#emotional manipulation to try to force his hand and get to the SOULs

[carlyraejepsans]

sometimes i think about toriel in that first run when flowey finds her in the RUINs, having her dead son return to her for comfort, broken and helpless, and being unable to provide for him in the one impossible way he desperately needed, "fixing him" "making it okay" the way only his mom should've been able to do.

flowey kills himself after she fails. you ever think about that? cause i think about that. you're gonna tell me she didn't notice? that she was cheerfully oblivious as things failed to get better and he grew more desperate and more hurt and more hopeless, as she failed him like she once did and always will fail him? you're gonna tell me that didn't eat her alive? didn't keep her up at night? didn't break her back into all those tiny little shards of herself she'd glued back together and swept under the carpet by sheer force of will?

do you think she gets nightmares about it, still?

[celesthysaturn]

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕬𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌

Yandere Apollo x Human Female darling

Note: kidnapping, manipulation (soft),Gaslighting, Yandere content

Revised and Rewritten

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In this scenario, Apollo's sweetheart was kidnapped and held in his golden temple, until one day she finally decided to try and escape. However, to her misfortune, it was a very bad time to try to escape through the paths of the Olympian forest infested with supernatural dangers and weather, causing her to get lost and injured by obstacles. Soon, after hours of recovering and walking on new paths, Darling was too weak and bruised to continue deciding to accept death or a miracle would happen, but she didn't know that Apollo had already followed her tracks and was patiently waiting for his darling to become completely vulnerable before springing into action, his greatest yandere side flashing through the gloomy atmosphere seconds before Darling lost consciousness.

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• He'd love to take care of his sweetheart, even more so in such a physically and mentally vulnerable state that forcing darling to depend totally on him to survive would make him a little excited. Not that he likes to see his beloved muse sighing in pain and discomfort, of course not, it hurts his heart. However, this moment will bring out his best yanderes tendencies.

• It's the perfect time to use his best skills, even though he is the god of many gifts. He will have the best chance to express his deep love and affection for his sweetheart because of her vulnerability, as she is too delirious and weak to resist his care, and also to show this naive human how foolish it is to try to depend on herself.

"God, you're such a delicate being, and yet you're daring, too daring not to recognize your fragility in the midst of danger out there, let me take care of you to show you where your safe haven really is."

• Being the god of medicine, he will use his divine knowledge of healing to treat wounds, calm fever and relieve uncomfortable pain in an extremely careful and attentive way, as if it were a moment of intimacy and genuine affection with his beloved, using his best home remedies with the help of his servant muses in the preparation and supervision of his darling so that she doesn't have to move for any unnecessary reason try to run away while they are busy.

• It is so pleasurable for him to massage your small (compared to his) and sore body, paying attention to its plump/slender parts, taking care of the swollen areas, using fragrant natural oils to rub hands from them in such a careful but intense way, being able to feel every part of the tender/thin and sensual skin of his darling that only he is worthy.

• Meanwhile, he's whispering sweet declarations of love, but with a more possessive and discreetly manipulative flavor.

"My little Sunflower, you are too pure and innocent to live in the arid world outside my temple of pure and vivacious gold, a graceful flower that is not worthy of having its beauty and purity worn away by perverse and savage places and beings that so It begs for attention. Therefore, your special soul must be watered and nourished by a great and enlightened star of the day like me..."

• There's no way Apollo can stop manipulating her lovingly, it's almost inevitable for him due to his emotional and sexual dependence on his darling, even more so after finally feeling blessed to find his true love, his soul mate after so many frustrated loves in the past. Such a beautiful, admired, talented and intelligent god was hopeless at having lasting and genuine happiness in love, and now that his darling's desire to escape has caused her to be swooned over in a forest ruled by mystical and unknown creatures that live in the world of the Olympian gods, his heart could no longer take another unhappy ending.

• To make matters worse, the possibility of another god finding her, with the intention of hurting her, kidnapping her or even raping her and taking her away from him and even stealing her most precious new being (which heaven forbid Zeus should know about Apollo's beloved) makes him overflow with fury, increasing his desire to take revenge for all the love tragedies he has suffered during his merciless life. He won't allow his beloved to escape from his unbalanced love in need of reciprocity.

"My effervescent heart, like the star king that reigns over the day, would not allow my beloved, my better half, to distance itself invisibly like the minute winds of the icy east, would you agree to savor my eternal suffering as I sit on my golden throne like gold pure of ivory after I achieved my happiness debt in the form of an insignificant human of divine purpose after experiencing such arduous destinies of love?"

• Gaslighting is inevitable with his subtly desperate speeches of reciprocal love and burning sexual desire for his untouchable lover, now that her physical and mental state will not allow her to reject him for the time being, and consequently it will be even more difficult after she gets better and Apollo's words and touches will echo in her mind as soon as she sees him being softer and more understanding, rather than rigid, with her, even though he is visibly upset by what she has done, causing feelings of guilt in his innocent human even though she has not regretted wanting to run away.

• With Apollo being obsessive, he will deeply admire his darling during the moment she is sound asleep after drinking the relaxing sweet tea they and their servants have made to completely calm her down, and this may last until the sky threatens to lighten, but not before he takes her temperature and feel your heartbeat with your warm hands .

• It is simply magnificent to appreciate the light of the silver moon of Olympus that symbolically honors its sister, the goddess of the moon, sensually highlighting the curves of her beloved's semi -kind body under the soft silk comforter that rests on the bed of the luxurious healer room of her sanctuary. Now that his heavenly lyre is as peaceful as the shy serene on the rise, he can finally rest mentally and give him a passionate kiss on the forehead before going to his cameras and sorting one of his slender servants to stay in the room to provide security there, and necessary servitude all night.

• During the stays of care made by the muses who live in the temple of the admired sun god, serving, flattering and aesthetically representing the divine beauty of art and music, there would be no shortage of genuine dedication to caring for and providing comfort to Apollo's darling, in search of praise and approval from their master. However, over time, the god's obsession spontaneously influences his muses and priestesses , making them want to investigate more about the pure and unique beauty of the young mortal/imortal.

•Finally, the desired human will have beautiful women discreetly idolizing her, which can be confusing for her.

• As Apollo's darling returns to her normal, healthier state, after treatments with herbs and nutritious food, Apollo will reinforce a brief sermon about the dangers of the world now and the wise decision to depend on him to be protected and loved in a passive and romantic way, as he believes that his emotionally charged words of despair in a paternal and loving way that day were enough to maintain his desire in his darling's fragile conscience.

• It is clear that he would become more vigilant in his honey, and to try to prevent her from having time to plan other escapes or more reasons to leave, he would make sure to keep her occupied with common hobbies in the temple, such as music, painting, writing, dancing and a little medicine so that Apollo can also watch his darling presenting her new skills in a private performance in the future. Apollo's muses will love being able to teach the golden god's much-desired darling.

"Now that you have learned your lesson, please, my beloved, submit to me, and you will never have a reason to leave my arms again."

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Finally this is my first writing for Yandere Greek mythology, which made me happy to finally finish it and post it there after so much waiting. Stay tuned for more yandere writings for Greek gods and feel free to make suggestions

𝕰𝖓𝖏𝖔𝖞𝖘 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 🧁

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[eraserbread]

ex-hubby!gojo for the sinners au next pls 🙏🏾 🙏🏾 i think he'd be a little unhinged ab needing to be w her again, but actually forever this time

it's just not in your nature to turn down your ex husband, gojo, when he shows up in the middle of the night ✧

→f!reader, relationsip angst, no curses vampire sinners!au, manipulation, sfw

yes, you're sleep deprived, but you're not crazy.

the tapping on your windows—rustling leaves outside of your bedroom—wasn't just a hallucination. now, that tapping and rustling have shifted towards the other side of the room, pausing every few seconds just to start again.

you ran and hid against the wall, tucked under the window where you heard the initial tapping. it yanked you from your sleep, now you're in pitiful pajamas, heart racing dangerously in your chest. it feels like you're about to have a heart attack—surely someone is scoping out the area to try and rob you... right?

a defenseless divorcee that wears her sorrow on her sleeve would surely be an easy grab, you don't even blame the assailant for trying.

"are you seriously hiding from me?"

the voice slaps you sideways—fucking satoru. the rustling stops, and the wind whistles against the cool glass. you're nearly shaking, fingers digging half-moons into your bare knees.

no, this couldn't be him... satoru is far too prideful to show up at your doorstep like this. after days of not answering messages or calls, he's back so entirely, it's like he never left.

you two haven't really talked more than a few words since he got the divorce papers. he's been hanging it over your head, telling you he'd sign them if you just give him a day... then another... next, he'd have to see you face-to-face. then a meeting forces him to cancel, and the papers go unsigned.

it's why you're so exhausted, and why he's so adamant.

"are you crazy? you scared the hell out of me." once you've gained your nerve, you're peeking up from your crumpled kneel, eyes just barely passing the jutting windowsill before you're seeing him.

towering over you, thin white hair ruffled like he ran all the way here. his eyes are bright, uncovered beams illuminating the darkness of your soul, but it's him.

unmistakably, satoru is standing outside your window—a flimsy pane of glass keeping you apart.

he doesn't answer you, instead he reaches straight-faced into the chest of his hoodie, pulling out a sickeningly familiar bundle of papers. you watch him flip through the drawn-out pages until he reaches the end, never once taking his eyes off those words. then, he holds the last page to the window, showing off the fresh signature he placed on the dotted line.

you heart drops... in a good way.

he lowers that paper and your gazes meet. he's not hiding emotion well, though he's not crying, his eyes are downturned. almost predatory in the way they're pulling you in for pity.

"why didn't you just call me?" you're trying to get anything out of him, at this point. why he's here when he could've just mailed it to you, or why he's knocking and tapping on every window in your space.

"you were asleep."

"then, just leave them right there. i'll get them in the morning."

gojo stares for a second, then glances down as if he's checking a watch. "sun won't rise for another five hours." he steps back, arm motioning to the tight squeeze he had to endure between trees just to get your attention. "and I don't have access to the building."

you sigh, fingers moving to open the locks on the window. he could walk all the way around to the front, but then so would you. you wish he'd just leave the papers and fuck off.

cold night air flushes forward as the window pulls open, making you step back and guard your warm skin. satoru's eyes take you in once nothing is keeping you apart, picking you down to the core. it's shameless, you're exposed.

"give me the papers." you bite, thrusting an empty hand into the night. satoru stands quietly for a second, looking down at your hand, then to your avoidant face and static appearance.

"just the papers? you don't want me to come in?"

"no." you decide, beckoning them into your grip with a curl of the fingers. you're staring stubbornly over your shoulder, completely blocking him out because you know how weak you are. just one turn of the mouth, and you'll be pulling him to your bed.

"i'm not giving you anything until you let me in." he's being strict—it's unlike him—but it's making you swallow down nerves, and your body temperature rises as danger sets in.

everything you see in front of you screams satoru gojo, but when he opens his mouth... god, it's so different.

"leave them outside." you're begging now, voice soft and nervous in your throat. still, you can't turn and look at him. you can see his bright reflection in the window glass, but you can't focus on it. your skin starts to break out in goosebumps.

when curiosity catches on, you flit your eyes towards him, pitching a surprised, little frightened whine when you see the stare he's giving you. his bright, blue eyes are opened twice as wide as they should be, reddened and exhausted in the corners, with pupils the size of saucers.

two hands pressed to the plastic of the sill, his muscles flex and bend like something is keeping him from jumping inside. his long fingers are red, dripping with craze as he grinds his nails down to stumps.

"you're tearing me apart, and you don't even care." he growls, manic reflection drawing closer as he kneels to your height. strangely, you feel safe behind this window. it's like he can't come in—he won't show you this unstable side of himself to your face, only through open windows.

"we settled on this divorce twice. you agreed." you're trying to be the calm voice of reason in this situation, taking a tentative step back. you don't want to look at him anymore, you just want him to go away.

"to have my money, property, and life stripped from me? did you even think about me once?"

"we aren't good together! how many times do we have to continue proving that?!"

"as many times as we need to, because this is a fucking marriage—

you're feeling brave enough to reach out and slam the window down on his sentence, not worried about his fingers or his uncanny reflexes. you wouldn't fight with him tonight, and you figure he must be strung out on something serious to show up at your door so maniacal.

it's like the slam lowers him back to earth, because he's fixing his posture, running a slow hand through his hair as he looks down on you. his stare has evened out into something more reminiscent of the one you studied so many years ago.

"go home, satoru." you finish, grabbing the curtain to yank it over his reflection.

you can't see him anymore, so you think that's it. you stand for a second, hands pressed to your hips as you try to come down from the ordeal. something's not right—your brain doesn't believe it, but your heart does.

as you turn around to leave him in the dust, a soft single thud falls onto the glass, then as soft as the night, you can hear him whisper, "all I need is one more night, and I think I can be okay without you."

you're peering over your shoulder like you heard a ghost, lips parted in utter shock. it's the first time in all of your years, that he's given you that tone. so pure—innocent right down to the bone.

"can't you see? i love you so much that I'm willing to let you go..."

he sits ignored for a few moments.

"i know nothing will ever be the same with us, but you're all I think about."

"our bodies don't deserve to suffer, lets give them what they need just one last time."

you're not sure which of his pleas hit you the hardest, but you're hesitating as you give in and pull the curtain back. he's still there, forehead pressed to the glass, splayed open palm kissing the surface.

in the moonlight, your satoru looks so pale and uncommon. he's glowing as he blinks up at you, porcelain reflection cracking at the edges when you're pushing attention onto him.

and that palm is twisting into a fist, his eyes bright like those of a happy puppy about to be reunited with his owner.

one last time couldn't hurt...

it's what you tell yourself to dull the feeling of your inescapable demise. you're pulling that window back open, biting over your bottom lip as you let him crawl inside, one long leg at a time.

when he's in your space, hunching over you like an entity, hands closed around your meek shoulders, you're warm. it's familiar, here, like it's where you want to take your last breath.

nobody can really blame you, after all. he knows just what you need— how to get you off so you can sleep the night away like a drunk. the shame in your bones has dissipated into steam, and the divorce papers are cold and lifeless as satoru fishes them out and presses them to your chest.

"i want to try something." his voice is deep, you can feel it reverberate through your body and into your soul. he's holding your chin at level, making sure you're not looking anywhere that wasn't where he needed.

right now his face is morphing into something that panned out so perfectly within his calculation that he was holding back a laugh.

mm—sweet mercy. now you're finally going to be together forever.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛡️ WHEN LOIS MADE A GOD KNEEL — The Simping of Superman A Blacksite Literature™ Breakdown of Superman II, Male Frame Loss, and the Weaponization of Female Approval

---

It starts with a cape and ends with a crawl. Superman II isn’t just a movie about three intergalactic tyrants trying to take over Earth. It’s a film about what happens when a god gives up his sovereignty to please a woman who never respected the man — only the mask.

And that’s where we begin.

🧠 THE FIRST RED FLAG? SHE NEVER LIKED CLARK.

Let’s get one thing straight: Lois never “fell” for Clark. She investigated him. Suspected him. Tested him.

And why? Because the dorky journalist with minimum-wage energy and awkward posture couldn’t possibly be enough to satisfy her arousal profile.

She didn’t stumble onto his identity. She chased it — and not out of love, but infatuation with power.

“Clark, you seem… different.”

Yeah, because the real man is hidden behind the costume of the weakling she’d never f*ck.

🎯 NIAGARA FALLS: WHERE “NERDY CHAD” STARTS TO LOOK GOOD

Lois throws herself off a railing. She literally risks death — because she’s so sure Clark is Superman. That’s not romance. That’s a test.

And what does he do? He saves her covertly. Classic.

But that’s not the part that should’ve sent warning bells ringing. It’s the moment when, while cleaning in the hotel room, she suddenly starts to see him.

Why?

Because Clark starts leaking power.

Posture shifts. Cadence cracks. She smells something off-brand — and in women, that always means on-brand arousal.

This wasn’t about “love.” This was about the Chad math checking out.

---

---

🔥 THE FIREPLACE: THE MOMENT HE F*CKED HIMSELF

He trips. He lands in a literal fire. Doesn’t burn. Doesn’t flinch.

She stares.

He stands up like nothing happened.

And instead of holding frame?

Instead of saying “Keep guessing, Lois.”

He says:

“F*ck it, you nosey broad. Happy now?”

And just like that? The fall begins.

💀 THE GHOST DAD SAID NO — BUT SIMP ENERGY PREVAILED

We get to the Fortress of Solitude. We see Kryptonian ancestors — literal cosmic hologram royalty — tell him not to do it.

“You give up your powers… you will never get them back.”

But what does Kal-El do?

He listens to the emotional pull of a woman who loved the god, not the man.

He surrenders his power. Not for justice. Not for peace. Not for purpose.

For Lois. The same woman who never kissed Clark Kent until she realized he wasn’t Clark Kent.

Let that sink in.

🧤 DE-POWERED AND DISRESPECTED IN A BAR BY A TRUCKER

Now he’s human. Now he’s “equal.” Now he’s vulnerable.

