 

you seem to notice it, too, seeing as you perk up where you stand by the counter. out of the corner of his eye, geto thinks he almost catches the fleeting glimmer of a tiny smile on your lips.

and for a moment, everything feels familiar. eerie and comforting, in equal measure. a sense of nostalgia drifts throughout the kitchen, mingling with the scent of tea leaves and sunshine and freshly baked cookies. 

this is the opportunity you’ve given him — a slice of normalcy. as close to normalcy as one can come to in a situation such as this. a soft bout of laughter, shared between estranged childhood friends, one of which is a mass murderer. it’s really not normal at all.

normalcy is no more than a fever dream. that much has always been the case, but —

there’s a comfort in it, in this. the familiarity of it all. the way you settle into old roles, share knowing looks and cycle through old memories he knows you’re both haunted by.

it’s soothing.

he’s changed, and you’ve changed, but there’s still a sense of belonging between the two of you. in this moment, this sole flicker of nostalgia. in this kitchen.

and for a moment, geto almost forgets why he’s there. almost forgets the unforgettable, the inevitability of a choice he made long ago. it stings, and he wonders how you can bear it; this thin line between longing and awareness.

”so? what’ll it be?”

your voice rings out across the open space, face angled towards the table to meet his stare. 

geto hums, absentmindedly, and takes a step closer.

the narrow distance between you two lies heavy, as he shuffles up right next to you, haphazardly sweeping his eyes over the wide assortment in front of him. he can almost, almost hear your breath hitch when the fabric of his clothing grazes your shoulder.

he wonders if the tea is just an excuse, to be able to come so close. to bask in your warmth.

you don’t move away.

”oolong,” he firmly decides. he doesn’t really need to think about it.

then he swiftly turns on his heel, and takes a seat by the kitchen table. confident and graceful — as if this isn’t your kitchen, but his. unconcerned over table manners, his elbows resting on the wooden board, as his jaw meets the heel of his palm. he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness crumbling on his tongue.

this time, you finally do stiffen — though geto doesn’t see it. he does, however, feel your lingering stare, and when he tilts his head in your direction he catches a glint of sorrow passing through the depths of your irises.

geto blinks. he tilts his head questioningly, a cue for you to follow.

and finally, finally, you stammer. barely, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of your voice.

”ah — sorry,” you mumble, gaze falling down to the floorboards. you seem almost flustered. ”it’s just…” 

there’s something raw in your voice, something that wavers. 

”back then, you’d always choose earl grey.”

a long moment of silence passes.

there are a million unspoken words in that sentence, geto knows. words you’ll never say, words you’ve always yearned to say. though he has no intention of digging them out. 

the sentiment is more than enough.

a bitter taste settles on his tongue, but he smiles, careful to keep his voice light.

”well,” he hums. ”some things change, i suppose.”

to that, you huff out a breath of amusement, turning around to face the counter once more. but not before eyeing his robes again, expression rich with humour.

”yeah,” you hum, lighthearted. something close to a chuckle. ”i suppose they do.”

geto grins softly, in tandem, from his spot by the table. like you’re still teenagers, sharing a look over an inside joke no one else is privy to.

after that, he simply watches you work, chewing at the treat while he waits for the tea to be done. the light of the electric kettle flickers off, and your hands curl around the handle, bringing it to rest next to the teapot on the tablecloth. he watches, expression mildly bored, as you grab the ceramic cups and the silken sachet bag of dried tea leaves.

a strong scent of oolong tea wafts through the air, when you flick your fingers to pour some of the leaves into the teapot. there’s a certain elegance in the way you pour the boiling water, slowly, in a smooth circular pattern. geto follows the movement, the rise and fall of the leaves as water fills the strainer.

you’re unhurried, methodical. there is care in the motion of your hands, the intense gaze you bear as you perform it. every slight twitch of your knuckles, the soft exhale you emit when the teapot has been filled. 

geto can do nothing but watch, in silent admiration. 

you put the porcelain lid back on, blocking the steam rising up in a flurry of warmth. while the tea simmers, soaking up the flavour of the leaves, you busy yourself with readying two teaspoons. 

”how do you take it, these days?” you ask him, as you languidly pour hot tea into the cups. ”any sweetener? milk?”

”one cube of sugar. no milk.”

at that, your eyes flit up, recognition blooming in them as you hear the familiar sentence. but geto keeps his gaze glued to the hyacinths on the windowsill, never meeting yours.

truthfully, he says it mostly to appease you. he figures he can give you this one thing, at least — this one hope that maybe everything hasn’t changed, after all. that he hasn’t changed, in his entirety, that there’s still some remnant left of who he used to be. even if all that’s left of him is just one single cube of sugar.

it’s kind of funny. but geto doesn’t laugh. 

you place a cup in front of him. the one adorned by red camellias. geto racks his brain, flitting through past conversations with florists and paragraphs memorized from non-fiction books on botany. what was it, again?

eternal love. long-lasting devotion.

the petals and the calyx of a camellia always fall together.

geto bites back a laugh. some part of him wonders if you’re making fun of him, if this is how you’re planning to release your pent-up anger — in such a petty, roundabout manner. but deep down he knows it was no more than an absentminded choice, on your part.

(you always hurt him most when it’s not your intention to do so.)

as you take a seat on the opposite side of the table, he gingerly touches the rim of the cup. soft steam rises from the liquid, its colour marigold-esque, and geto breathes it in deeply before bringing the ceramic to his lips.

you watch, in anticipation. intensely enough that he can feel it even when his eyes flutter shut, your gaze prickling his skin as he sips from the cup.

the warmth of the tea is comforting, a distinctly floral taste spreading along his tongue. there’s a slight nuttiness to the taste, a rich sweetness. as it runs down his throat, geto hears himself hum softly. a satisfied smile slips into the curve of his lips. inside the depths of his chest, a light nostalgia swirls, pleasant and tingly. 

he remembers moonlit nights, whispered secrets you could only ever tell each other, the glimmer of aluminium and rush of caffeine as you gulped down the too-sweet coffee that the vending machines had to offer.

he remembers sunny mornings, muffled laughter shared in the solitude of the kitchen, basking in the floral scent of chamomile and lavender and everything in between as the world woke up around you.

with a clink, geto sets his cup down on the table, pinkie raised lightly. smile a tad bittersweet.

”this is good tea.”

a moment passes. you break out into a genuine smile, nearly beaming, delighted by his approval. 

”isn’t it?” you chirp, fingers curling around your own cup, the little painted flowers adorning it. blue bells. geto recalls that old wives’ tale — how wearing a wreath of blue bells compels one to tell the truth. ”nanami got this one for me, actually.”

he smiles, perking up ever so slightly. a little more animated. ”oh?” he takes another sip. ”he always was a snob, wasn’t he.” 

that makes your own smile grow, lips twitching upwards, and an amused exhale flows from your lips. a gentle breath. you always were very fond of your grumpy underclassman. ”yeah.”

there’s something familiar about this, geto can’t help but think. eerily so. an acute sense of déjà vu, the same one that’s been plaguing him all morning.

the way you’re treating him isn’t how one would treat an enemy, nor a stranger — it’s how one would treat an old friend. that, and nothing more.

(geto wishes he could say it didn’t soothe his heart so terribly.)

he allows himself to sink deeper into the rotten sweetness of it all. indulges in this one fleeting moment, before everything crashes and burns. 

the world outside your kitchen is a cold one, he knows, blanketed by snow and frost that has yet to be stained red. the pure white is a warning, not a consolation — a reminder that there are still things to be lost.

the world of curses is an empty promise, the promise of suffering being rewarded. the idea that the sun will melt the frost around your legs if you wade through enough snow. 

(but geto knows better.)

outside your kitchen, only one path exists for him. it isn’t a kind one, nor is it particularly comforting. but, unlike those empty promises, that path has a truth to it. an end point, that isn’t just wait and see what happens, maybe the sun will rise if you’re lucky.

he isn’t a fool. the world is as cruel as it is beautiful, which is a false simile because cruelty is only ever beautiful when you aren’t a part of it. another one of those empty promises. geto has no idea how they kept him going for so long.

but here, in this moment — the world feels rather kind. kind in the sense of being just enough, the kind of brief solace that used to give him enough hope to get through the day.

for now, this aching gap of yet-to-be-ruined is enough. it’s all that he cares about, all that exists.

— but all good things must eventually come to an end. 

geto knows it better than anyone, so he isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up to see your face set into hard lines.

you meet his eyes with a certain flickering determination, a conviction — and geto knows you’re about to cross the comfortable line he was hoping you could both maintain for just a little longer.

”suguru.”

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. a smile is enough. so his lips curl up, silently.

”can i ask you something?”

every move geto makes is calculated, a performance, as your words sink into his subconscious. dragging the silence out, as if trying to waltz around the inevitable end of this sickeningly sweet game of morning chess. 

the slow circling of his spoon, creating a vortex for the oolong tea to follow, as it catches the light falling from the window. the way he leans back, to make himself comfortable, letting his jaw rest on the heel of his palm as he dissects your expression from across the table.

there is something almost taunting in his eyes. 

but he smiles. courteous, bright. ”go ahead.”

for just a second, he sees you falter. just a smidge, but the way your nails dig into the skin of your palm is telling, just like the way your eyes choose to linger on the tablecloth a second longer than they need to.

then you meet his eyes once more, and begin to speak. geto hangs on to your words, as if they even matter.