How romantic, right?

Until he goes into a diner and gets his ass handed to him by a truck driver named “Rock” who calls Lois ‘sweetheart’ and backhands him into a pinball machine.

You know what’s worse than losing a bar fight?

Losing one when the woman you gave your powers up for is watching.

He bled in front of her. He got stomped. She comforted him.

But deep down?

Her nervous system disconnected that day. She knew the god was gone.

🧊 THE WALK OF SHAME TO THE FORTRESS — NORTH POLE EDITION

He limps. Literally limps back into the frozen tundra. Bare-handed. Broken. Human. Defeated.

He walks back to apologize to the ghosts of his ancestors for letting pssy override destiny.*

Because meanwhile?

Zod, Ursa, and Non — literal cosmic fascists — just walked through the White House like it was a DMV.

They made the President kneel. They were broadcasting world conquest in real-time. And where was Superman?

On his “I think I made a mistake” arc.

😈 ZOD DIDN’T WIN. LOIS DID.

Zod may have conquered the White House. But Lois conquered the soul. And in many ways? That’s worse.

Because Superman didn’t get manipulated by force. He gave it away with open consent. He chose softness. He chose mortal love over immortal legacy.

And in doing so?

He betrayed the divine archetype of masculine frame — for validation.

👁️ SUPERMAN IS THE MAN. CLARK IS THE MASK.

That’s what Lois never understood. She thought Clark was the “real him.” She thought she was peeling back layers to find authenticity.

No.

Superman is the core. Clark is the containment suit.

Superman is who Kal-El is when he isn’t hiding for your comfort. Clark is what he wears to be acceptable to a species that doesn’t deserve him.

And Lois?

She didn’t fall for the man. She fell for the illusion of taming the man.

🩸 THE LESSON? NEVER LOSE YOUR FRAME FOR LOVE.

He was warned. He ignored it.

He walked into a chamber that removed his genetic dominance. For romance.

He hollowed out the legacy of an alien god king so he could lay in a bed next to someone who only touched him once he could fly.

And the punchline?

The moment he got his powers back? She couldn’t keep him.

🕯️ BECAUSE HERE’S THE UNSEEN TRUTH:

Lois never loved Kal-El. She lusted for Superman. She tolerated Clark. She thought she could make them merge.

But when Clark folded, when Superman gave up his heritage?

She got what she wanted. And it wasn’t what she needed.

And that’s the story of 80% of modern relationships.

🧠 SUPERMAN II IS A CAUTIONARY TALE. NOT A LOVE STORY.

It’s a myth.

A reverse Hercules. A power-to-pleasure downgrade wrapped in red tights.

And what’s worse?

It ends with a magical kiss that erases her memory.

Which means even the screenwriters knew:

No woman could respect a man who gave up godhood for her insecurity.

💣 TL;DR:

Lois never loved Clark.

She loved the status of proximity to Superman.

He gave up his powers for her.

Got bodied.

Came crawling back.

Fixed the world.

Erased her memory so she wouldn’t remember how hard he simped.

And people call that romantic.

No. That’s propaganda. That’s emasculation with a cape. That’s frame loss with special effects.

---

🔥 CALL TO ACTION (CTA):

🛑 Reblog if you’ve ever watched a man surrender power to please someone who never wanted him weak 🧬 Save this if you’ve ever lost something sacred trying to be “enough” 🛡️ Follow @the-most-humble-blog for Blacksite Literature™ posts that turn pop culture into fireproof masculinity blueprints

This is Blacksite Literature™ — Not fandom. Not review. Just the scrolltrap gospel of men who won’t lose their frame again.

[aventurineswife]

Can you do Dan Heng, Sampo, Gepard, Aventurine and Ratio react reader has Raiden Ei sword pull

Basically reader pull out their sword like this https://youtu.be/SbODRWNL6zs?si=Ku_NUQNJt9s1y6KG

From the Heart of the Blade

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Tension, Emotional Conflict, Inner Power, Sword pull from the chest/heart, Introspection, Protective Instincts.

Warnings: The boys are just genuinely worried for you 🫶

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with anticipation. You stood before Dan Heng, chest heaving, heart racing as you drew in a sharp breath. The tension hung heavy as your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword, positioned close to your heart. His eyes, usually calm and composed, betrayed a flicker of concern.

"What are you doing?" Dan Heng’s voice was low, an edge of unease creeping in despite his usual reserved demeanor.

You pulled the sword, its ethereal energy shimmering as it materialized, the blade gleaming as if it had been forged from the very essence of your soul. He froze, his gaze fixed on the blade now resting in your hands, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Are you... are you certain?" His voice quivered slightly, and for a split second, his mask of stoicism cracked. He was used to battles, used to wielding weapons—but not this.

The silence between you stretched, and then he stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for your shoulder as if to steady you. “You don't have to do this... I can protect you,” he whispered, the quiet urgency of his words a stark contrast to his usual detached demeanor.

But you were resolute, your expression unwavering. He could see that this was a part of you, a force you couldn’t fight off. In that moment, he understood. His hand hovered in the air, uncertain of whether to hold you or hold back. The sword pulsed with power, and Dan Heng realized there was no stopping it. But it didn’t mean he would let you face it alone.

Sampo stood in the dimly lit alleyway, a smirk plastered across his face as you revealed your intentions. The gleam of the sword shimmering from within your chest caught him off guard. He was never one to be truly surprised, but this? This was something different.

“Now, that’s a trick I haven’t seen before,” he said, his voice smooth, attempting to mask the faint flicker of unease beneath his usual bravado.

You gripped the hilt, the blade materializing, drawn from your heart like a twisted spectacle. Sampo’s smile faltered for just a moment. He was a master of reading people, but this? This was beyond his usual tricks.

“Well, well, well... I see you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he continued, his tone still playful, though a little more careful now. “But I’m gonna be honest here—this is getting a little too real for my taste. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

His eyes narrowed as the sword pulsed in the air, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his mind. For all his smarmy confidence and penchant for self-preservation, even he knew there were things beyond manipulation, things that couldn’t be bargained with.

“Careful there, my friend,” Sampo added, taking a step back, though his charm never faltered. “We’re all just a bit too invested in this game for you to be playing with fire.”

Gepard's usually unshakable calm faltered for a split second when he saw you pull the sword from your chest. His eyes widened, a flicker of alarm flashing across his otherwise composed face. The Silvermane Guards’ captain was no stranger to combat, to protecting Belobog and its people, but this... this was unlike anything he had seen.

“W-What are you doing?” Gepard’s voice was almost a whisper, the usual strength in it softened by concern.

He instinctively stepped forward, his hands flexing as though ready to intervene, to shield you from whatever force was trying to take hold. His gaze locked on the ethereal blade, his trained eye recognizing the unfamiliar energy radiating from it. It was not a weapon of war—it was something far more intimate.

“This is dangerous,” he said, his tone laced with worry. “You don’t need to do this. Whatever is consuming you, I’ll help you fight it.”

Gepard’s protective instincts flared. He had fought alongside comrades in countless battles, yet seeing you pull that sword from your chest left him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated. But he wouldn’t leave you to face it alone, not if it meant he could help bear that weight.

He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. “Let me help. Whatever this is... we’ll face it together.”

Aventurine watched with interest as you drew the sword from your chest, his eyes flicking with intrigue. His ever-present grin remained, though it faltered for just a brief moment as he absorbed the full gravity of the action. To someone like him, who reveled in the thrill of the gamble and the unknown, this was a whole new kind of game. But it wasn’t a game he was sure he was ready to play.

“Now, that’s quite the entrance,” he said, his tone dripping with admiration. “I’ve seen many things in my life—gambles, tricks, and deceit—but this? This is something else entirely.”

He circled you like a hawk, his sharp gaze studying every movement you made, every inch of tension in your body. Behind his calculating grin, a subtle tension began to build. He could tell that this was a pivotal moment for you, one that held the potential for something far more dangerous than a mere wager.

"Interesting... but dangerous, don’t you think?” Aventurine’s smile never wavered, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. “You’re playing with fire, my friend. And I do love a good gamble—but this... this could burn you.”

But despite the calculated nature of his words, there was something else. A strange, unspoken understanding that your gamble was one he couldn’t control. He took a step back, watching you carefully, his thoughts drifting to his own past—full of risky choices and hidden consequences. Was this one of those moments where even he, with all his calculated risk, could find himself outmatched?

Ratio stood with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning you with an almost clinical detachment as you stepped forward. His hair swayed slightly in the air as you pulled the sword from your chest, the ethereal blade glowing with a strange energy that caught even his brilliant mind off guard. The moment was... perplexing, to say the least.

"You... are you completely certain of this?" Ratio asked, his tone sharp, yet laced with an unexpected sense of concern. His typical arrogance melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity.

He took a measured step toward you, his eyes narrowing as he observed the sword—its origins, its power. This wasn’t just an act of power; it was an emotional, spiritual pull, and even his intellectual mind struggled to understand it fully.

"You’re doing something quite extraordinary, but I cannot fathom what drove you to this point." Ratio’s voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. He’d faced many challenges, but this wasn’t something he could solve with sheer intellect.

For a moment, the man who had once studied the very fabric of knowledge looked almost lost, unsure of how to respond. His brilliant mind searched for the answer, but all he could offer was a slow, deliberate step forward. "Knowledge is power, yes, but... what is it you hope to achieve with this? Do you truly understand what you're pulling from yourself?"

Yet despite his questions, there was a flicker of admiration in his eyes. Ratio’s belief in the transformative power of knowledge and wisdom had always been unwavering—but this? This was something beyond logic. And for once, it left him speechless.

[writesvani]

coming down | 01

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): emotional distress and anxiety, body image issues and weight-related comments, mentions of food, dieting, and restriction, verbal abuse and manipulation, self-harm ideation, substance use and abuse references, mental health struggles (depression, anxiety, insecurity), intimate situations and explicit language, abandonment and neglect, self-deprecation and feelings of worthlessness, bullying or being belittled

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— previous chapter / next chapter

wc: 4,7k // date: 5th of March 2025

CHAPTER ONE - The Morning; proceed with caution...

AN: okay, first of all, let’s talk about ren. he's liteeerally the only reason i'm posting this chapter earlier. REN. If you didn’t fall in love with him in this chapter, then honestly, i don’t know what to tell you because he’s an absolute gem. like i’m literally obsessed with him. he’s my favorite character HANDS DOWN. i’m talking top-tier, i would throw myself in front of a speeding bus for him if i had to. i mean, he’s got the charm, the humor, the flawless sense of timing. he’s a walking chaos machine and i’m here for it. can we please get a round of applause for ren? seriously, he’s out here living his best life, making questionable decisions, and somehow being the best friend anyone could ask for.

this chapter? oh yeah, it’s the introduction to the story, the one that sets everything on fire (in a good way, don’t worry). we’re finally giving you the ren experience in full force because he’s that important. his energy? unparalleled. his bad decisions? iconic. his ability to get people into ridiculous situations? absolutely legendary. and don’t even get me started on how much i’m loving writing for him. i know you can’t tell, but i’m literally typing this while holding back tears of joy. like, this man could ask me to jump off a cliff and i’d probably do it because i’m just so in love with his chaotic little soul.

stay tuned for more chaos, more fun, and more ren being ren.

love, [@writesvani] (ren's #1 fan)

No one ever told you opening your eyes while fighting a horrible hangover would be this hard—well, they did, and you’ve experienced it millions of times—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Fluttering your eyelashes, your eyes barely open as a blurry flash of sunlight enters your narrow line of vision.

Ugh.

Why did you drink so much last night? You don’t even know.

Never drinking again.

Noted.

Lying to yourself won’t make the situation any easier.

Noted as well.

Hardly awake, you shift, trying to lift yourself up to sit—except your bed isn’t yours at all.

And this isn’t your room.

Or your apartment.

Your head throbs as you blink away the lingering fog in your vision, forcing yourself to take in your surroundings.

A small studio apartment. Cramped, slightly chaotic, and definitely unfamiliarly familiar.

The sofa beneath you is worn, the cushions flattened from years of use. Next to it, a tiny coffee table is cluttered with splattered magazines and old computer science textbooks, their spines cracked and bruised from relentless study sessions. Among the mess, a dirty ashtray overflows, its stale scent clinging to the air.

Gross.

A ginger-scented candle sits beside it—maybe an attempt to neutralize the overwhelming stench of smoke, though it clearly isn’t doing its job.

Your eyes drift further, landing on the tiny kitchen area. Greasy, dimly lit, its sink overflowing with dishes that look like they’ve been abandoned for days. The counters are barely visible beneath the chaos of unwashed mugs, instant ramen cups, and a suspiciously sticky bottle of what you assume was once honey.

Unease coils in your stomach.

Where the fuck are you?

Your fingers clutch the blanket draped over you, a thin, soft thing that smells like cheap detergent and cigarette smoke.

And then—

Relief floods through you like a tidal wave, so strong it almost makes you dizzy.

Oh.

Thank God.

Thank God you ended up here.

“So my worst best friend is finally up! What a lovely surprise!”

A voice—far too loud for this hour, far too cheerful for your current state—pulls you from the lingering haze of sleep.

You groan, pressing your palms into your temples as if that could somehow will away the pounding headache splitting your skull. “Please, for the love of God, let me enjoy my peace and quiet for five minutes before coming in with your unnecessary comments.”

A dramatic gasp. Then, “Okay, bitch. Rude. I understand you’re hungover, but please just be civilized for a second there. You don’t have to throw your defensive mechanism in—I didn’t even start my lecture yet.”

You crack open one eye just to glare. “Cut the crap, Ren. I’m not really in the mood right now.”

Ren smirks, crossing his arms as he leans against the kitchen counter. “Oh babe, if I were into women, I’d already have gotten you in it.”

Your lips twitch despite the throbbing in your skull. Because no matter how much you despise him in this exact moment—for being loud, for being happy, for simply existing when all you want is to die a slow, miserable, post-hangover death—a wave of relief crashes over you.

You’re safe.

Safe from last night. Safe with him.

You’ve known Ren for ages. Just to be more precise, since you were eleven. He’s your other half, your soulmate in a way that has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with the fact that, if it weren’t for his overwhelming love for ass and balls and dicks/men, the two of you would already be married.

It’s a thought you’ve had more than once. A parallel universe, maybe. One where you’d be an old married couple on some tropical island, far away from the bullshit of everyday life. Where you’d smoke weed all day and piss him off, and he’d play The Sims 4 all night and piss you off right back—screaming at his Sim for cheating on their husband with some new guy, courtesy of Wicked Whims.

But that’s not this universe.

This one’s a little messier.

This one’s full of questionable life choices, painfully slow mornings, and an unspoken pact:

If neither of you find an unrespectably hot, respectable man by the time you’re 35—

The wedding’s on.

“How the fuck did I end up here?”

Your voice is raw, thick with exhaustion and regret. The world tilts as you sit up, and for a brief moment, you genuinely consider throwing yourself right back into unconsciousness.

Ren, ever the dramatic one, sighs as if this isn’t the millionth time you’ve asked him that exact question. “What do you think?”

You blink at him. “First of all, don’t answer my question with another question. Second of all, IF I FUCKING KNEW, I WOULDN’T BE ASKING.”

Ren groans, tossing his hands into the air like a cartoon character about to launch into a monologue. “Okay, calm your pretty ass down, missy. You were too wasted. Or high. Or probably both. And you got a cab to my place. Probably the only address you could remember, considering we all know you can’t remember your own after one shot.”

His words are a jumble in your aching brain, but the general gist is clear: you fucked up. Again.

You huff, crossing your arms, but the sudden movement sends a sharp pain straight to your skull.

Yup.

Yup.

Never drinking again.

“Oh, Rennie,” you mumble, pulling his blanket over your head and collapsing onto the silky mattress. “I don’t think I’m ever going to drink again.”

Ouch. Bad decision. Pain again.

You’re dizzy, disoriented, sinking into the pillowcase you got him for his twenty-second birthday—the one he pretended not to like but still uses anyway.

Ren sighs. Not annoyed, not even surprised. Just—accepting. Because this isn’t the first time you’ve stumbled into his apartment, destroyed beyond reason, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

You feel bad. You always do. But you can’t help it.

Ren is the last remaining fragment of the old you, the one you buried deep in the back of your mind, the one you so desperately tried to forget. But he’s Ren, and he’s been your Ren since you were eleven.

And you hate it—hate that you keep dragging him into your mess, ruining his perfectly fine days with your self-inflicted chaos. But for some unfathomable reason, Ren still loves you.

He loved you at your best.

He loved you at your worst.

And somehow, he still loves you in whatever the fuck this is.

“It’s okay, babe. I know you’re lying.”

Ren’s voice is steady, soft, almost knowing. He doesn’t call you out with anger or frustration—just that damn patience of his, the kind that makes your chest tighten and your throat burn.

“C’mon, don’t go all crocodile tears and fake regrets on me now,” he continues, settling down next to you. “You know there’s always a safe space for you here.”