”i’m not expecting you to be honest with me,” you state, bluntly. he’s glad to know you’re on the same page for once. ”but i’d appreciate it if you could. just this one time. i won’t ask for anything else.”

another long and tactful sip of his tea. he wasn’t lying, before — it really is very nice. the flavour is strong and thick on his tongue, sweet and bitter all in one. expensive. the pads of his fingers tap along the ceramic of his cup, right over the red flowers that seem to taunt him so.

here it comes. your lips part, but no sound comes out, and geto knows you’re thinking of how best to phrase your inquiry. it doesn’t take you long to decide, a firmness blossoming in the scope of your iris. a sense of finality.

”are you happy?”

despite everything, his breath hitches in his throat. the movement of his fingers halts.

your question comes out clear, candid, sincere. the look in your eyes makes him feel a little like he’s being devoured. vaguely aware of how his smile wavers, for just a split second, geto can only hope you don’t notice it — but he doubts you do, because you only continue to speak, unperturbed.

”i’m sure you’ve changed a lot, these past ten years. and i’m sure you’ve had more than enough time to convince yourself that you’re happy, even if you aren’t.” you bite your lip. ”i should’ve asked you this a long time ago. but now — i’m asking.”

geto’s eyes never leave your face.

”are you happy? are you genuinely satisfied with your life? are you happy with your choice?” 

there’s something desperate in your eyes, now. something geto can’t look away from, despite himself. all he can do is touch the ceramic beneath his fingers, hot enough to burn, and listen to you speak. 

”if… if you are, then —” 

you take a deep breath, a sharp inhale that geto would mimic if he wasn’t dead set on maintaining his composure.

”— then i won’t get in the way. i’ll let you live your life the way you want to. just as long as that’s true.” 

geto looks at you, smile nowhere to be seen. time itself seems to halt, in the space of your kitchen. the current center of the world.

he doesn’t dare to even breathe.

”… but,” your voice trembles. you stare intently at your own cup, surely beginning to grow lukewarm at this point. what a waste of good tea. ”if you aren’t happy, then —”

a pause. no one says a thing.

”then what?” geto spits. his voice comes out sounding just a tad sharp, cold like the frost outside your apartment. more so than he meant it to.

your pupils waver, before you lift your head to look at him. the resolution in your eyes makes his breath hitch. an unflinching kindness, one he can’t remember you ever not having.

”— then i’ll do whatever it takes to change that. no matter what.” a beat. “even if it makes you hate me.”

such immense honesty.

geto wonders why he came here, in the first place.

to declare war. was that his genuine desire, though? or was it just another excuse?

with satoru, he can pretend. with shoko, he can pretend. with himself, he can certainly pretend.

but with you?

his fingers leave the ceramic, eyes burning with a decision mirroring yours.

geto’s burned many bridges, in his life. but this particular bridge is one he’ll miss. the cinders that follow won’t keep him warm, that much he knows.

but in the face of such honesty — such genuine kindness — he couldn’t bear not to give you a serious answer.

(it’s the least he could do for you.)

”i am.”

a moment passes. the center of the world shifts. 

”i’m happy with my choice.”

it was the only one worth making.

as they fall from his lips, the words taste heavy, absolute. in the light of a morning still yet to be broken by the passage of time, your eyes shift. for a moment geto wonders if you’ll close them. if you’ll give yourself that one relief.

you don’t.

instead, you bite your lip, eyes stubbornly never leaving his own. now you look a little angry, a little frustrated. he’s glad to see that flicker of fury directed at him, at last.

”but are you happy?” you persist, frustrated in a way that buzzes with kindness and concern. a way that makes him feel rather lost.

geto hears himself speak before he has a chance to think about his answer. the voice that comes out of his throat sounds oddly soft.

”that doesn’t matter.”

”it should.”

your reply is equally instantaneous. and geto feels a tremor run through his heart.

”are you happy, suguru?” you try again, pleading. that hope of yours is back, the hope that he’ll be honest just this once. sincere, even just for a syllable or two.

the clock on the wall ticks, hands moving methodically and cruelly, second by second. another moment of time burned to cinders. geto knows what must be done.

this mindless self-indulgence was nice, for a while. but geto has more bridges to burn. more wars to brew.

one final touch. that’s what he’ll give you, in return for your generosity. one final touch of tender honesty, even if it burns his tongue.