His hand finds your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. His touch is light, barely there, but it still feels like an anchor. You lean into it instinctively, your head still pulsing with the aftermath of last night’s recklessness. Yet somehow, his presence dulls the ache, lulling your discomfort into something almost bearable.

Ren always had that effect on you.

“Now, now,” he hums, voice teasing but gentle. “Tell me what got you so worked up that you drank like a dog let off a leash last night.”

You tense, but before you can even think of an excuse, he sighs.

“Sorry for not coming, by the way,” he murmurs. “But you already know how I feel about Yumi and all your other friends.”

And just like that, if you thought you couldn’t possibly feel worse, Ren effortlessly proves you wrong.

Because the only person you actually wanted to spend time with on your birthday wasn’t there—and it’s all because of you.

Ren doesn’t like them. It’s as simple as that.

He doesn’t like your friends, your environment, or the people you surround yourself with. He thinks they’re a bunch of problematic teens trapped in grown-up bodies, incapable of making rational decisions. They seek validation from whatever reckless or idiotic thing they did just to be considered “cool enough” on campus.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s exactly what they are.

Ren isn’t shy about speaking his truth, especially when it comes to them. And you’re used to it by now. Hell, you wouldn’t want him to lie, to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not. It’d be too toxic for your best friend to step out of his comfort zone just to match your lifestyle, to accommodate what you think you want.

He doesn’t need to.

Ren has been the only constant, the only good thing in your life for the past few years. And, in a way, that’s enough.

"It's okay, lovie. We’ll be together today," you murmur, your voice quieter than usual. "I tried to bail on the party, but you know Yumi—she just wouldn’t budge."

You shift, mind working at lightning speed, lips parting and closing as you try to piece together the mess of last night. It’s all a bit blurry, details slipping through the cracks of your memory like sand through your fingers. But one thing stands out.

Gojo called you cheap.

The words flash in your mind like a neon sign, burning hot, humiliating, cutting deeper than you’d ever admit. And, of course, you being you, there was no way you’d just walk away, let him have the last word like that. No, you had to strike back.

So you did.

In front of Geto, the guy you’d actually wanted to take home, you called Gojo out. Laid it all bare. Exposed your past, your messy, embarrassing, mistake-ridden history with him. Let the words roll off your tongue like venom, staining the air of Nanami’s pristine beige living room.

The degradation of admitting you’d once fucked the beautiful, white-eyed demon was almost unbearable. Almost. Because underneath that shame, there was something else—something undeniably satisfying about the way Gojo’s face drained of color.

Ha. Should’ve taken a picture.

The man was sweating.

But, of course, that satisfaction was short-lived. The moment passed, leaving behind nothing but a thick, awkward silence that hung in the air like a bad smell.

Mood? Ruined.

Horny? Not anymore.

Gojo? Pissed.

Geto? Not having it.

And honestly, you couldn’t even blame him. Who the hell would still be in the mood after witnessing an argument that never should’ve happened in the first place?

Gojo left quickly, tossing a sharp, “This isn’t over” over his shoulder before disappearing.

And Geto?

He just sat there, staring at you, dumbfounded.

So, as any sane person would do, you decided to self-destruct with tequila and dance to the INNA Party Mix some random guy snuck into the playlist while no one was looking.

Gojo’s words didn’t touch you. Not even a little bit. And losing your dick of the night? Whatever. Hot guys were everywhere. Besides, it was probably for the best—you really didn’t need the extra drama of Geto’s girlfriend finding out about whatever almost happened.

So that’s probably how you ended up at Ren’s place.

Even though you have zero recollection of getting here in the first place.

“So it wasn’t just weed and shots,” Ren squeezes your hand, his voice softer now. “It was Gojo.”

Your throat tightens. No. It wasn’t Gojo. Of course, it wasn’t Gojo. You just wanted to let loose, enjoy the night, without anyone ruining it for you. Right?

Right?

“Who cares about that assface? I just wanted to get drunk and high, simple as that.”

“Okay, okay,” Ren lifts his hands in surrender. “I won’t mention it again. Promise on Charli XCX.” He nods toward the poster on his wall, and for the first time since waking up, a laugh escapes your lips.

His eyes light up at the sound, and in that moment, you swear you love him even more.

Because Ren never pushes. He never pressures you to explain yourself or dissect your feelings. He just lets you be.

And you love him for that.

What you don’t love is the flicker of knowing in his gaze—the way he reads you like an open book. Not many people ever managed to do that.

But it doesn’t matter. Because Ren never says it out loud.

It’s different with him.

Sometimes you wonder if things would be easier if you could have this kind of connection with anyone else. But then again, if you did, maybe what you have with Ren wouldn’t feel so rare and fragile and beautiful.

“Swear on BRAT,” you say, extending your pinky.

“I swear on BRAT,” he echoes, linking his pinky with yours.

And just like that, Gojo isn’t mentioned again.

Or last night.

Or Yumi.

Or Nanami’s obscenely expensive house.

"C'mon, babe. Let's go get some breakfast."

Ren tugs you out of bed, dragging you into the world of the living, and just like that, you’re not a mess anymore. It’s stupid how easily he does that—how he makes you feel a little less like a disaster with nothing but his presence. And maybe, just maybe, you love him a little more than you did mere seconds ago.

The place Ren takes you to is… odd.

Some kind of coffee shop-slash-restaurant-in-the-making. It’s close to his apartment, but it’s way too edgy to be a normal breakfast spot. But hey—a free meal is a free meal, and who are you to complain when he offered to treat you?

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating a little. It’s not that edgy. Just… offbeat.

It’s called Radio, and by some wonderfully bizarre twist, the entire place is literally filled with radios.

They’re everywhere.

The walls are made of them, stacked up like some chaotic art installation. Car radios serve as makeshift stands, holding the food and drink menus. The menus themselves? Coquette-coded, decorated with bows and big-eyed deer like they were plucked straight from some Tumblr fever dream.

And then there’s the rest of the decor—ripped anime T-shirts hanging in the corners, stickers on the counter with millennial-core quotes like Eat. Sleep. Coffee. Repeat.

The waitress who approaches your table looks dead inside, eyeliner smudged into a mess so perfectly disheveled it’s almost intentional. She definitely doesn’t want to be here. But then again, do any of us?

"Stop judging," Ren hisses.

You blink at him. Judging?

"I’m a broke college student, and this place is cheap enough to actually fill my stomach," he defends, crossing his arms.

"I’m not judging," you retort. "But you have to admit, this place is weird. Look around. The interior designer who made this was probably on coke. Or MDMA. Or both."

Ren sighs. Deeply.

"Not everyone has to get high to come up with weirdly fun concepts," he says, exasperated.

"Now that’s just a lie, honey," you shoot back, leaning on your hand. "All artists get their inspiration somewhere, and the good ones? They get it on something. Look at Van Gogh. Dickens. Bukowski—"

"That’s not something to be proud of," Ren interrupts, rolling his eyes. "Those people were addicts. They needed help. Jesus. There's no proof that they made their best works because they were high—who knows? Maybe their art would've been even better if they were sober."

You hum, pretending to consider his argument.

"Well, you can’t prove that, can you?" you say, smirking.

Ren narrows his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. Checkmate.

You love throwing these hypothetical what ifs at him just as much as he loves throwing them at you. His argument about sobriety is well-executed, you’ll give him that.

But he’ll never understand the euphoria—the way inspiration thrums in your veins when you’re tipsy, or better yet, high. The way stories are born from that space between reality and delirium. You swear your best ideas only exist there.

(Not that you’ve ever tried making them sober, of course.)

"Let’s not argue about the lives and works of people we’ll never truly know," Ren sighs, finally relenting.

"Okay," you agree, lips twitching.

For now.

“So, we can’t talk about your Voldemort, but you can for sure tell me more about that black-haired hottie you met last night?”

Ren’s rosy lips curve into a playful grin, his eyes lighting up with excitement. And just like that, you can’t help but melt at how much he lives for the gossip. Some things never change.

“He has a girlfriend, you mentioned?” Ren asks again, clearly wanting the details.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I care,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. “I wouldn’t go after a taken man who didn’t want me—that’s just not cool. But this guy, I’m telling you, from the second he laid eyes on me, he was eye-fucking me. Like, full-on, taking my clothes off telepathically and sinking his cock into me. It was intense.”

Ren snorts, amused.

“And if you saw him—he was all black long hair, a bandana, A BANDANA hanging from his neck. Made me wanna strangle him and lick him at the same time.” You pause, feeling the heat rise in your chest. “And the polo shirt, okay, I thought it was kinda lame for a college party, but it gave me a peek at his abs and, oh my god, his happy trail. And his lips, babe, I’m telling you. Pink, soft, begging to be bitten. Ugh. I should’ve tried harder and just fucked him.”

“Wait, you saw his happy trail?”

“Yeah, his shirt rode up when he was stretching after playing billiards with the guys. I was already plastered, but trust me, I saw it. It was practically an invitation to drop to my knees.” You take a bite of your fries, half-listening to yourself as the images replay in your mind.

“Well, if it were me, I’d be licking that happy trail into the midnight and riding him ‘til sunrise, baby,” Ren quips with a grin, taking a bite of his crepes.

You can see the look in Ren’s eyes—the way he’s already imagining it all. It makes you laugh, feeling a rush of affection for your ridiculous, perfectly in-sync best friend.

“Got a pic of the hottie?”

You freeze.

Your horniness deflates to zero. You forgot. You didn’t even get his number, his Instagram, nothing. “I forgot to follow him. I’m so fucking dumb.”

Ren rolls his eyes.

“Follow him now, duh. Who cares?”

“I care,” you say quickly. “I don’t want him to think I’m some creepy-ass loser who’s randomly looking him up.”

Ren looks at you like you’re nuts. “He won’t think that. Plus, if he doesn’t follow you back, then he’s blind and needs a check-up.”

“Let’s just try looking him up on Insta. Maybe he has a profile pic so you can see him, but I am NOT following him.”

You whip out your phone and start typing.

And there he is. Geto Suguru.

And oh boy.

His profile pic isn't just a pic, he's shirtless, his shorts hanging low on his hips, and there it is—the happy trail, long, dark, and deliciously inviting. His face is perfectly smirking, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You feel a shiver run down your spine, practically drooling as you stare at the picture.

Ren, ever impatient, snatches your phone from your hands before you can even blink. His mouth falls open in shock.

“Sweet Jesus, oh my God,” he breathes, his eyes flicking between you and the picture, blinking rapidly like his brain can’t handle it.

Then he moves his thumb. And you know exactly what he’s doing, but it’s too late. It’s too fucking late.

Ren has just sent a follow request to your “almost fuck.”

You feel a panic rise in your chest. No. This is it. You’re going to strangle him. Watch as life leaves his annoying body and his breath gets lost somewhere else because you know—you just know—he did it. He followed him. From your phone and your goddamn Instagram account.

“Are. You. Fucking. Insane?”

You stare at Ren in disbelief, heart pounding in your chest as your brain tries to process what he’s just done.

“I did what had to be done,” Ren grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “This man is too fine and too sexy not to be tried out at least once. Honestly, pardon his straightness, but I’d blow him like my life depended on it. Since I can’t do it myself, you’re gonna take the sacrifice of doing it for me.”

You feel a mix of anger and embarrassment bubble up inside you. “Ren, I’m going to kill you. I’m literally going to kill you.”

“Relax, girl,” he snickers, waving you off like it’s no big deal. “And when you fuck him, pretty please think about me, so I can, by some miracle, feel it as well.”

You roll your eyes, trying to calm yourself down, but there's that nagging fear lingering in the pit of your stomach. “What if he doesn’t follow me back?” you whine, your voice a mix of real concern and dramatic flair. “I’m too old for this humiliation. I don’t need more rejection stacking up on my list.”

Ren just shrugs, completely nonchalant. “He will. Trust. Now eat your food, ho, and let’s go shopping.”

You don’t believe him, though. Deep down, you know he’s lying—because by the end of your shopping spree with Ren, Geto still hasn’t followed you back.

You’re losing your mind.

Even after you’ve showered, eaten, and taken a power nap, you find yourself glued to your phone. There’s still no accepted request. No follow. Just a stupid pending ‘follow request sent’ sitting there, mocking you.

You panic. You called Ren probably ten times and sent him thirty messages, all containing some combination of death, you, kill, and didn’t follow me back. You’ve become a mess—unrecognizable even to yourself.

The worst part? You know he saw it. You just know it. There’s no way in hell he didn’t check his phone at least once in the eight hours that passed. He’s leaving you hanging, like some peasant who isn’t even worth the time to be acknowledged.

It stings. It fucking stings.

You were dramatic before, sure, but you were deep down thinking he'd follow you back. Everyone does. He was all over you last night, wanting you, practically undressing you with his eyes. There was no way that stupid little spat with Gojo could have ruined things with Geto. Or maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were just stupid.

How dare he?

How dare he act like you weren’t worth even a simple follow? You start pacing around the room, frustration boiling over as your mind spirals into overdrive.

Then it hits you.

Gojo. That bastard. He’s always meddling in your business, always making things harder than they need to be. He loves getting involved for no reason, just to mess with you.

Just like he did before.

18 years ago

It’s an usual Friday afternoon, and you’re sitting with your great grandma on the front porch, her wrinkled hands steady as she writes down the words you dictate to her. You don’t know how to write yet—not really. Yes, you know the alphabet, but putting words together, let alone sentences on paper, feels like an impossible task for your six-year-old mind. But you know how to speak, and that’s all that matters right now. So you speak, and she writes, and together, you create a poem. It’s about winter, and comfort, and there’s a line about soup cooking on the stove, messily tossed in there.

You swear, in that moment, you’ve never been prouder of yourself. You are creating something—your very first poem. And even though it’s messy, even though it doesn’t follow all the rules of the world that you’re still figuring out, you did it.

Gojo, your next door neighbor and self proclaimed best friend sits beside you, shyly drawing you, your grandma, himself, and his favorite teddy bear, Teddy (of course) on what he insists is a train, even though it looks more like a stinky snail. You laugh, but then your excitement gets the best of you, and you run to your dad to show him the poem you just made with Nana. You can’t read it, but that doesn’t matter because Nana’s going to read it to him, and you’re so excited.

You just know he’ll be proud of you.

Nana reads the poem out loud, and you watch your dad as he listens. He smiles, and you’re filled with warmth, because he’s so pretty when he smiles. His eyes crinkle in that perfect greenish light, and his mouth—those dimples—just make everything feel perfect.

But then, he speaks.

“Nana, it’s great you’re teaching her all that, but she doesn’t have to write about food. There are many more beautiful things to write about. Our little peach is already a bit too chubby, and we’ve really been trying to help her lose weight, so I don’t think writing or thinking about food is good for her right now, right?”

Your heart sinks. Your excitement crashes to the ground.

You don’t know what it is, but his words make you feel so small. Your eyes drop to the ground, and you can’t hide from the uncomfortable, overwhelming feeling that floods over you. You already feel too big in your skin, too big in your body. Too big in your dad’s mind.

And then you feel it—the rush of anxiety. It sweeps over you like a tide, drowning you in its force. The weight of his words, the weight of your disappointment in his eyes, it’s too much. You couldn’t even keep it together for a stupid little poem.

Again.

You’ve disappointed him. Again. And there’s nothing you can do to make it stop.Nana says something, her voice soft and reassuring, about you being a normal, healthy little kid. She shakes her head at your dad disapprovingly, but you can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. His words hang around you, clouding the air, and the warmth that had once bloomed in your chest shrivels up. The mood is ruined. And even though you fight it, even though you don’t want to, your eyes grow heavy and the tears that have been threatening to spill finally break free.

You try to hold them back, but they come anyway.

"I don’t think you’re chubby. You’re cute, and I liked your poem," Gojo whispers to you, his small, warm hand slipping into yours. He squeezes it gently and beams a pretty, innocent smile at you.

But instead of feeling better, you feel worse.

His hand is smaller than yours. And he’s a boy. He’s smaller and slimmer than you, and you’re a girl. You shouldn’t even be thinking about these things, but you can’t stop. He’s smaller and slimmer and better, and you're chubbier, and nothing about this is fair.

And then you hear your dad again, his words ringing in your ears, harsher this time.

“Satoru, you don’t have to lie to make her feel better. Y/n’s a big girl. She can take it. Besides, she knows it’s for her own good.”

You nod, but it’s sharp and harsh, the motion of your head quick and jerky. You pull away from Satoru’s embrace, feeling like you might break under the weight of everything. His eyes are sad. You can see it now. The pity. The pity in his eyes, in your dad’s eyes, in everyone’s eyes. It’s there, it’s so clear, and you hate it.

You don’t understand pity yet, not fully, but you understand how it makes you feel small.

You’re not a little kid anymore.

Satoru looks mad now. He gives you one of those looks—‘It’s okay, I’ve got you’—the kind that only makes you feel worse. You can’t stand it.

You want to run. You want to hide. You want to be alone, away from all of this, away from their pity, away from the shame building up in your chest.

So you do.

You run. You run to your room, and when you’re there, the door shuts behind you, and you fall onto your bed. The tears come in waves, and you cry until evening falls, until your eyes are red and sore. You don’t come downstairs for dinner.

“Tomorrow, I’m not gonna eat anything. Then all of them are gonna see.”

You whisper the words to yourself, not fully understanding the weight of them, but in that moment, they make you feel like you have control. Like you can make everything better. And that's how it all begins.

taglist: @heh123321 @kazupop @mintcheery @krispywhisperswhispers

[mrmilomoo]

18+ MDNI

CW: shameless smut, masochism, afab reader, reader implied to have morals and a full figure, a hint of cbt, implied manipulation, religious metaphors

Simon Riley is a goddamn masochist

He gets off on the feeling of your nails clawing at skin of his back and your teeth sinking into the flesh of his meaty shoulder while he pounds his cock into your soaking, fat cunt at a borderline brutal pace. The obscene sound of his strong hips battering against your plump ass fills the room as he fucks you like you’ve got a barrel pressed to his temple with your finger on the trigger, threatening to pull it if he can’t force another orgasm out of your needy cunt…. Fuck, the mere thought of that nearly pushes him over the edge when he feels your pretty nails finally break into the marred skin of his back and your even prettier cunt squeezing him ruthlessly, trying to empty his balls for all he’s worth.

“Fucking hell…” He growls under his breath, frantically pulling out and choking his throbbing cock at the base before he can blow his load. He sits back onto his haunches and stares down at you with an intensity that wordlessly pins you down in place as his other hand lets go of your plush thigh to instead travel below his red, angry cock and give the poor, swollen sack hanging heavily between his thighs a harsh, crushing squeeze.

Oh the things he’d let you to do to him… who’s he kidding? He’ll probably end up begging like some pathetic, depraved son of a bitch one day. And he knows he would have to beg, might even have to resort to other means of convincing a sweet thing like you to even humor some of his fucked up fantasies.

You’re a soft little birdy, always trying to do the “right” thing. Too willing to sacrifice your time and energy, even your own happiness, to help others. Your sense of morality might as well make you an angel in his eyes. Too bad it makes manipulating you painfully easy.

Good thing he likes his birds soft and pliable just like you, with morals and shit. It’s almost laughable how willing you are to debase yourself for a scrap of emotional vulnerability from him. Like you have this idea in your pretty little head that you’ll be able to save his vile, rotten soul by nailing yourself to a cross of your own making.

A fruitless sacrifice for a man who’s already paid for his ticket to hell.

But hey, if it makes you feel any better, sinking into your tight, soaking heat and battering his balls against the fat of your ass is the closest he’s ever come to those pearly white gates.

[animeyanderelover]

can i request gojo with a darling who can touch him even when his infinity is on? (I think it's canon that he can never turn it off completely so that would be his first time actually having physical contact with someone)

Huge thanks to everyone who helped me with this request by explaining how exactly Gojo’s abilities work! I’ll start watching the second season as soon as all episodes are out for anyone who is wondering. I added a bit of stuff to make for an more interesting read.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, clinginess, obsession, touchiness, manipulation, gaslighting, paranoia, isolation, abduction

The first touch

🩵Gojo has been having his eyes on you even before he knew about your very special abilities. That basically means that you have this white-haired menace terrorising your daily life whenever he can. You almost have the impression that he can sniff you out among the many million people in Tokyo as he always finds you somehow. You're honestly just so fed up with him but are terribly introverted and feel too scared and awkward to explain to him clearly how you feel about his constant intrusion. You doubt that it would get through his head anyways so you silently endure the man's clingy, whiny and increasingly affectionate antics. Satoru knows no personal boundaries when it comes to you or rather he just decides to ignore it. You're just too cute~ Your unwillingness to stand up for yourself leads to ruthless abuse from his side.

🩵He has had it coming one way or another as he senses your growing frustration with his unbelievable clinginess and disrespect of your privacy. Worst is that he's at this point provoking you because he wants to see what you look like when you snap. So when your string of patience finally snaps as you feel his hands rubbing your shoulders and fawning over your current anger, you've had enough. You swing your heavy handbag at him in a moment of short and impulsive anger. Satoru doesn't move from his spot as he doesn't worry. His Infinity is activated so the handbag won't hit him. It'll easily just be seen as you missing your target, which is right now his handsome face. He sees your handbag moving closer to his face and just gives a small grin... At least until the fucking thing smashes against his face with full force, heavy with all of your stuff inside.

🩵Everyone who would know him, would probably laugh at him if they would see him in that moment. The almighty Satoru, stumbling back in shock before tripping over his own feet and landing onto the ground. That would have never happened if he would have been around anyone else. But he isn't around anyone. He's with you. Sweet, weak and lovable non-sorcerer you. Around you he never has his guard up unless he senses danger. Not because he underestimates you, although he definitely does, but because he feels like he can just be himself around you. That's why he's so thoroughly unprepared for this. For a moment he just sits on the ground in bewilderment, his face pulsing with pain from the impact it just had with your handbag. You start frantically apologizing as soon as you realize what you've done, flip a bit out when blood seeps out of his nose. You quickly rummage through your handbag as you search for something to stop the bleeding.

🩵Gojo on the other hand, who slowly starts coming back to reality after this major shock, touches his face in a daze. When he pulls his hand back, his fingertips are covered in blood, in his own blood. He looks at the red liquid like it is something he has never seen before in his life, as if it's something alien-like, before he jumps abruptly up. You flinch and shrink when he bents down to your height, brilliant blue eyes seemingly trying to look deep into your soul as he asks you quietly how you just did that. His voice is slightly strained with emotions you can't fully detect. You do see some of them swirling around in his eyes. Curiosity, shock, surprise but also something else. Something you haven't sensed in the silly and clingy man before. It unsettles you deeply. You don't even know what he just meant with his question just now and Satoru seems to realize that too as he pulls back, allowing you to breathe again.

🩵He leaves you a while after that incident and even if he tries to keep his normal facade up, you sense that something has startled him. If only you'd know. Satoru's mind is occupied with this accident the whole day. How were you able to do that? You're a non-sorcerer by all accounts and he didn't sense any cursed energy from you nor from anywhere around you. You were honestly expecting him to not show his face so soon again yet instead he rings at your apartment in the early morning hours. You're majorly confused and frightened by the fact that he seems to know where you live as you have never told him that yet Gojo pushes past you like he's been here a hundred times before. His eyes briefly fly through your current home, noting that it is quite small if you'd live with him, you could have everything you would want before he asks you the most ridiculous question you've heard all week. "Can you slap me?"

🩵You look at the man as if he has suffered from brain damage due to your handbag yesterday. How does one even respond to such a request?! Weirdest of all is that he looks at you with genuinely curious eyes. Can you slap him? Can you touch him with your own hands and everything you hold in your hands even if his Infinity is on? You hesitate a tad bit too long before he decides to provoke you a bit to anger you enough to do as he just asked you. It works as it is early morning, you've just found out that he knows where you lived and you're also still quite tired. You're in no condition to endure his teasing as he reminds you of embarrassing accidents he's had the joy of witnessing. The next thing he knows, he feels the impact of your hand against his cheek with more strength than he assumed. Maybe he underestimated your strength just a tiny, tiiiiny bit. Nevertheless though, as he rubs his stinging cheek his eyes are glued to you as a realization comes to him that changes his life. You, a non-sorcerer, somehow have the ability to seemingly nullify his Infinity... How?

🩵It must be the biggest irony of the universe. His darling is metaphorically and literally his one and only biggest weakness. A tiny part of him really has to chuckle about this but for the most part, Gojo suddenly grows by leaps and bounds more paranoid. He is the strongest in the sorcerer world and he couldn't even count on both hands how many people constantly pray for his downfall but can only do that as he is literally untouchable. With his situation he would already be under normal circumstances be overprotective and slightly paranoid that someone would instead resort to making you a target and use you against Gojo. He has to protect weak you for that reason against all the evil in this world. Yet with the knowledge that you can touch and by extension of that also harm him, a new fear inside of him grows. What if his enemies would decide to set you up against him to have you kill him? Or worse, what if you yourself would decide to rebel against him and would try to harm him?

🩵If you wouldn't have this special talent, he wouldn't be worried. Because then you simply wouldn't be able to harm him although your betrayal would still badly sting due to the lingering scars of Geto's betrayal. Yet with the added aspect that you can actually hurt him, Gojo's paranoia worsens. The image of you being his downfall, the only person he genuinely loves and trusts in this world, breaks him somehow. It isn't likely considering that he is far above you in all physical aspects and still has other abilites, not to mention that you would never sink that low, yet the fact that it is the tiniest possibility is enough to drive him a bit mad. You'd never do that, right? You love and care too much to ever think about killing him or even slightly harming him, right?

🩵You don't know where those sudden insecurities and his paranoia come from, you never imagined the Satoru you knew for a while to be so fragile underneath all his confidence and silliness. You wish that he could revert back to that side of him, even if it was possibly only a facade. Because now Satoru is downright suffocating and scares you even. You can't do anything to escape his tight grasp though and even if he doesn't hold you, you're still stuck in your new home. In his own huge mansion, installed with a security system that would never allow you to step outside unless he's with you. You will never leave his side, he won't let you. No one is allowed to find out about you and your one of a kind abilities. It is the bittersweetest irony ever. The warm touches of yours he so yearns for are the only ones who could also kill him.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Four - EM

Part Forty Three

Warnings: Mentions of Vomit, Gore, and Death

———

Electromagnetic fields, EM Fields, are generally a physical field that vary in time and space. Representing the electric and magnetic influences generated by or changed by electric charges. 

For humans, they produce low frequency magnetic fields that induce the circulating currents within the human body. The strength of the currents depends on the exterior magnetic fields hey may interact with. 

These are all described through Maxwell's equations and Lorentz force law. Both depict the functions of the electromagnetic field, creating a concrete base for understanding. 

Unlike with Cybertronians, for humans, the field is imperceivable and can not be readily manipulated without external stimuli. Not used for emotional or communication expression. 

The lack of connection there is startling if not entirely unnerving for the Cybertronian population, the lack of a field often translates to the lack of care if not down to the religious perspective of the lack of a spark or soul.

Electromagnetic fields are important in the art of expression for Cybertronians, for humans its important in the art of function and survival. 

—

All the walls around them were filling with smoke and he hadn’t been more grateful for the oxygen tanks below his feet in any other moment, well, other than when he was on planets with toxic atmospheres but that hardly counted. They weren’t initially designed for that, let alone expected thirty years ago.

No, he was only thankful for the over engineered suit when it would prevent him from dying or choking or taking any bit of pain really. Otherwise he wished he was back on the beach in Florida, waiting for an attack to send him running, but just enjoying the sunshine of his home instead. It was hard to not think about in moments like this one, where he’d rather be.

He’d even rather be back in North Iacon, freezing his ass off, with his unit. The mechs he was coming to care for and see as more than just aliens, more than something that he had to live through to get to the goal. They were all great in their own ways, but he found working with them easier and a lot less deadly. More like when he and Sunny would work in tandem, less like this mess. It had taken far longer than it had for the others for him to see the benefits of working with Cybertronian’s over humans. He’d just about give anything to have any of his unit by his side instead.

Now, Sideswipe was moving through the alleyways with Jazz, still clutching his hand as the sounds of explosions followed them along with the heatwave from them. Their comms which had finally cleared before the Seekers had started bombing were now again full of static, unable to reach any of the others. Elita cut off again as her pings bounced, unbeknownst to Sideswipe. They were cut up from everyone by each other, speakers the only thing that seemed to still function for communication.

Deep down, he knew Sunny was fine but his anxiety had been tearing at his nerves all day. Every ping that he got from Elita, which he had silenced grated at what little nerve he was maintaining and now with his brother out of his eyesight, it was hard not to spiral.

Clutching Jazz’s hand helped though, the older pilot returning the grasp without so much as a word. Likely needing it to ground himself as well.

It was a relief that Jazz remained silent, if he didn’t Simon knew he would probably just freeze. The memories of losing his parents just being kept at bay, the day's weight trying to drag him down through the symptoms of overuse. Send him through a cascade of unwanted memories.

Seeing the bar certainly wouldn’t help, but it was where their backup was supposedly going to be. If they got back there and there was no one there waiting to back them up, then he really would lose it. Backup was supposed to have been here hours ago, at least, it felt like hours. He probably wasn’t the only one who’d lost track of time from the bombing to now. So much had happened and all he wanted to do now was finish the fight before sleeping.

They stumbled as more explosions boomed behind them, both men swearing as they ran into the narrowing walls of the alleyways. Building swaying against the maelstrom and ground shaking like an earthquake. More dust and smoke filled the space they were in, making only their visors visible through it all. Not even what had once been their brightly colored paint was visible, sandblasted down to primer grey for the most part. Only flecks of blue or red seemed to remain. He could tell, deep down, that this was bad. For more than one reason.

Sideswipe knew that if he wasn’t holding tightly to Jazz’s hand, it would be likely that he’d have somehow backtracked to where the explosions were happening, just from the sheer stupidity he felt in the moment. That and his lack of a sense of direction. Something him and Sunny were cursed with from both parents, neither had been good with maps or directions either. 

Both crashed to the ground as the ground and buildings around them shook again, Sideswipe pulled Jazz into the crash position for pilots and waited for it to stop. They both were breathing heavily, the only thing either could hear over the chaos.

“Are the bombs supposed to be this bad?” His voice shook as the ground did, hands pressed to Jazz’s shoulders as they both crouched in crash position. His eyes kept scanning the monitors in front of him for anything, “I don’t know, the attacks that have happened on Cybertron have never been this bad before. That and the times where I’ve seen us bomb something, I usually was on a shuttle above it all.” Jazz’s voice almost wavered at the end, his hands pressed to his helm, waiting.

He took a breath, “That and there was an executioner, they’re tough to handle.” Nodding a bit, Sides bent his head down as debris rained down on them, “Yeah, Hound didn’t look great when I last had eyes on him.” Humming, Jazz shrugged slightly even as he winced when glass smashed against the ground, “Hound will be fine, if any of us can handle something like that on our own, it’s him. Or me.” It almost made him chuckle. Almost.

Instead, he just kept hold of Jazz, scanning his monitors for anything that would show when this would let up. Slowly, the smoke dissipated and the ground stopped shaking, he felt like he was able to breathe again.

Nodding a bit, Jazz sighed, “Alright, just keep hold of my shoulders and we’ll keep moving.” Both standing slowly on slightly shaky legs, the adrenaline starting to wear thin and fear trying to take hold, “Yeah, yeah, sounds like a good idea.” And they started back down the alleyways, moving slow and keeping their eyes out for anything. 

He hated the quiet, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything either. So they kept moving quietly. Only relieved when the alleyways open up to the remains of their bar.

—

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t think about it at first, just figured that whoever was coming would be happy to see them alive. Or at least relieved to know that they were functioning enough, alive was a bit of a stretch at the moment. Especially with hos his mind and heart raced uncontrollably. 

He was waving with his remaining arm, a smile strained even behind the layers hiding it from the approaching Cybertronians, “Hey, we're over here!” Several sets of eyes landed on them and then they were diving for cover as gunfire sprayed across their alley.

”Why are they shooting at us?” Breakdown pulled him down to the ground and he glanced up as more gunfire struck the walls around them, “Do I look like I know?” He moves back up the alleyway the best that he could, breathing heavily, “Is your cannon back up and running?” 

With a shake of his head, Breakdown looks that way and Sunny swears, with a deep sigh he shifts his suit to a crouch, “Alright then, Ill,” He stops as more gunfire rips across another alleyway across from them and his heart starts to race again. It could be anyone over there, any of the pilots. Sideswipe. 

Nodding quickly, he stands and ducks to avoid a few more shots coming his way, “Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Adjusting his oxygen mask, he took a few slow and deep breaths, “What, you are going to run in there like Rambo?” Shrugging, Sunny stares, “Well, someone has to get them to stop shooting at us.” He went from a near standstill to a sprint, ducking under and rolling to avoid the blaster fire. 

His suit collided with the edge of the collapsed building, pressing his back to it as blaster fire went over his head. Panting, he looked back to Breakdown who was huddled at the back of the alley, then looked towards where the others shots had been placed. He could just make out the sandblasted frames of two suits, but he couldn’t tell who it was.

For a moment, he thought he heard familiar shouting, but more blaster fire went over his head, trying to blow out his eardrums, “Alright then.” He goes over the top of the rubble and runs for a few meters before taking cover again when there is a boom from a cannon.

“Become a pilot, they said, it will keep you from going to prison, they said.” Trying to catch his breath, he glances in the direction that Bluestreak would normally be, trying to spot the reflection from his scope. His heart clenched painfully when he remembered, taking a breath, “Fine then.” And back over he went, making it a few feet before falling into a hole. 

Leaning his head back against the side, he groaned, rolling his shoulders. It took him a second to pop back up, scanning and snagging a photo before going back down to see who was there.