”i will be,” he exhales, breathless. ”once all this is over.”

then he gets up from his chair, the squeaking of wood against the floorboards signaling a parting. your eyes never leave his face, as he dusts off his robes absentmindedly, glancing at the half-finished cup on the table.

then geto smiles at you. there’s a fondness to it, one he’d only ever show you. his eyes crinkle, just barely, and the dark brown of his iris shifts into a mellow amber as sunlight cascades down the contours of his face. a genuine smile.

”thank you for the tea.”

there it is. your eyes soften, again, helplessly. 

you aren’t satisfied. geto doubts you ever will be.

but you’ve always been the only one to tear yourself open, the only one to step into the abyss. geto has always admired it, just as much as he’s always found it foolish. not once has he ever followed suit.

things like honesty and tenderness don’t suit him. he doesn’t think they suit any sorcerer, except maybe for you.

at last, that grieving resignation finds its way to your eyes again. it doesn’t hurt him as much this time, perhaps because he was waiting for it.

”… you’re welcome,” you breathe. a sad little breath.

geto allows himself to look at you for just a moment more.

then he turns on his heel.

”well, this was nice,” he hums. ”but i really must be going now.”

pleasant and jovial. a voice unsuited for a situation like this. geto wonders if it hurts you as much as it hurts him.

rubbing salt into wounds is all he seems to do these days, anyhow. so he smiles. ”i’ll see you on the battlefield, i hope —”

”suguru.”

…

deep down, geto knows that there’s no going back from this. that the moment he moves his feet, the moment he leaves your apartment — the moment he steps over the threshold in front of him — he can never return.

your kitchen was never his to walk into, in the first place. he was never meant to set foot into your home. that was your choice. geto can’t help but think that it’s every bit as cruel as the one he made ten years ago.

your voice is the same as always. sad and fond. familiar, in how it twists and tugs at his heart in a way nothing else can anymore.

geto waits. he’ll let you have the final word. the final piece moved into place. checkmate.

he’ll let you be the one to devour that aching gap.

curse me, he whispers to the confines of his mind. resent me. i’ve caused you so much pain.

curse me yourself, so i can hate you properly.

”if you ever want another cup, i’ll be here.”

silence falls upon the kitchen.

geto stands still, feet rooted in the spot by the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room. the ticking of the clock is the only sound he hears.

there isn’t a trace of resentment in your voice.

(he wishes you would play along, even just once.)

a low hum buzzes in his throat. the seconds stretch on; more hands moved, more time burned into nothing. the silence is deafening, thick and heavy. an intense moment of contemplation, as geto tries not to shiver under the warmth of your constant gaze, burning into his back.

the center of the world shifts, once more. the gaze of fate falls upon the two of you, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, in a kitchen where normalcy is a little more than just a fever dream.

it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all.

geto knows it. he knows it better than anyone. but maybe he can allow this mindless self-indulgence to carry on, for just a little longer. if only to give him the excuse he needs to see you again, to stand in your kitchen like this, like the view of the rising sun is something he’s allowed to behold.

how greedy. how callous. hasn’t he always been, though?

just for a little bit longer.

”… you know,”

geto takes a step forward, robes fluttering with the movement, heavy and pious. he crosses the threshold, words just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.

(in the space between the words, laced together with the silence, lies the ghost of a smile.)

”it’s been a while since i had earl grey.”

#something something geto being represented by a setting sun vs reader being represented by a rising sun…. u get the vibes. #this was supposed to be completely angsty but i got attached to the final line LOL. so now its just a tiiiiny bit hopeful #i mean hes still probably dying lets be honest but theres some room for interpretation if ur delulu like me #tbh the idea of geto continuing his genocidal agenda while casually having tea parties w/ reader on sundays is just.. INSANELY funny to me #every girlboss needs her selfcare day <3 #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

[tkpuke]

Best Mistake

Pairing - Alastor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,015

In which you’re a new member in the Hazbin Hotel trying to redeem yourself. Everyone has made you feel welcomed, you’ve warmed up to everyone, everyone except one. It is no secret that you do not trust him, and Alastor seems to take matters into his own hands and change that.

This is a tickle fic. Do not read if that’s not your thing.

It has only been a month, but you vividly remember how your first day went when entering the doors of Hazbin Hotel. Charlie immediately running up to you with such a tight suffocating hug, asking but almost demanding Angel he takes your bags into your room as she expresses her delight of having you stay.