It took a moment to load, but the scowl on his face intensified when part of his own unit came into view, then his heart jumped into his throat.

Crashing into the hole next to him, was the sandblasted suit of his brother, “Why is everyone trying to kill us today?” He wanted to laugh, he really did, but he also wanted to cry, “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t recognize us without our paint?” Finally looking down at himself, most of his yellow was gone, same as Side’s red. 

They were grey and his mouth went dry. They looked like walking, talking, corpses, “Fuck.” Popping his head back up, he tried to wave, “Hey!” He ducked back down when more shots were fired at them, “Oh, bright idea Sunny. Yes, shout at them so they know where to shoot.” 

Shooting his brother a glare, he tried to say something as the ground started to shake again. Sideswipe was on top of him in an instant, getting them both into crash position. His head spun as everything swayed and he tried not to throw up again, his stomach turning over uneasily. 

“I was trying to get Ironhide’s attention so that they’ll stop shooting us.” Glancing back, he watched the building sway and the nausea returned, “They won’t shoot till everything stops moving, we need to get in front of them before that.” Humming, Sideswipe kept his hold on his shoulders.

The pair of them crouched in the hole, waiting until the swaying started to subside then shared a look. Even if they could only see each other's suits, it was enough for them, visors shifted shade just enough, “Alright Sunny, your plan.” Then they went up and over.

It would take a few seconds for the Cybertronians to recover, long enough to get close enough to shout, “Stop fucking shooting us! For the love of god!” Though that is not what he would have said. 

Only one more shot managed to singe his suit before Ironhide was screaming, “Hold your fire, goddamnit!” Then running towards them. Another unexpected event happened as Ironhide nearly collided with him, taking his shoulders, “Just, hold still Sunstreaker.” The fear in his voice almost broke the damn that he was barely holding together.

Taking a breath, Sunny rests his hand on Ironhide’s arm, “I’m okay, I’m not hurt.” The scoff was one he felt in his soul, “You're missing your arm Civi! You're greyer than the empty spark of Unicron!” Laughing weakly, he nodded, “Yeah, my paint sorta came off when the building fell on us.” But he was relieved, leaning into Ironhide. 

Ironhide held his weight, “You look like a corpse.” Sighing, he nodded again, “I know, I know. But I’m not one yet, believe me you’d know. Though those assholes didn’t exactly help prevent me from becoming one.” Chuckling weakly, Ironhide shrugs, “Hey, you all look like dark energon posed zombies.” Sideswipe leaned in, “That’s an actual thing here?” With a shrug, Ironhide shook his head a bit.

“Depends on who you ask.” But he leveled his gaze at Sides next, “Just so you know, Elita is pissed.” Nodding slowly, Sideswipe gestured towards his head, cracked visor now fully on display, “Comms kept failing.” Ironhide hummed, sounded doubtful.

Leaning his head against Ironhide's shoulder, Sunstreaker was able to hold it together for another second or two, before crying. 

He was soaked in sweat, had thrown up down the front of his assistance suit, there was blood trickling down from his forehead and implants, was in the process of fighting off a panic attack, was missing an arm, and could finally breathe as his unit raced towards where they’d spent the day fighting.

Broken wasn’t even the first word he’d use to describe how he felt. This felt worse than his first day as a pilot. Ironhide held him up, holding him close, “Blue’s coming up now, you’re going to be fine. Mostly. I don’t think that Knockout is particularly happy.” And it managed to make him laugh slightly. 

—

Sunshine had never felt so good, not in all the years of the war and not even before the war had it felt this nice. For a moment, he didn’t even think about the sun fading his paint. Just enjoyed being above ground.

Though hauling Megatron’s unconscious frame up from underground was not a fun time, especially less fun with the Prime’s fretting. He was a leader of the people, who was brutal in a fight, but the minute that Megatron got an injury even if it was so much as a scratch, it was as if the entire universe revolved around it. 

He longed for the silence that the two had sustained over the last quartex or more but that was none of his business. Now, while getting Megatron settled in one of the evacuation shuttles, did he finally turn to the chaos.

For a moment, he thought and hoped it wouldn’t be so bad, that they’d have managed to not injure themselves any further than what had been sustained in the building collapse. How wrong he had been.

Sideswipe looked mostly the same, dented and scraped plating with missing paint and a slightly cracked visor that would not take much to fill. Though his bracers were shattered and didn’t leave much behind, he would only take a hand full of cycles to repair.

Jazz had missing plating and was also missing the same amount of paint as all of the pilots were missing, his visor had a small chunk taken out of it and any weapons he had been carrying were clearly long gone. Though Prowl was practically smothering him, so it was hard to tell what all needed to be repaired. Smothering in Prowl’s sense meant clutching his shoulders and holding him at arms length for scans. 

Sunstreaker looked like he’d crawled out of the pit that morning, the gaudy yellow all but gone and minus one servo. It was daunting to stare at the mech who was still being held up by Ironhide, though Bluestreak had taken up place to his back, holding the missing limb as if it were the lifeline that would sustain Sunstreaker’s spark. It would be a while before any of the worrying mechs let him take a look at the odd mech. 

He didn’t want to look at Breakdown, it made his spark feel like it could fray in two, the large mech was hanging on by a thread probably with the brutal treatment he’d received to his frame. 

Looking at him though, he looked mostly the same as he had when heading towards the danger in the first place. Though each step made his helm wobble precariously and it sent Knockout into a near panic. They all were making him a horrible mix of angry and fearful. 

These pilots were the embodiment of those awful dark-energon like zombies he’d seen during the war, of course these ones were still alive, still his allies, but they looked like walking corpses. 

Moving over slowly, he reached Breakdown first, servos cradling his helm carefully, “You look like you just climbed from the pit.” Chuckling and shrugging, Breakdown shakes his head, sending it wobbling, “It feels as if I have.” He had to suppress the pained noise trying to escape his vocalizer. 

None of them should be alive, or standing, let alone talking or even laughing. His spark spun rapidly, he clutched Breakdown tightly, “Come on, you’re going to get on the evacuation shuttle. You’re hurt.” Trying to wave him off, Breakdown shakes his head, “I’m fine, this is hardly anything.” It pained him. 

“This is not the time to argue, shuttle, now.” He didn’t let go, taking hold of Breakdown’s arm and practically dragging him towards the shuttle, swearing when the mech who was supposed to be unconscious came lumbering out with the fretting prime at his heels. 

He was still leaking slightly from his arm, face screwed up in pain but walked around and started to look around slowly, “Where are the Quintessons?” Optimus’s hand rested on his shoulder, “Under control, come sit back down.” A growl tore through Megatron’s throat, “And where is Hound? The other humans are here, so where is he?” 

That was who was missing. 

He’d been so worried about Breakdown who looked just shy of death to not notice how Hound was missing and Mirage had disappeared. Mirage disappearing was so normal to him that he hadn’t properly noticed. 

Looking around slowly, everyone seemed to be realizing that Hound was nowhere in sight and neither was Mirage. 

“Well, fuck.” It was Jazz’s voice that cut through the quiet, “I saw him just before the bombs hit, he was fighting that executioner.” And his lines went cold. Executioners were nothing to scoff at, let alone handle one on one. 

Sure, the human pilots were extremely skilled in what they did, able to handle dozens of scouts by themselves, but this was different. This was an executioner. If Hound wasn’t dead, it would be a miracle. 

—

He was stumbling down one of the many alleyways in the area, roasting in his suit as the plates slowly faded from a near glow and covered in the green blood of the enemies, though some of it had boiled off and left an even worse residue. Leaning against one of the walls, he closes his eyes to get his water pouch, drinking from it desperately. 

Time was seeming to drag, each step more painful than the last. His whole body ached and felt like a bruise. He was probably going to have dozens of bruises across his body after today, thrown about every which way. Now, he couldn’t tell if it was the suit causing him pain or how much he’d been thrown around in the suit that day.

It had been years since he’d seen a fight like that, been in a fight like that even, close quarters and desperate. He could almost smell the stink of it. Had it been Savannah or Atlanta that he’d last fought that hard. He couldn’t remember at the moment, his head pounding. Sighing, he sets down the water pouch and opens his eyes to the empty alleyway.

Shaking off the feeling the best he could, he started walking again, looking around and keeping an eye out for anything out of place. Or at least anything out of place caused by the enemy and not the seekers above. He had to find the others, wherever they were.

His comms were still busted, the bombs and things having knocked out the signal for the time being. Each time he cued his microphone, the feedback was murder, so he walked in silence. 

No pilots in his ears, talking. No music around him. Just the distant sound of explosions and seekers in the distance. Normally, he’d be fine with the quiet, it a reminder of the few moments of peace he’d get back home but right now in this moment it was unnerving. 

Turning down the next alley, he distantly wondered why Iacn’s buildings were built so close, why these walkways even existed when they could transform but then again they had cars on earth but not every road was well made for them. Sighing, he drags a hand down his face while moving into a slightly better lit street. 

Something in the corner of his vision caught his eyes and he nearly froze, but instead, he kept moving like whatever was there wasn’t. Then he took up the barrel for his gun from his leg and hurled it at, nothing. There was nothing there and for the briefest of seconds he felt stupid. Like he was truly losing it. 

That was until Mirage shouted and appeared, rubbing his nose painfully, “God, Hound, I come in peace, I swear.” The poor mech looked horrible, a dent in the side of his head couldn’t possibly be comfortable, leaving his optics a bit dim. He swayed slightly after the hit but regained his posture with a practiced ease. 

Chuckling weakly, Hound shakes his head, “The hell are you doing here?” He moves forward and carefully raises his hands as if to grasp Mirage to keep him from falling, even as his heart rate picks back up, he holds back “You weren’t with the others, so I was worried.” Nodding slowly, Hound glances back, “Uh, yeah. I got busy.” He chuckled slightly and shook his head.

It was ridiculous, he should have evacuated with the others, not gone around to kill off as many Quintessons as he possibly could before the area was carpet bombed. 

Mirage nodded a bit, sighing deeply, “God, I was terrified. All the others were there, looking like death and you just weren’t. Of course, you look horrible, but I think Breakdown has your arm.” Hound was pretty sure he’d never heard Mirage talk so much in his life, “Uh huh. Alright, let's go, come on.” Gesturing, he starts to move around Mirage to keep going to the decimated bar. 

“Hound, I—,” Mirage didn’t finish the sentence, yelping as his hand rested on the broken shoulder of his suit, “What? What? Did a wire zap you?” Turning to look at his shoulder, he frowned, there shouldn’t have been anything there to cause Mirage pain, but then again this day had been so crazy he wouldn’t put this past being the icing on this melting ice cream cake.

Shaking his head a bit, Mirage carefully rested his hand back on Hound’s shoulder. His optics cycling wide and bright, a light smile taking over his face, “I can feel you.” Chuckling lightly, Hound tilted his head, “What?” Then Mirage was hugging him, “I can feel you. Your field.”

It took a long moment for him to understand what Mirage meant, his field, that thing that humans didn’t seem to have but all Cybertronians did. Well, he knew humans had one, it was just incredibly small. At least according to Prowl, the only time the mech could feel it was when Jazz was sitting against his plating.

Now, Mirage was feeling it through his suit, somehow. That wasn’t worrying or anything, “How? What, what does it feel like?” His voice was tight, fear gripping his throat. Mirage hummed, “It’s like it's stuck to your plating, but it's there. Really there.” He pulled back a bit and they shared a look. 

Mirage’s smile was still soft, “Come on, you're exhausted.” It twisted his stomach, that Mirage could tell that even when his adrenaline was still running high. When he couldn’t tell how tired he was just yet. 

Nodding, they moved quietly through the alleyways back towards the collapsed bar. Hound wasn’t entirely sure how to feel, how he should feel, but he kept hold of Mirage’s hand. The thrown barrel left on the ground. 

———

A/N

I just finished this chapter at like, 10:45 tonight, I wanted to finish it hours ago and just kept going. I think the next part probably wont be 4k words if I am being honest.

So, I am off to actually finish up doing what I needed to do today, I just really wanted to write this chapter for you all.

Also official new POV with Knockout being added into the couple mix.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[goreandbunnies]

⛧☾༒︎ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 ༒︎☽⛧

Sukuna x Reader, Toji x Reader

Summary ๋࣭ ⭑⚝"Almost six months after meeting him, I had finally managed to escape. At least that's what I thought, hidden in that alley, holding my breath and waiting for the search party to get further away from my spot. But this city was his, he had eyes everywhere. I needed to leave as far away as I could."

Warnings ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Explicit language, sexual explicit scenes, sexual assault, drugs and alcohol, explicit violent scenes, gun violence, emotional and physical manipulation, dub-con, mentions of cults, blood and blood play, knife play.

Word count ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 8.3k (in progress)

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more & @cafekitsune

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢

Even the thick November foggy night couldn’t hide me from them. My body was pressed against the cold concrete of a building, trying to conceal my cloudy breath under the black hoodie I was wearing. The damn thing smelled like him. Or maybe I did too, the consequence of letting that man in my life in the first place. 

My name echoed in the empty streets a couple of times, followed by several dogs barking. I knew who was after me. The same four henchmen of his, led by his right hand while he was probably waiting in his car for them to fetch me and bring me back to him. 

Instinctively, my hand covered the tattoo on my sternum, the same symbol he had inked on his forehead. I shouldn’t have let him do it, I knew it even back then, but he had forced himself into my life and soul and by the time I realized he was wrapped around me like a snake, it was too late.

Almost six months after meeting him, I had finally managed to escape. At least that’s what I thought, hidden in that alley, holding my breath and waiting for the search party to get further away from my spot. But this city was his, he had eyes everywhere. I needed to leave as far away as I could. 

The sound of his dobermans and henchmen barking got fainter by the second and after a terrified look behind the building, I noticed them walking away from me, down the other side of the street. Finally allowing myself to breathe, I readjusted the hood over my head and ran in the opposite direction. 

My lungs were burning from the cold air as my feet hit the pavement heavily, my survival instincts going haywire from being hunted like prey. I thought about the apartment I had to leave behind, all of my belongings collecting dust - my books, my record player, the yellowed teapot I couldn’t part with. I couldn’t go back. Ever. They were probably there already anyway. 

I had managed to grab some cash from his vault before running away, planning on using it to buy myself a bus ticket to get the Hell away from this city. The station was only a couple of blocks away, within walking - or in my case, running - range. I only had to get there before someone recognized me. 

When I was about to pass out from hyperventilating and running like a mad woman, the bus station appeared at the end of the street. I slowed down, trying to catch my breath, still jogging up to the lobby where a single cashier was reading a book, bored out of his mind. 

His eyes widened when he eventually saw me, out of breath, definitely looking like I was on the run. I slapped a couple of bills on the counter. 

“Next bus to leave town, please,” words struggled to get past my lips. 

The cashier simply nodded, collected the money and quickly printed the ticket before handing it to me. I nodded back at him before heading outside, looking for the beat up Greyhound bus and glanced at its destination - Toronto. Perfect. I couldn’t put enough miles between him and me. I only had one last thing to do to ensure my safety during the twenty minutes before the bus would leave.

I fished the burner phone from the hoodie’s pocket and dialed a number. My fingers were ice cold, squeezing the small device tightly, my entire body shaking from the cold and the fear. 

“Police department, what’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice said in my cold ear. I sniffled.

“I have information about what’s going on at the Shrine,” I whispered into the phone, covering my mouth as I leaned against a wall. “There will be a party, next Saturday but it’s a cover up. There’s a secret basement where they-” I choked on words. 

“Ma’am, can you give me your name? Are you in danger?” The policeman asked, my hand tightening around the phone. 

“Just… get there next Saturday, they’re all going to attend,” I breathed, looking around, the hairs at the back of my head rising suddenly.

One second too late, I saw someone point a tranquilizer gun at me from afar. I felt the needle in my neck before I even heard the gunshot. My feet moved on their own, running away as I ripped the small dose from my neck. 

My vision blurred and my perception got messed up quickly, the drugs rapidly getting into my system, poisoning my blood and reducing my hopes to ashes. A minute later, I crashed on the ground, my head hitting the side of a bench. 

Terror took over me as a tall, broad figure towered over me. I gathered the last bits of strength I had and crawled on the concrete, my body heavy and almost entirely limp.

“Toji, please,” I begged the tall man as I recognized him, only to get a huffed laugh as a response.

He followed after me as the drugs slowly put me to a stop. The side of my head was bleeding, my palms were bloody, I could barely breathe, but I couldn’t go back. In a last attempt to crawl, I reached forward and my hand found a soft, leathery bump - someone’s shoe - before my body eventually gave up.

Motionless on the cold concrete, I was focused on my erratic breathing, trying not to pass out when someone gently rolled me over on my back with their foot. I blinked a couple of times, fighting oblivion when he stood by me, his pink hair slowly swaying in the cold breeze. 