Staying wasn’t your first option. The idea of a sinner redeeming themself enough to see the pearly white gates of Heaven greet them was almost laughable to you. When you first entered Hell, you thought that you finally reached the end. Made yourself at home and rot yourself away almost like how you did on earth.

One stroll in town is when you saw a commercial advertising Hazbin Hotel. You watched Charlie eagerly tell the purpose of the Hotel as she gives the viewers a thirty second tour, almost losing her breath as she tries to fit in as much information as possible before her timed commercial ends. You weren’t alone watching it, people gathering near you as they whisper to the person next to them their opinions. The majority of the reaction was chuckles here and doubts there. You, admittedly, also had your doubts.

Although, did you really believe you belonged down here? That this was your final ending?

Which brings you back to remembering your first day. Charlie had an iron grip on your hand from her excitement, pulling you to every room in the hotel and showing off its purposes and making sure to not leave any details out. Once an hour went by and she finally finished, she made you meet the staff and other guests individually.

You were a little intimidated by Vaggie, but could tell she will be very sweet once she warms up to you. Angel seemed like the guy that could make you crack out of your shy shell by spending five minutes with him. Husk didn’t say much, but you could tell he likes being here rather than anywhere else. Just don’t call him out on that. Niffty left you guessing if she is twelve or somewhere in her mid 20s, would not be surprised if older than that. Oh and also, her swiftness and pleasure for pain and torturing bugs kept you awake on your first few nights. Sir Pentious looks naturally suspicious, but he was actually very nice when greeting and you asked him a little about his egg minions.

“Aaaannd the last person I want to introduce you to is…!” Charlie sing song, bringing you down the halls in search for her last friend she has yet for you to meet. She opens a door, assuming to yourself that’s their room as she peeks her head in a little. You waited behind her, rubbing your neck a little as sudden goosebumps were felt. Charlie turned around after not having much luck finding him in there, but quickly gasped when she looked behind you.

“Alastor! There you are!”

You froze in place for a few seconds as the name fell upon your ears. Alastor. Alastor. You inhaled deeply, slowly turning around and almost having to crane your neck to make visible of the face smiling down at you, arms behind his back and small radio statics being played. Every hair on your body stood up, forgetting to blink when you two locked eyes for a good solid minute.

Count yourself as scared shitless.

You came back to reality, stepping back to keep a good distance between you two but went for a small tumble. “Woah, I got you!” Charlie giggled, catching you before you could fall. Unaware of the now fear written all over your body, she continues on by gesturing her hand towards the seven foot demon.

“Y/N, this is Alastor. Alastor, this is Y/N. Our new guest!”

He sticks his hand out towards you for a handshake, but all you could do was stare at his red claws that looks like he’s been sharpening them every five minutes. Alastor took your hand, knowing he would be standing there all day if he let you willingly shake it.

“Don’t leave me hanging, dear! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N.” You knew awkward silences went by after that, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand interlacing with yours. You just want to get the hell out of here and run far, far away from this hotel and never look back. You knew there would be regrets when you gave this hotel a chance.

Okay, this was actually your first time meeting Alastor, but his stories were no stranger to you. Recalling back when hearing those horrifying, blood-curdling screams being broadcasted on the radio for all to hear as if it was a fair warning, people begin telling you the man responsible behind all of it. You wished later on you’d never asked, The thought of The Radio Demon selecting you as his next victim crawling into your dreams which turned to nightmares. Of course, you know that chance is slim, but is never zero. Down in Hell, you just don’t know what the fuck kind of trouble you’ll find yourself in.

Now having a face to the name, he completely became a new wave of terrifying to you. The red claws you observed earlier sent a shiver down your spine. Those pointy yellow teeth that you swear on Lucifer he’s put to good use. Bonus points for his tall, lanky figure which practically makes him towering over you so easily.

What you did not expect, though, was his strange resemblance to a deer. The antlers and, also, are those ears? Funnily enough, it kind of made him less scary. Almost. Not really.

Ever since your first interaction with him, you weren’t dumb understanding that he right off the bat knows your lack in trust and feeling unsafe around him. You would often walk down the halls being paranoid that eyes were watching you intently, eyes belonging to Alastor but had no further proof it really was him.

At certain times, you were convinced the demon was toying with how you felt by saying things to you that definitely came off creepy, but could never accuse him of doing it purposefully when he smiles like there’s no tomorrow. He always looks at you harmlessly, but you’d be a fool to take that as a sign to let your guard down. Every conversation he picks up with you ends short on your end, pretending you have somewhere else to be.

That somewhere being away from him.

Everyone knew the relationship you stand with him. Some didn’t blame you, especially Vaggie. Others, like Charlie, tried her best to ease your worries.

“Alastor is a great friend, Y/N! Just give him a chance.” She would say to you on most days, but it was gonna take more than believing someone’s word for you.

So, bless her, Charlie decided to come up with a trust activity exercise.

“Charlie, I appreciate you trying but I don’t see how this will make a difference…” You say as she rounds everybody up, some sitting and some standing. Charlie waves a dismissive hand. “Not with that attitude it won’t!” Her confidence is quite admirable, something in which you lack greatly.

She went over the jist of the activity, it being pretty simple. Everyone gets a turn to stand on a table and fall backwards, trusting everyone behind them that they will catch you with no hesitation. It seems easy, but once you are up there doubts will for sure start flooding your mind.

It’s called trust fall. A game you remembered playing when you were in middle school, to test your friends on their trust. However, to put this test on a seven foot demon with a horrifying reputation that all of Hell is aware of? Yeah, you wish you could count yourself out of this one.

One by one, everyone went up on top of the table and fell into the arms of those whose duty was to catch them. Some fell as soon as they climbed on top without letting second thoughts get a chance to swoop in their mind, while others took a little bit of reassurance.

Once it was your turn, you did one last pleading look towards Charlie, but she gave you two thumbs up and gestured for you to go. Sighing, you made your way up and looked down at everyone having their arms up and ready. Your eyes looked over to the middle, there Alastor standing nice and tall with his signature grin. A grin you want to see drop at least once.

As you turned your back, you didn’t hear everyone scoot back and have Alastor the only one standing near the table, in range of catching you easily. You took a couple of seconds to yourself to ease your breathing, because you are embarrassingly afraid of heights, but then you let yourself fall.

Arms slide past under yours, fingers resting on your sides as your back hit against a chest. The first thing that clouded your mind was how it felt like only one person catch you, but the next thing on your mind was how you suddenly felt fingers dig a little in your sides, pulling a small squeal from you as you quickly turn around to view the culprit.

Alastor stared down at you, feigning cluelessness. He clapped his hands together, ignoring your confused yet questionable stare at him. “Now! That wasn’t so hard was it, darling?” Vaggie nodded slightly in agreement, while Charlie ran over and gave you a big hug and excitedly expressing how proud she was of you.

Yet, you are still stuck on the question what just happened right after you fell. Every time you look over at him, he just smiles your way innocently, making you second guess yourself on what you truly felt.

You weren’t crazy. You knew exactly what he did, and he damn well knows it too, but it still feels so unlikely to happen.

Ever since the trust activity happened, which has now been a full week, Alastor seems to be playing a one sided game with you. A game that leaves you frustrated yet confused on what he’s gaining from it.

You’ll find yourself reaching for an item placed high on a shelf. Alastor will come strolling along, offering to give you a helping hand, and in the midst of doing so you’ll feel a ticklish breeze near your ribs. Now, the breeze would feel so similarly like fingers dancing along your ribs, their intent to send a ticklish wave throughout your body. Hence you turning with a glare, but Alastor would simply ignore the face you’d be making and hand you the item you’ve been trying to reach.

Another time you felt the same breeze is when you ultimately made a bad decision thinking you could fit into a hoodie that definitely wasn’t your size. You saw it displayed in a store when you decided to take a walk downtown, immediately calling your name. It was so cute in your eyes, despite realizing it wasn’t your true size you usually get clothes in, you wanted to give it a try.

Now, you noticed it was a grand mistake and a waste of money when the tightness it held around your body was starting to get unbearable. What you weren’t expecting, though, was how it didn’t budge any further when you rolled it up and couldn’t get it over your head, blocking your eyes.

You didn’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed that Alastor was walking down the halls during that time. A blessing, because he saw your poor state and undoubtedly offered to help. A curse, because you felt that damn ticklish breeze along your ribs in the midst of him helping you out, a yelp of surprise leaving your lips.

“There we are!” He exclaimed heartily, tossing the hoodie to the side and watching you fix your ruffled up hair but also eyeing him skeptically. “What was that?” You asked, but it almost sounded like an accusation because you damn well knew what caused it.

“What was what, dear?” He beamed, raising an eyebrow with arms crossed behind. You stared for a couple of seconds, not knowing whether to sound like a lunatic explaining what’s been happening for the last couple of days whenever he’s around, or to let it slide once again. Unfortunately, you were already feeling exhausted and were in the middle of heading to bed, so you waved a dismissive hand.

“Nothing, nothing.”

It kept you on your toes. Always checking your surroundings when walking around outside of your room, it got Angel questioning to Vaggie if someone’s out to get you by how paranoid you look.