Hands in his pockets, tilting his tattooed face to the side as he looked down at me, I recognized the man I was running away from. He had found me. Despite all of my foolish attempts at running away, almost succeeding, he had found me again. I kept my eyes open for as long as I could, terrified of what he’d do to me once I’d pass out. 

Ever so slowly, he crouched over me and took my face in his hand, burying his fingers in my cheeks. The sight of the tattoo on his forehead sealed my fate and eventually, his eyes softened slightly, clashing with his permanent cruel and carnal smile. 

“You really thought you could leave me that easily?” He purred, his voice soft and warm compared to the cold I felt within. The rest of the search party must’ve gotten there since more voices had gathered around us, but his eyes never left mine. I tried to speak, only to find it impossible. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m taking you back right where you belong,” he stood back up, allowing Toji to lift me from the ground in his arms like a rag doll. 

The last thing I saw through my tears filled eyes was the triumphant smile of the pink haired man as he slipped the collar around my neck again before darkness claimed me entirely.

Copyright © goreandbunnies, bitchcraft18 2024, all rights reserved, do not repost, use or plagiarize

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Yandere headcanons for any character of your choosing? I loved the Adam ones !

ᯓ★ General YANDERE! Headcanons (triple threat!) Angel Dust / Reader, Mammon / Reader, Vox / Reader TW! If you don't like this type of content please scroll away: Dark romance, Romanizes Yandere(s), stalking, drugs, alcohol, mention of (sexual) abuse, toxic relationship at the start (Mammon), gaslighting, murder, weird ex behavior (Vox), accusations of incest (didn't happen, Vox), manipulation (Vox), kidnapping, forced love/relationship, emotional manipulation.

ᯓ It was the moment that you started treating Angel Dust as Anthony, not just a play-thing or a fuck buddy or a guy to do crack or get wasted with, just plain, pure Anthony, that anything really stirred in him.

ᯓ He had seen you around the street a few times, never really talked to you yet just always managed to point you out from the crowd. He never knew why, nor did he understand why you, another Sinner just trying to live your own life in this hell-pit, always stuck out to him like a sore thumb anytime he was near your vicinity. It wasn't until he actually spoke to your first in the hotel that he realized why; You weren't a bitch, you didn't act like everyone else in hell and it was odd.

ᯓ It was like you were a toned down version of Charlie, still bubbly like her and very much being able to keep up if need be, yet you were quiet and kept to yourself; Speaking only when spoken to, or when need be, and even then your voice carried this honey sweetness Angel only expected in the voice of, well, angels. "Oh, hello, Angel!" Was your first words to him. And they strangely held no malice, irreverence, or flirtatious tone, not even undertone; They were just plan and simply, and slightly sweet, and was just a greeting. He wouldn't realize how you friend spoke to him would stick into his head later that night, nor that starting that conversation with you would change his life so much. After all, with a new resident at the hotel, who happened to be at bar at the same time as Angel, was nothing to be note worthy or right home about. There was only one bar at the hotel, and it was kind of used as the main common room even if there were couches.

ᯓ Yet you made it rememberable. And you always made your interactions with Anthony after that rememberable.

ᯓ Yandere! Angel is more Anthony than Angel speaking, thinking, feeling, at least most of the time; Because it was Anthony you had made an impression on that night, not Angel. It was Anthony you had captured the heart of truly and wholly, leaving no room for competition by completely devouring his attention and infecting his mind with your sunny smile and sweetened voice. His mind, from that day on, was captured by you and your everything. Even when trying to be Angel, trying to be that perfect Porn Star everyone knows him to be, as soon as you capture his attention it's like he can't think. All he can see is you, all he can smell is you, all his thoughts are consumed and eaten by your presence. By your soft touches and your words and just by you. In his eyes, you're perfect.

ᯓ He wants to be both be you and be with you at once.

ᯓ He wanted your sweet nature, which still left room to let you stand up for yourself. He craved to have your gentle touch, not soiled by his line of infiltrating, disgusting, consuming work. He yearned for your body, to both be plush and flushed against his hands and yet also for your body to be his. He wanted you. He wanted your being, your soul, your everything. He wanted your trust and your kindness, even if he felt he didn't deserve it. He wanted to keep you to himself and shield away from what he was, who he was, and who he worked for.

ᯓ He wanted to love you and for you to love him.

ᯓ During your first few months of being friends, and maybe even after, Anthony made it a point to try and talk to you whenever he could. He also made it a point to scroll endlessly through your Instagram, Twitter, and any other form of social media in Hell that you had and he could get his hands on. He slowly began to learn who you were friends with, where your favorite food joints where, where you liked to hang out, your style of clothes, and if you had family down in Hell. Anthony get's so absorbed in having you in his life that something in the back of brain slowly began to justify his stalkerish actions, even encouraged it when he felt disgusted doing so before. 'They're posting this for all of Hell to see', 'You're just trying to learn more about them to be better friends', 'Other people would do this too, you're not doing anything wrong', 'They might like it'.

ᯓ Though he wouldn't let you know he does this. He wouldn't want to creep or freak you out, that would just drive you away, and he couldn't bare not having a day where he got to see your face or hear your voice. And he also wouldn't be able to handle it if you began to look at him with shame and fear. Oh, he would never want to hurt you like that.

ᯓ He would never want to hurt you, ever; Nor would he want, or let, anyone else hurt you.

ᯓ He needed to keep you away from Valentino and Angel Dust. Anthony knew you loved him, at least to some sort of extent, yet he didn't know if you would love Angel Dust; A porn star who's had his private parts flashed all over hell and has done every kinky shit that could be thought up of. And oh, Valentino, if he ever caught wind that Anthony Angel Dust was dating some sinner, he would be pissed. Either going out for you directly or going after Angel himself, and while he could take the abuse, especially if it meant saving you the pain, he would not put you through that shit.

ᯓ He would keep you close, made sure you felt protected and safe and loved, yet far enough to never entangle you in his fucked up work world.

ᯓ Yandere! Anthony, who adores any sort of non-sexual physical contact between the two of you, even if it takes him a moment to get comfortable with. Forgiving and forgetting old, and active, habits were hard, and yet you waited for him, you held patience and understanding for his background. It just made him fall even more madly in love with you.

ᯓ Yandere! Anthony, who may or may not have killed a few sinners for even daring to try and touch you (thinking you were a porn star just like Angel) just because you associated with him.

ᯓ Anthony, who will receive a phone call from you while doing a shoot for Val and try his best to answer right away, even if it meant facing repercussions. He just couldn't bare thinking about the possibility that you could be in trouble and missing that call, just to find out you were ordering coffee and forgot his order; But if it had been the latter, he would never forgive himself. Plus, while being plowed into by a few dozen guys, he always craves to hear your voice. It's like a breath of fresh air he needs to keep going.

ᯓ Anthony, who's able to put up with Val's requests and wants because he knows he gets to return to the hotel to see you, and your smiling face and feel you pepper sweet kisses into his cheeks if he wanted. Maybe even cuddle up against you, listening to your rhythmed breathing as you took care of his aches and pains. As you gave him the after care he didn't know he so desperately needed until know.

ᯓ Anthony, who didn't know how jealous he could get until he noticed you started hanging around a certain person a lot more; Or maybe that person wanted to start hanging around you a lot more. Either way, even if he had worked that tag, he constantly asked to tag along. And when you weren't looking, he would shoot glares and threats at the sinner who dared try and steal his lover; He would keep this up for as long as it took for the sinner to get the message and leave you along. And when you started to realize that friend was distancing themselves from you, he would swoop in and call him an asshole and that you deserved better friends. All the while he cupped your cheeks, squishing your face together, and peppered a kiss in between your eyebrows to quell the pain you felt.

ᯓ Anthony who is nothing short but a soft Yandere, who simply just wants you all for himself. You were too good to be faced out there with all the creeps and the weirdos of the world; And while he might not fully deserve you, you seemed to have picked him and he'll make sure your after life if the best experience of your life.

ᯓ "You cannot be in love with- with that two-timing, bitch ass face, Mammon! Don't you see what he's doing to you?!" Where some of the last words you ever heard from your long time friend before effectively cutting them off; Because it's what you thought best at the time. It's what Mammon told you was best at the time, claiming they were simply jealous and wanted to end your perfect relationship with him. It would be the last words from any sort of 'reason' you would ever heard, words trying to help but you knew they didn't understand. And that wasn't from Mammon's reasoning, nor his infection in your brain, nor his overpowering stance that easily made you tremble and obey.

ᯓ It was by your own thoughts, your own judgement that you had passed from dating Mammon ever since the day he killed your lover; Hanging them up on stage for everyone to see, a wide, psychopathic grin on his face before he turned to you, asking for your hand in marriage.

ᯓ And you had been afraid of him, afraid of death, when you had agreed all those years ago. He was a Sin, a Prince of Hell, and that made his power greatly out way yours. You had been afraid of the reproductions of you had said no, even if you truly had held no love or even care for Mammon at that time; The fear of his power pushed you to agree.

ᯓ Mammon, who had been spying on you since they day you came into his Ring of Greed, without your knowledge. Had always held a fascination about you, and the way you consumed and toyed with his mind, making him feel like you were worth than any amount of money or gold in the world. Which was ridiculous, as he knew for a fact you wouldn't be worth much, even if he did make you a marketable sex toy. Fizz? He was worth money, he was worth time, he was worth so much more than you and yet... when Mammon looked at you, heard your laughter, saw your smile and the way you just lived your life, you were suddenly worth more than anything he could get his grimy, greedy hands on.

ᯓ You became all he wanted to get his greedy hands on; And when Mammon wants something, he will get it, even if it meant he had to use force. So killing a Lover, that was something he was willing to do if it meant you would love him. Surely you could look past that and love him all the same!

ᯓ At first, you were like Mammon's little play thing. Sure, he loved you deep to his core, so much so it terrified you cold, but he could tell you didn't love him back. Not yet. So he showed you all the reasons you should love him over your past Lover, even if he knew they couldn't play this fun little game right back: He would take you out on the town, made sure you were dressed in the most expensive and flashing and tight fitting clothes in all of the nine rings! He took you to expensive restaurants, on fancy excursions, and basically became like a sugar daddy just to prove himself. All the while also acting like a body guard, stabbing anyone with one of his many spider-like legs if they dared get to close to either of you. He would buy you fancy gifts, he would show you luxurious nights in bed, he would even introduce you to the other Sins as his lover to solidify your place.

ᯓ All he needed was your love! And you should have just gave it to him from the start!... but, playing this little game is fun too. Even though he was making sure it would be temporary.

ᯓ To say you were too scared to leave Mammon at first was would be an understatement; You were blood-cold terrified.

ᯓ Yet, little did you know that the influence you had in Mammon's brain was greater than you or him had ever thought. Now, Mammon knew will you were constantly on his brain, that he was constantly seeking for you in every room, that he was drunk off your presence along and that he never wanted you to leave his side! Hell, he would have killed you if you ever tried!... at first.

ᯓ Though there's a weird thing that happens when you're both deeply in love with someone and around them all the time, not allowing them to venture far from your side. Something that is so extraordinary that it can't be completely summed up or explained in words. It's like, you slowly start realizing how to love. That was the best word to describe it as. It's something that wasn't caught on at first, something that slowly inched it's way in and changed the way you and Mammon functioned together. And it was weird but wonderful all at the same time. Where Mammon only cared about showing and flashing you off, he slowly started to notice what you did and didn't like to eat. At first he brushed it off, but soon found himself ordering your favorite meal from any choice restaurant when you weren't with him, which is a rare occasion, just to taste it. Just to remind him of you. Then it turned into appreciation, small but encroaching. Whether he would notice the small things you do in the background, even if you didn't fully love him, which made his life a whole lot easier; Which made Fizz a whole lot happier, which made him a whole lot more money. How you always knew what he wanted and needed after a long day, how you fetched it for him just because he looked tired. Just because it was nice. And all these slow baby steps, of learning how to love and not yearn for someone, changed you both for the better. More so Mammon than you.

ᯓ Think of your relationship now more like Gomez and Morticia Addams; In a weird, still fucked up way.

ᯓ Mammon didn't exactly worship the ground you walked on, but he did worship you a lot more than before. Always having you in front row seats at his show, or if he was judging sat upon his lap like a Princess. In which would leave him to his own greedy, grimy thoughts and before you knew you, small peppers up your arm turned to kisses on the neck, and then Mammon having you straddle his waist as he took the air from your lungs; Kissing you with all the greed of the world, yet passion as well. He was hungry for you.

ᯓ He was starving.

ᯓ He was both possessive, largely so, and protective of you. You were not let outside the house without Mammon or some sort of guard, not that he trusted them entirely. While he didn't want you to get hurt, or damaged, he also didn't want your body to be on display for other eyes if he wasn't there. Your body was all his, and while people can gawk at it and stare all they want, he will be right there snickering and sneering at them. He will always be there.

ᯓ He is big on PDA, big on showing everyone who you belong do, big on showing you off, big on making sure people knew no one could touch you as long as he was here, big on making everyone know you were kid... but Big on making sure you were happy too. Even if he is an asshole and loved to make sexist jokes or laugh at and with you at the most inappropriate times or say he's going to make a sex doll of you because it would turn in such a profit!- (Which he would never, your body, especially the best fucking part, was only his.) -He still cares enough to care about you and your happiness.

ᯓ He's a douche, but a loveable douche; You just might need to teach him some proper manners, or else all your clothes might as well be covered from the blood of every sinner in Hell.

ᯓ You actually used to date Vox, used to be seated right next to him in his TV programs, helping run his show behind the scenes, helping him with his frustrations; Basically, being an unpaid worker and doing it all just because you knew it helped Vox. It made his day less stressful, it allowed him to relax. Sure he could have been overbearing at times, a little possessive even around the V's, yet he was generally a good lover and you enjoyed his company.

ᯓ Yet you had to put your foot down and end your relationship with him due to this possessive attitude. You had found it cute at first, though when he went as far as to threaten and stalk one of your siblings, because he thought they were way too close to you, you couldn't handle it. Even more so when he tried to gaslight you, basically shouting out: "No sibling should EVER be that fucking close to each other! He was fucking touching you, and I'm not going to fucking stand for it, you hear me?" And he had never shouted at you before, even while frustrated. So it had taken you aback a little, even more so when you say how his eyes widened, how a twisted grin strung itself on his face. He wasn't Vox; He wasn't your Vox. "So it's either ME or THEM. Pick wisely here." This wasn't the Vox you had fallen in love with. The charming man who was chivalrous, who had an award winning smile, who made you swoon and laugh, who you could talk to for hours even if he ranted about everything that annoyed him during the day. This wasn't him, he wouldn't be grabbing your face as he was now, harsh and indenting, basically breaking skin and causing you to bleed on his hands. Staring at you with a crazed look, making you choose between him and your family, making accusations that your siblings had incestual interested in you! "You're crazy." The words left you winded, like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs in one sad attempt to voice yourself. A sad attempt it was indeed, and you knew that as soon as Vox let out a growl and forcefully shoved your head to the side, effectively knocking you down to the floor. This wasn't him, the thought continued to swirl around your head as your body scrapped across the polished floor. As you shook a hand out, attempting to crawl away from Vox, attempted to escape anything else he might through your way to let him cool down by himself. Yet, a pain yell was the only reward of that fruitless effort of yours from Vox slamming and digging his foot into the middle of your back. Tears prickled in your eyes, a choked out sob, as you could barely make out the glitched words that spewed out of Vox's mouth.

ᯓ "What the FUCK did you just say to me, bitch?!"

ᯓ Safe to say your family and friends had to get involved, had to help you sneak out in the middle of the night and place you under protection. You knew better than to forgive Vox after something like that, his act completely and utterly broke all the trust you had for him; And if he hit you once, he would hit you again. So you stayed far away from The V's corner of the Pride ring, far, far away; And slowly you started the process of healing, of learning how to do life without Vox at your side, of learning how to not be afraid he might turn up, of learning how to live again.

ᯓ You didn't realize how much he had drained you mentally and physically over the course of your relationship, as it was all hidden as acts and gestures of love; Of nights alone, cuddling in the dead of night while no one else knew. Of drinking glasses of wine, watching some late night program or ranting about your shitty lives. Of hanging out with the rest of the V's and of going out with Vox and feeling like you were on top of the world!

ᯓ And slowly you started to feel safe again, after months and months had past with no Vox, you started to go outside with more confidence and by your own; You ventured and you saw and you thought you were safe. Vox couldn't hurt you any longer, Vox had no more control over you, Vox didn't care about you anymore so why should you care about him! He can go suck some power Overlord's cock and get his power through the people he keeps around him. He can go fuck off because you didn't need him anymore.

ᯓ But, oh, Vox needed you.

ᯓ And you didn't know, you couldn't know, that he's been tracking every step you took outside your home; Silently listening to all your conversations, silently always being there, inches away from you, foaming at the mouth with the idea of having you again. Yet waiting. Always waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now you're alone, and you're unnoticed in a crowd of sinners, and you're in perfect range...

ᯓ And you'll be his soon enough.