You knew how stupid you looked to others, because you haven’t talked about any of what’s happening to you with any of them. You thought they would either laugh and say your imagining things, which you weren’t guilty of also thinking the same, or they would confront the overlord himself. If anything, you were at your wits end. You were considering doing the latter yourself, because it really has you on edge.

And so, you did.

One thing that you like to spend your free time on is painting. Painting anything that’s in front of you or whatever idea you had in mind that day. It could also depend on your mood, and for this particular Tuesday afternoon you felt quite peaceful. Your hands were almost as dirty as your palette, sticking your tongue out a bit whenever you were focused and gently dragging the paintbrush across the paper.

Your peace filled mind abruptly vanished when ears picked up on a familiar humming and distant blue jazz playing on a radio. It didn’t take long for you to put the hum to a name, looking over your shoulder but he was already behind you.

You gasped, his sudden appearance startling you. Standing up a bit too fast caused your easel to tip slightly and send your paper flying down, but luckily Alastor caught it and brought it up high to fully view the painting in front of him.

“You never told me you paint, dearie! I’m certain this will turn out marvelous once you’re finished.” His eyes look up for a response, but you’re standing like it’s a predator vs prey fight. Nervousness written all over you, hands out to defend yourself.

“Don’t you dare.” You say, making him tilt his head and squint his eyes a little. “Don’t I dare what?” His smile tightens, but you swore up and down its a smirk laced with nothing but mischief behind it. He’s being a little shit acting oblivious, and he damn well knows it.

“You know what!” You raised your voice a little, trying to sound intimidating but if he keeps staring down at you like he’s about to pounce, you might shrink in fear. Alastor takes a step forward, and you take a step back.

“Oohh sweetheart, whatever do you mean?” He’s got you backed into a wall, which staggers your confidence. Nonetheless, you gulped away any indication you’re feeling quite rather terrified, as anyone else would, and stand a little taller. “Don’t act dumb, Alastor.” The radio demon hummed as if he was collecting any memory of what could possibly trouble you, which made your eye twitch.

“Ah! Do you mean this?” Bringing his hands forward, Alastor danced his fingers alongside your ribs, instantly having the same vibe as the breeze you’ve been feeling. You barely had any chance to react and defend yourself, immediately grabbing his wrists as tightly as you can to tear them away. It did absolutely nothing, by the way.

Being tickled by an overlord was not on your list of things that could happen down at your time in hell. If anyone were to tickle you at the hotel, Alastor wouldn’t even be one of your top three guesses. Him sending those ticklish breezes your way, knowing how easily it got you to squeal and feel embarrassed. Knowing how it kept you on your toes around him, but still not so sure of yourself if it really was him responsible for it. Knowing how easily it can get under your skin.

He tsked at your hands gripping onto his wrists, his tendrils making an appearance and snatching them away, making your entire torso fully vulnerable. However, he did not continue on with his attack and instead watched you struggle a little, chuckling under his breath.

“Why are yohou doing this?” You say, a nervous giggle tittering out because anyone would be a fool to think his onslaught ends there. Alastor traces his fingers alongside your neck up till it reaches under your chin, which tickles like hell.

“You’ve been far too tensed recently, and there should be none of that.” A calm tone in his voice, acting like he’s not about to bring you into a breathless mess. “And you think what you’ve been doing to me over the last couple of days was making me less tense?” You shot a glare, but it bounced right off of him.

Shrugging his shoulders, Alastor tiptoed his fingers on your tricep all the way down to right on the soft spot of your underarms, causing you to violently jolt. “I thought my little game was helping, with all your delightful short squeals you’ve been giving me. hmm, what does it sound like again?”

His fingers, more like claws, resting on your underarms started scratching, not disappointing him when you squealed just like he predicted. Alastor pressed his fingers in a little deeper, searching for a more boisterous laugh. Your true real laugh that you’ve been choking back lately because of how badly it made you feel insecure.

You did not fail him with his goal. You laughed a little harder and tugged on the restraints on your wrists a little harder, but wherever you move, his hands follow. “I must say Y/N, your laugh is like music to my ears. Shall we have everyone else listen?” He sways his radio stick closer to you, but you shake your head desperately.

“Nohoho! Plehehease!” It was a little humiliating, but you were already getting close to your limit. On earth, friends and family recognized how you were more ticklish than the average person. You were a regular victim to tickle fights with your close loved ones, always yelling truce within five minutes. In this situation, you were a little hesitant that begging would translate to him ‘continue’.

Yet, luck was on your side since Alastor took notice you were already having slight tears mirth your eyes. Regardless, he didn’t plan on doing this for very long from the get-go. The whole thing of him brushing his hands against your sides during the trust fall was a honest mistake, but when Alastor picks up on weaknesses that people have, he puts a pin on it and takes advantage of it later down the road for his own good use. Tickling was something Alastor learned was a common weakness for most people, but the other half people rather enjoyed the feeling and the bond it creates.

For you, he already found out it was the second preference. You will never in a million years admit to it, but this entire thing seemed kind of playful to you. The kind of playful you haven’t experienced in so long. Haven’t laughed genuine in so long, and have all your ticklish spots exploited when the reason behind it is for all in good fun. And oh, to be a teasy asshole. He’s doing great in that field.

“Such a sensitive being you are. Have you always known you were this ticklish?” To be honest, you kind of wished he would stop talking. You can’t explain it, but it made everything tickle ten times worse. He’s aware. Of course he is.

You felt his hands travel to every spot that can be ticklish, quickly catching on he was in search for that one spot that can make you go ballistics. “Alastor, wahahait..” you stopped struggling awhile ago, realizing it brought you no use. He yet again ignored your giggly pleas, fueling him to keep going. The more his hands traveled down almost near your hips, the more you start to get nervous and newfound energy kicking in to pull your body away from him.

He catches on.

His next movement happened so fast, you swear it all went down in a blink. The minute he latched onto your hips, you let out a snort, cheeks forming a tint of pink. The tendrils finally release your wrists, at the same time Alastor switched up the pace and drilled his thumbs in a motioning circle. Your legs didn’t stand a chance to support you up, immediately crashing down but he did not follow.

You laid there for a moment, greedily sucking in sweet air to the point you almost thought you saw Heaven itself. When you felt like you collected yourself, you slowly sat up and moved a couple of strands away from your face to view Alastor, looming over you with his widest grin yet in his books. “Bad spot?” He tilts his head down at you, and in response you huff and roll your eyes. He lends you his hand, looking at it hesitantly before taking it. “Come now, let’s get you on your feet.”

You brushed yourself off, finding your painting propped up neatly back on the easel. Alastor follows your eyes, coming to stand next to you. “If you add a pop of red into the sunset you’re creating, I’d say it would almost look like I’m viewing out from a window. What do you say?” Raising an eyebrow, you look up at him. “Do you know how to paint?”

Alastor beams. “Not at all.”

You chuckle at that, picking up the palette and switching to a new freshly blank paper. Picking up a second paintbrush, you handed it over to the demon. “Here, I’ll teach you.”

Teaching wasn’t your strong suit, or either Alastor was seriously terrible at painting. Either way, you guys shared a couple of laughs, listened to any stories he got reminded of along the way, gladly listening. The finished product was suppose to be anything his heart desires to paint of, and after examining it for a few seconds you felt the need to ask what the hell you were looking at. To him, it’s him and his mother enjoying a warm meal of jambalaya while sitting on their front porch. To you, it’s just a big blob of bright colors, but the more you squint the more you start to see his vision and let out a small smile.

The guilt of judging him way too harshly off the bat started to set in. You tried not to blame yourself too much, because if anyone heard the tales and myths you’ve been hearing about The Radio Demon, anyone would jump at the sight of him. Although, there’s one thing you always believed in people: Second Chances.

If everyone at the hotel did not see a problem with not only having him stay, but having him help out a tremendous amount to have Hazbin live up to its full potential, then that must mean they all put a lot of trust in the guy. Charlie specifically, and although people might say she’s naive, she’s not dumb. If putting full trust in Alastor was a mistake, she would’ve taken care of that a long time ago.

However, trust is a sensitive topic for you. Alastor has a long way of achieving that, but for now the time you’re spending with him is something you’ll smile to yourself later tonight.

Maybe The Hazbin Hotel has already started to redeem some qualities of yourself you thought you would never get to see.

#hazbin hotel tickle #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel tickle fic #ler!alastor #lee!reader #ler!alastor x lee!reader #alastor x reader #tickle fic #tickle post #tickle community #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel Alastor fic #AAAAA I FINALLY FINISHED IT #holy shit this was suppose to be done Friday but now I’m posting it on a Sunday night #ngl I took forever cause I hated some parts and kept rewriting #but now I think I like it and I hope u do too :D #I know yall mfs are hungry for ler!Alastor so eat up

[softerhaze]

jay will NOT be beating the corny dad allegations 🤓👆 ❌

#ts4 #*ts4gameplay #*sunday save #*sunday save gen 2 #*jay #*paloma #z #q'd #feeling blessed now that i finally get 2 use these poses 🙏 #he's so obsessed with her though omg....i love him