ᯓ You don't remember much after heading into that store. You don't even remember leaving it. In fact, you didn't remember much, and any events that happened after you had entered that store kind of blurred together in a hasty mist. All you could remember is that you had gone in, attempting to find a new camera or laptop for your sibling; Who had been just crawling up your ass, bugging you about the latest technology that had came out and how it would do wonders for their career... that and you knew they just wanted a new laptop or camera, even though theirs worked perfectly fine. And yet, you cannot remember if you even managed to get to the camera or laptop section before everything god mudded and hazed.

ᯓ "Well, fuck me in the ass, you're awake!" And then an all too familiar voice rang out in the room, which you hadn't taken to notice you were in. A room, your eyes shot up to take it in, that was unmistakably familiar; A bedroom. His bedroom; Where you were tied in on a plush chair, where he had made his way over to you. Where he now, grabbing the arm rests of the chair, leaned tauntingly over your smalling frame, with that crazed smile. Oh that smile, one that used to live in your dreams, first welcomed and then hauntingly. That smile that made you coward down and away, paired with those crazed, piercing eyes. "No no," Vox would then coo, reaching his clawed hands up to cup your cheeks. His actions were gentle and sweet, like he was holding a glass vase that could be destroyed even with the slightest pressure added down onto it. "Hey, hey, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you... look at me, Darling."

ᯓ And yet you didn't meet Vox's eyes, you couldn't, and instead Vox would helplessly watch as you cowered away from him and flinching at his honeyed touch; As you feared him. Feared.. HIM! The one man who has silently killed everyone who had crossed your path, everyone who had made you uncomfortable, everyone who dared tried to through anything your fucking way he killed them all! For you...

ᯓ AND YOU DARED FUCKING COWER AWAY FROM HIM LIKE HE WOULD HURT YOU?!

ᯓ "I SAID FUCKING LOOK AT ME!" Snapped Vox as a sudden, sharp, pain stabbed into your cheek, causing you to choke out in pain, as Vox forcefully snapped your neck towards him; Forcing you to look him directly in the eye. You saw the way his left eye was wide open, swirling black lines around his pupil. That crazed look, it painted his face, and yet something inside of you was coaxing you that it was okay. That he was crazy because he cared, because he loved you, because he wanted you to be safe...

ᯓ Because he was sorry.

ᯓ The voice was strong, it pounded against your head even as you knew logically it wasn't that; None of what that invading, creeping, engulfing voice said true! Vox wasn't sorry for his actions, he never would be, he was, and is, boiling and pissed and controlling. He was a man who got what he wanted when he wanted because he forced it that way. And yet, the voice was so coaxing and sweet... And you watched though a fuzzy mind as Vox slowly kneeled down in front of your chair. Where you even tied up anymore? You could barely tell. Gently, his hands slid down your face, the blood cascading down with them, as he felt your figure against his hands once more. And slowly, gently, still staring up at you, he took your hands in his. He played with something cold, solid, against your hand, a wedding ring, silently twirling it around your finger as a honeyed smiled sunk onto his lips, "Honey, sweetie," His voice started, glitching out slightly before leveling back out, "I'm so, so sorry for scaring you. Really, I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just frustrated and upset-" There was a break in his speech, allowing for a chuckle to slip through, "-and we both know I can get unreasonable when I'm upset. I promise, it won't happen again, Darling, so.. come back home, please."

ᯓ Something in the back of your head was trying to shout and claw it's way through, trying to break through the skin and flesh of your brain and bleed out it's words and thoughts. Yet it never came to fruition, as the thought past by like a cloud drifting off in the wind from a flutter in your chest. A grin seeping onto your face, "Vox.." You would mumble, tone sweet and loving and forgiving; forgetting; Forgetting what he had put you through, the pain and the suffering you had to bear alone. Forgetting how he plastered your face on TV screens for weeks on end, bashing you to all of the Pride Ring to hear. Forgetting how he had cracked your spine all those months ago. Forgetting, not forgiving. "...I'm sorry for leaving in the first place."

ᯓ And in that moment, Vox knew something you didn't know: He, had, won. You were his, sure under the power of his little mind control, but you were his again and he was yours. And no one, and nothing, is going to ever take you away from him ever again.

ᯓ He'll make sure of it. You wouldn't miss your family anyways, you wouldn't even remember them!

Home | Masterlist

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[queenofthrones2]

Trapped

Ramsay Bolton x Stark!WifeReader

Warnings: Ramsay, Torture (not to reader), fainting, obsession, possessive love, NSFW (consensual but dark), crying during intimacy, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, dub-con overtones.

The screams echo off the stone walls like hymns. You try not to look. You try not to listen. But Ramsay wants you to see. Wants you to understand. You hated it here, forced to wed to your enemy.

“This is loyalty,” he says, voice smooth as silk, splashed red by the blood flying across his face. “Pain teaches more than books ever could, my love.”

You want to scream. You want to run. But your feet are frozen to the floor, and your breath comes too fast. The man on the rack sobs, blood gushing from his missing fingers. His eye dangles loose. A dog whines in the shadows. You turn your face away. Ramsay doesn’t let you.

He grips your chin with fingers still slick from flesh. “You must see. This is the price of betrayal.

Something inside you crumples. The air twists. You don’t scream but the room fades away. Darkness rushes in you and you fall unconscious.

You’re in bed. Ramsay’s bed. Your lashes flutter open. He’s beside you, kneeling at the edge of the mattress. No blood on his face now.

“You fainted,” he says, voice hushed. “My poor little wolf.” He mocks

Your throat is dry. “I didn’t want to see that.”

“I know.” He leans in, brushing hair from your face with a tenderness that makes your stomach twist. “But you needed to. To what happens to those who betray me.

His thumb strokes your cheek. His gaze is cold. You cry before he touches you.

Not loud, not sobbing. Just a slow leak of pain from your eyes as your body lies still beneath the covers.

“Don’t cry, sweet thing,” he whispers.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

He climbs into the bed beside you, shirtless, blood washed away, skin warm and bare against your cold arms. His mouth finds your cheeks, kissing each tear in turn like blessings.

One hand glides down to your hip, pulling you close, his breath brushing your ear. “I hate it when you cry,” he says softly. “But I love it when I’m the one who gets to kiss it away.”

You tremble.

Ramsay kisses your neck first, inhaling your scent like you’re something sacred. His fingers trail over your body, coaxing sensation where your heart feels numb.

His lips move to your chest, tongue swirling around your nipple as he murmurs praise against your skin. “So soft. So sweet. All mine.”

Your breath hitches. He slides down, kissing the path to your navel, then lower. His hands press your thighs apart, reverent and greedy all at once.

He licks you like he’s starving, slow strokes of his tongue, hands gripping your legs when they try to close.

“You taste like snow,” he groans. “Like the first winter’s bite.”

When he finally slides inside you, it’s slow. Too slow. Stretching you open as if you’ll break if he moves too fast.

You do cry again, silent. But he notices.

“Don’t be sad,” he whispers, his cock deep inside you. “This is love, little wolf. My kind of love. And it’s forever.”

He moves then, grinding into you with possessive, desperate need. His hand tangles in your hair, mouth devouring your jawline as he thrusts. He doesn’t fuck you like a husband. He fucks you like you’re air. Like you’re the only thing that holds his soul in place.

Your body gives in before your heart does. Clenching around him, hips jerking, pleasure crashing over you like a winter storm. You hate how good it feels.

He follows with a groan, spilling inside you, burying his face in your neck as his body shakes.

[yandereparadox]

Yandere! Male PInk Diamond HC´s !

Hiya again! I know this is not the time I normally post. But my nap was good enough that I didn't wake up for two hours! Today it's Pink's turn, with this one we finish the little saga of Headcanons. Don't forget to send me your ideas, you can specify me to place them as anonymous!

TW/ Trigger Warning: Anger attacks, dubcon (Just touch) Emotional manipulation, threats, invasion of privacy,ligeramente nsfw, and Pink being Pink.

Gender: Neutral

..........................................

My Godddd, this man worships with all the light of his physical body!

He is literally a puppy love, you will see him following you around, asking you what humans are like, what the earth is like. He wants to hear from you!

His yandere type is all kinds of crazy to define: Jealous, possessive, manipulative, slightly violent.

You literally have a complete yandere package at your feet.

As the least of the diamonds, it's only logical to know that he's the most capricious, temperamental and stubborn of them all. He won't take “No” for an answer.

He will try to insist as much as he can, manipulating you emotionally to get your pity. So that you have compassion with his poor light soul.

And if that doesn't work…Screams, a broken pearl, his palanquin without a leg to hold it up and White punishing him for leaving a trail of destroyed gems and broken things behind him.

In his stay in the tower, he may reflect a little, although his capricious mind will blame you for all his punishments. You were the one who made him angry! And he doesn't hold back in showing his anger!

In hiding from his brothers, after he comes out of his punishment, he will grab you by the hair and take you by force to his room. His arms will slither like snakes around your body, pulling you so tightly against him that it will be difficult to even breathe.

Little kisses and bites - this is what humans do to show love, isn't it? To show you that you are theirs alone.

And oh my god, this man is the most volatile cumulus of jealousy of his brethren! He will claim you with passive-aggressive questions, perhaps shaking you as he raises his voice at you.

If you make it clear to him, he will spare the life of the object of his jealousy. He partially believes in you, his partner.

Well, if you play your cards right….

You will be the most pampered little thing in the universe, full of his gifts, kisses, caresses, love. He will try to make you happy as long as you are a cute human for him!

Just like Blue, he will cry if you ever reject him in cruel ways, throwing a tantrum and just almost begging you. He needs you, you are the only thing that doesn't make him feel so lonely on this planet! Please come back!

It's a roller coaster of emotions, sometimes screaming at you like a madman as he randomly destroys things, and other times begging and pleading for you to come back to him!

He'll say he'll change for you, but let's be honest, he won't!

But still, your chances of escape with this diamond are the highest. Even though he's a manipulator, he'll fall for it if you treat him with unparalleled affection. Needing you.

But, don't be foolish, if he catches you wanting to manipulate him…let's just say you won't end up with the whole body. But that's only in extreme cases, my dear! Generally, he'll just scold you and force you to practice those human things you do like sleeping.

On the whole, Pink is someone who will be very tender. But who won't hesitate to hurt you if you hurt him. You will always have his hand wrapped with yours.

At his dances, you will be right next to him, right with him on his throne. Of course you won't be down like a pearl, you'll be on his lap!

Oh, and when he plays with his brothers to guess the song in Blue's extraction chamber, he'll invite you to play, being his faithful assistant for his songs.

He will also let you go on little visits to the land, he loves that place himself, so he doesn't see the point in depriving you of it. You will stroll through the fields of flowers, the pink petals flying with the soft breeze of the wind that you haven't felt for so long. Very romantic for a destroyer.

Plus, he will learn the basic human behaviors of love. But, be careful, once he learns it and immediately takes a liking to it, you won't be able to get rid of him easily when he suddenly gets the “love spark”.

In short, Pink can be a tender, even a little harmless, yander. But once you do something that hurts him, that mask will come off, showing his true colors. That cruel and violent Pink will give birth the day you do him a rebuff.

I think it's the longest one I've ever done! I quite enjoyed making those headcanons. I had a lot of ideas for Pink in my head for weeks! I hope you liked it, as I said at the beginning don't be ashamed to ask for anything, you can ask even if you've already done it once, don't worry!

That's all.

Kisses!

[blackleatherjacketz]

Hook, Line and Sinker

Eric Northman (True Blood) x Female Reader

Summary: After Eric threatens your brother to pay off a large debt, he expresses his interest in a different form of payment.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Dubious Consent, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, Death Threats, Swearing, Face-Grabbing, Glamoring, Hair Pulling, Biting, Vampirism, Blood Sucking/Drinking, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink

Word Count: 2.9k+

Tags: @jessicafangirl @differentcatcat @spice-honey

Read more Eric!

Your brother had always been caught up in the wrong crowd, conning people and moving from state to state to avoid the repercussions of his actions until they finally caught up with him. You just never thought that you’d be there with him when that finally happened. You never thought that the people, the monsters that he had crossed would ever throw bags over your heads and toss you into the trunk of their car to present you in front of their ‘boss’ he had to answer to. You never thought that he’d be dumb enough to cross a nest of vampires, of all things.

This boss is much different from the image you’d cooked up in your head from beneath the black pillowcase. Although he still appears pale, cold and callous from his perch behind his desk, he isn’t that dark, brooding caricature of a vampire you expected to see. His presence is still heavy, warming your body in a blanket of unease from across the room as cropped blonde locks frame his handsome face, but there’s something else there. There’s something more in that split second that he glances your way, almost as if he was fighting the urge to take a longer look, but that could just be the trauma talking.

He takes his time folding his slender fingers together as he speaks to your brother, not even bothering to look over at him while negotiating his terms. It’s almost as if he’s bored of the inconvenience of his presence, annoyed that he even has to do any of this at all. You can tell this isn’t the first conversation they’ve about this, but figure that it may very well be their last. And just like that, with a wave of his hand, one of your captors grasps onto your brother’s arm and turns him away from you despite his many pleas and protests.

“She stays here until you come back.” He looks at you intentionally this time, eyes burning his promise deep into your soul with words clearly meant for your brother.

“What?! No! She doesn’t have anything to do with this, Eric! I was asking her for money! That’s why I was with her!” David pleads as the woman begins dragging him across the room toward the open door. “I’ll get your money, I promise!”

“We’ll see.” Eric states calmly, almost to himself as the sound of your brother’s begging fades out into the darkened hallway, muddled by his scurried footsteps.

You start to run over to the doorway, trying to see which direction they’re taking him in, to get one last look at your brother before the night swallows him whole, but you can barely move. Like in one of those nightmares you can’t manage to wake yourself from, your feet seem to get heavier with each step you take as you feel yourself being pulled back to the center of the room by your host’s words.

“If I knew David had such a pretty sister, I would have threatened him a lot sooner.” Eric starts as he busies himself by looking over his ledger, his long fingers scaling down the page before looking back up at you intently. He holds your gaze with a long azure stare, so dark and serious that you can’t bear to look away, even if you tried. “Now I see why he was keeping you from me.”

“Keeping me from you?” The phrase sounds just as odd coming out of your own mouth as it did his, your voice providing little balm over the idea.

“Don’t pretend to be so naive, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.” Eric stands up, moving around the desk toward you in a blur faster than your brain can even begin to register. He stops just a few feet short of you, forcing you to gasp as your muscles tighten in anticipation of what he could do to you in a matter of seconds. If he wanted to. He’s so much taller than he seemed from behind the desk, his shoulders now towering well above your eye line as he takes another slow, purposeful step in your direction. “You’re not nearly as afraid of me as you should be.”

“I’m afraid,” you reassure him shakily, still stunned in your tracks.

“Are you?” He lifts your chin with the tips of his fingers, that cold stare of his softening just a little as his lips curl into a devious smirk. “Or is it something else?”

You wrack your brain of all the vampire trivia you’ve learned over the years, trying to recall if they could read minds, or if that was just something you saw in a movie once. Is it that blatantly obvious that you’re attracted to him despite the situation your brother’s put you in? Has the gift of fear not properly disguised your complex reaction to his large size and good looks? Or is this just a lucky shot in the dark?

“It’s something else,” you hear yourself admit to him before you even decide to tell him the truth. Why did you just do that?

“I could see it all over your face the very second you walked in here.” He grabs ahold of your chin and squeezes until your lips purse, smiling as if he’s won some kind of prize for calling you out on something completely out of your control. “Humans aren’t nearly as good at hiding their emotions as they think they are.”

He chuckles and lets go of your face, turning his back to you before slowly walking over to his desk as a cascade of hormones trickles into your bloodstream. That sudden absence of his touch makes your body ache for another embrace, craving that hit of oxytocin more quickly than you’d ever anticipated from a mere stranger.

“How much does he owe you, exactly?” You attempt to reconnect, stepping toward him as he turns back around to face you.

Maybe he just wants you to ask for it… to beg for what you want in exchange for your brother’s life, but that’s not something you’ve ever done before, not something you’d ever lower yourself to do. The least you could do is try your best to negotiate your way out of this logically.

“A lot,” he answers flatly.

“How much?” You try to stand your ground, looking up at him resolutely as his beautiful features start to heat you up from the inside out.

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

“Jesus, fuck.” You utter, unaware that your brother’s habits had gotten him this upside down with the most lethal of all creatures known to man. There’s no way he’s getting out of this without your help.

“Jesus Fuck is right.” The vampire grins as he makes another move in the unspoken game that you’re playing together, reaching out to touch a lock of your hair and smelling it before laying it back down onto your shoulder. “You seem like the smart one in the family, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that your brother hasn’t been able to pay his debt to us for some time.” He licks his lips as he looks you over, his gaze moving back and forth from your mouth down to your neck in rapid succession. “And that he’s pushed things just far enough that we’ve had no other choice but to take extreme measures.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Your heart sinks in your chest before dropping down into your stomach, straining the muscles in your torso at the thought of him paying the ultimate price for his stupidity. Sure, the two of you had fallen out of touch over the years because of his habits, but that didn’t mean that you wanted him killed over them. You just wanted this all to be over and done with. Then it hits you; you’re reminded of what your brother was doing business with… not who. “Are you going to kill… me?”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t have to come to that.” The blue in his eyes begins to shrink as his pupils dilate, escaping to the far recesses of his irises as he closes the gap between you. “It’d be such a waste.”

“But I don’t have that kind of money,” you think out loud, still trying to logic your way out of this.

“Oh, I know.” He smirks, the seductive confidence now oozing out of his pores. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t help him.” He traces his finger over the artery in your neck as it pumps a more potent cocktail of fear and arousal into your bloodstream, forcing your lips to tremble. “Fortunately for me, you were in the right place at the right time when my men picked him up.”

“Fortunately?” You repeat, realizing now that it’s too late for mundane negotiations, that it’s far too late to fight your body’s natural urges.

“You’d do anything for your brother, wouldn’t you?” Eric’s fangs suddenly emerge as he touches more of your bare skin, revealing his true nature as his chest begins to heave.

Oh God. “I’ve never been bitten before,” you whisper without pulling away from his grasp.

“Never?” He leans down and whispers into your ear, the deep musk of his cologne surrounding you in a heady haze as his thumb presses against your racing pulse. He carefully wraps the rest of his cold fingers around your neck, holding you in place as he inhales your scent. “You haven’t even thought about it? About how good it might feel?”

His words turn your insides to quicksand, his breath hot on your skin as you dare to think about his fangs sinking into your flesh. You honestly hadn’t wondered about how it would feel until just now, your mind jumping ahead to the image of him latching onto your throat and tasting your blood before you’re able to give him an honest yet quiet answer. “No.”

“Not even now?” He slides his other hand between your thighs, triggering your most human response as that moisture begins to collect beneath the fabric of your jeans, soaking through the cotton of your underwear as your body takes over. “It only hurts at first.”

“My brother will find a way to get your money.” Your last ditch effort at peace is futile at best, knowing full well that it’s only a matter of seconds before your carnal desires win over.

“Will he?” Eric releases his grip on your neck only to grasp onto your hair, tugging on your scalp just hard enough to expose your throat. “I think we both know how hopeless your brother’s case really is.” He pulls tighter, jutting your chin up toward the ceiling as he turns you around and walks you back toward his desk like a rag doll. “Maybe I should just keep you here to start paying off that debt of his. I’m sure you could be of use.”

“Keep me here?” Your view of the ceiling tiles shifts in and out of focus as he slides his hand beneath the hem of your pants, lifting you up onto his desk while sliding his fingers between your soaking wet folds. Goddamn, that feels good, oh god… he’s really good at that. But wait a minute… Keep you here? How long was that going to last? How long are YOU going to last? “I don’t want to die.”

“Who said anything about dying?” He grins as he settles in between your legs, pushing his fingers inside your eager entrance as a salacious shade of hunger washes over his face.

His bite somehow takes you by surprise, the sudden piercing pain worse than you imagined as it breaks your skin, shooting daggers up through your spine. That sharp sting only lasts for a second though, his tongue massaging your skin as it works to lap up the hot flow of blood that leaks out of the corners of his mouth, racing down your neck and onto your clavicle. His needy moans vibrate against your throat as his fingers delve deeper inside you, his thumb rubbing delicious circles into your moistened clit, flooding your senses with a deadly concoction of agony and ecstasy.

So this is what all the fuss is about.

You start to moan along with him as he stimulates your most sensitive area, only no sound bothers to escape your lips. Your breath is stifled by the intoxicating mixture of cortisol and oxytocin flowing through your veins and into his mouth, halting any complex brain functions you might otherwise have at this moment. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tightening onto his golden locks in order to hold him against you in this morbidly sensual embrace.

He pulls more of you into his mouth as your strength begins to dwindle, greedily licking the length of your neck before nipping at your chin and jawline in between hungry attempts to clean up the scarlet mess he’s made of your skin. Those tiny little nips quickly turn into affectionate kisses on his way up your face until he reaches your lips, parting them with his blood-soaked tongue.

“Eric,” you’re finally able to moan, whining as his fingers slide out of your sex just in time to unfasten your jeans, leaving a trail of slick up your pelvis as he pulls them off your legs.

“You taste like a dream,” he smirks, your blood smattered across his face like a wild animal, the excess dripping down his neck and onto his chest, stirring something more primal in you than you’ve ever felt before. He can see it in your eyes as he runs his tongue across his teeth, holding his thumb against your bite in order to slow down your bleeding for the time being. “You like it, don’t you?”

You nod in silence.

“I knew you would.” He leans in close and kisses you again, letting you taste the iron of your blood until enough of it fills your mouth that you have no other choice but to swallow. It goes down easier than you anticipated, still hot and fluid down the back of your throat as Eric bites into his own lip, mixing the saltier flavor of his blood with yours. He smirks as you lean forward to kiss him back, no longer afraid as you take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck the spit and blood right off of it.

He has you now; hook, line and sinker.

Your desire for him increases exponentially as if your very life force depends on the continuation of his kiss, on the certainty of his touch. You feel that your very soul is connected to his now, tethered more deeply than you ever have been with anyone else. Your groans become louder as he lazily licks the blood off your tongue and teeth; his hunger for you only growing along with yours as you both continue to consume each other.

Making quick work of undoing his own pants, he shoves them down past his knees to reveal the evidence of his own arousal, grasping onto your thigh to make room for his hips.

Jesus Christ, he’s even bigger than you thought he’d be. Fuck. This is really happening, isn’t it?

“And to think that I was your first,” he snickers, stroking himself with his opposite hand as he spreads the remainder of your blood left on his palm over his enormous girth. He lines himself up with your dripping wet cunt, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your length as waves of red hot bliss shoot up into your core before he pushes inside.

You cry out as your body takes him in, inch by undead inch as that rare connection between you only tightens like a rubber band pulling you two together as he bottoms out against your thighs. He only gives you a second to adjust to his size, pulling out just a little before slamming his hips back into you without mercy, sheathing himself within your walls before relentlessly repeating the motion again and again. That tingly red heat from before turns scarlet as it burns its way through you, igniting every neuron in your body as he quickens his pace, grunting as he hits that bundle of nerves inside you the way only a man who’s been alive for centuries would know how.

It’s as if he’s unlocked something within you that so many men before had tried and failed to open, expanding your pleasure throughout every tissue in your body from your capillaries right down to your fingertips. Bright, blinding lights flash before your eyes as your toes curl and your back arches, distracting you from his mouth latching onto you once again. You can feel his thrusts becoming more frantic, each pass over your slick special spot triggering another explosion of ecstasy as your muscles clench down around him, draining him of his more prized fluid as you both shake together in unison. His moans turn into groans as he drinks more of your blood, shifting into feral growls against your mangled skin as your heart rate eventually comes down from your climax.

“Fuck!” He pulls his fangs from you as he licks and kisses his way back up to your lips, a thin coat of your blood now covering you in a ruby red sheen as his come drips down your thighs and onto the floor. “I knew I could use you.” He winks before pulling out and kissing your forehead. “Only forty-nine thousand dollars to go.”

[tributedreference]

I don't usually talk about headcanons, but a smaller idea for Killer I had a while ago is that Killer can manually adjust the phase his Soul is in in a similar manner to how Nightmare can: just crush his Soul in his hand. This would be exclusive to him going from Stage One to Stage Two, though, or continuing to reinforce Stage Two in him. That being said, its not him manipulating his Soul that is causing him to change phases, its the pain that comes from it. It's commonly headcanoned that Killer's Soul is extremely volatile. It stores 999999 LOVE and is the container for the majority of his Determination. One way this can be interpreted is that when something touches it, it lashes out (surges with energy, becomes sharp to the touch enough to cut something open, something like that). So if Killer is beginning to feel trickles of emotion, like anxiety or sadness, he can grab a hold of his Soul and have it almost destroy his hand or arm before letting go. The pain would be enough to restabilize himself and continue in Stage Two. I could see a story where Killer observes that Nightmare can manipulate his emotions by molding his Soul. When he's aware he's about to slip into Stage One, he attempts to try it on himself. It goes poorly and winds up with a wounded hand, but it does the job in forcing him back into Stage Two. It becomes a habit, whenever he feels his emotions returning to him, resulting in his hand or arm getting worse worse, to the point that the people he's with (Nightmare, Colour, whatever) try to get him to stop before the damage is permanent.

[moonlitrapture]

Selling souls for dollars? 5/30?

Warnings : Smut,Gore , Murder , Black mail , Stalking , Manipulation & obsession, Mentions of substance use. Dark themes , Angst , Emotional abuse, Dub con.

A/n: I’m back and I’m better

—————-

The music kept pounding upstairs, but it felt like a movie you’d already seen—loud, colorful, and fake.

You stood backstage, leaning against the vanity as you reapplied your gloss, trying not to think about blood, guns, and the phantom name “Reclaim.”

Mary sat nearby, messing with her curls in the mirror, but her hands were trembling. You caught it.

“You good?” you asked, keeping it casual.

She paused, eyes locked on her reflection like it might lie to her if she blinked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”

But her voice was too tight.

————

Across the room, Annie was laughing too hard at something a bartender texted her—eyes glassy, smile too wide, like she was performing a version of herself.

You frowned.

“Alright, what’s going on?” you asked, stepping between them.

Annie blinked. “What?”

Mary looked up. “Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. I’ve known you two too long to not smell smoke before the fire.”

Annie dropped the act first, leaning back against the couch.

“It’s just weird, okay?” she said, quieter now.

“Everyone’s tense. The club feels cursed. Delta got jumped. Remmick’s name is floating again. And you think none of that’s got us spiraling a little?”

Mary nodded, but still didn’t say anything.

You stepped closer to her.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She finally looked at you—and there it was. Guilt. Not big, not bold. But there.

“Before Holly left…” Mary began slowly. “She asked me something. About Stack. And Smoke. About you.”

You blinked. “What kind of something?”

“She wanted to know if you ever asked questions about old stash spots. About codes. She said Remmick was trying to tie up loose ends. Said you were getting too close.”

Your breath caught.

And then Annie added quietly, “She told me the same thing. But about Smoke.”

The dressing room fell silent, just the thud of bass and the distant clink of glass behind the bar.

You stepped back, mind spinning.

“You think she was spying on all of us?”

Mary didn’t answer.

She just held her belly—her hand curled protectively over the small swell.

Annie stood up, brushing her hair back with too much force.

“Maybe we’ve all been too close to too much for too long.”

———-

Upstairs, Bo Chow returned.

He moved through the crowd like a current, finding Stack near the bar. He leaned in.

“We got chatter.”

“From where?”

Bo lowered his voice. “Remmick’s setting up something by the riverfront. Midnight meet. Quiet. Invite-only.”

Smoke walked over, catching just enough of the conversation to frown.

“What’s he fishing for now?” he asked.

Bo exhaled. “Maybe bait.”

———-

Back in the dressing room, you grabbed your jacket and looked at the girls.

“Stay here. And keep your ears open.”

Mary looked scared. Annie just looked ready.

You didn’t know what the hell was coming next.

But something told you: whatever Remmick was reviving?

He was ready to bury someone with it.

The dressing room was dim, lit by vanity bulbs and the flicker of LED strip lights in shifting pink and violet. The perfume of body spray and sweat hung thick in the air, but the vibe was off.

You had stepped out.

And Mary and Annie—left alone—shifted in their seats like strangers wearing each other’s faces.

Mary rubbed her temples, her gold hoops catching the light.

“You shouldn’t have told her,” she muttered under her breath.

Annie turned sharply. “She needed to know.”

“Or maybe you just wanted to get it off your conscience,” Mary snapped.

Annie rolled her eyes, voice dipping. “Please. Like you’re not the one out here carrying Stack’s kid while still throwing eyes at Smoke every time he walks past.”

That landed.

Mary’s face stiffened.

“Watch it, Annie.”

“Oh, I am. Been watching both of y’all act like y’all ain’t in love with the same mess that’s gonna get us killed.”

Mary stood up slow, belly prominent now under her oversized tee, face calm but cold. “I didn’t ask to be in this triangle. I didn’t ask for you or her or even Stack to care. I’m surviving. Same as you.”

Before Annie could clap back—

Boom.

The door slammed open. Two strippers—Velvet and Trixxie—stormed in, voices already raised.

“No, bitch, you don’t take my setlist and pretend you didn’t! That’s my money set!” Velvet screamed.

Trixxie shoved her shoulder. “Then show up on time next time, you cracked-out Cinderella!”

Mary and Annie stepped back just as heels flew, earrings got snatched, and two top earners launched themselves at each other in a flurry of glitter and rage.

“Hey!”

The voice that cut through it wasn’t loud — but it was lethal.

Smoke.

He was in the doorway, eyes sharp, jaw clenched, the gold tooth in his smile nowhere to be found tonight.

“Separate. Now,” he barked.

Velvet hissed like a cat, but backed down first.

Trixxie wiped blood off her cheek with the back of her hand, glaring.

Smoke stepped into the room, door closing behind him with a click.

“You think this is the place to show your teeth?” he growled. “You think Remmick’s got eyes only on the streets? You think you’re safe in here because the music’s loud and the money’s still coming?”

Silence.

Then, he looked around — eyes landing on Mary, Annie, then finally the mirror.

“Start actin’ like this is a war zone, not a catwalk.”

No one said a word.

Not even Mary.

He walked out as fast as he came in, and only then did the girls start breathing again.

Mary sat down slowly, staring at herself in the mirror like she didn’t recognize what was looking back.

Annie glanced toward the door.

“You ever get the feeling,” she whispered, “that we’re not the main girls in our own story anymore?”

Mary swallowed hard.

“Lately? Every damn night.”

———

Flashback — “That Night in the Club Bathroom”

The music had been a dull, pulsing throb behind the bathroom door — bass bleeding through tile and drywall like a heartbeat on the verge of something dangerous.

You were tipsy, glitter sticking to your collarbone, heels crooked, eyes blown wide when Smoke cornered you against the wall.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing out there?” he murmured, low, breath hot against your ear.

You smirked, hands sliding up his chest. “You jealous, Smoke?”

He grabbed your thigh and lifted you like it was nothing, back pressing to the cool wall, the throb of music now matched by the way your pulse slammed against your throat.

“Damn right I’m jealous,” he growled. “But you like that, don’t you?”

Your legs wrapped around him before the question even finished.

It wasn’t romantic. It was fire and friction and frustration. His mouth was on your neck, your lips, your shoulder. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in.

Everything smelled like sweat and cologne and the faint scent of bleach from the busted sink next to you.

“Say you missed me,” he muttered against your skin, thrust sharp and messy.

You didn’t say it.

You bit his neck instead.

And that? That was enough.

The door stayed locked. The music never stopped. But in that moment, you and Smoke weren’t part of the club.

You were part of each other.

Burning.

Bruising.

Breathing too hard.

And pretending the feelings didn’t exist.

The flashback of you and Smoke lingered like sweat on skin — your lips still tingled from the memory, your heart doing too much behind your ribcage as you came back into the lounge. The tension from earlier hadn’t gone anywhere.

And now?

More chaos.

Holly had just waltzed back in with two other dancers — Star and Cherry, both loud, drunk, and clearly looking for trouble. Holly’s lipstick was smudged, her top halfway off, and her smile way too smug.

“You bitches really let this place fall apart without me?” she laughed, sashaying past the girl and giving her a fake-ass wink.

But the room wasn’t laughing.

Not when Mary walked past, looking pale and tired, one hand resting protectively over her bump.

And then it happened.

A dude in a loud designer hoodie — face shiny with sweat and ego — called out from the VIP corner:

“Yo! Why we got pregnant ass strippers up in here? Shit’s bad for business! Ain’t nobody tryna see that baby bump when I’m throwing cash!”

Everything stopped.

Mary froze.

Annie, half-drunk and slouched on a velvet loveseat, sat up like she heard a gun cock.

And Stack?

Stack moved.

Fast.

———-

One second he was lounging near the DJ booth, the next, his boots were stomping across the floor, cutting through fog and flashing lights.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t ask.

He just grabbed the dude by the front of his hoodie, yanked him to his feet, and—

CRACK.

A slap so hard it echoed over the music.

The club went quiet, jaws dropping. Even Cherry put down her drink.

Stack’s voice came slow. Quiet. Dangerous.

“You ever speak on her again, I’ll put you in a casket and make your mama pay the cover charge to visit you.”

He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it right to the guy’s temple.

The man stuttered, “I—I didn’t mean it like that—”

Stack didn’t blink. “You meant it exactly like that.”

The safety clicked off.

“Get out.”

The dude stumbled over himself trying to back out, pants sagging, dignity leaking out with each step.

Stack holstered the weapon and turned.

He walked straight to Mary, hand soft now, touching the small of her back.

“You alright?”

She nodded, wide-eyed. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t cry.

“Go sit down. I’ll get someone to bring you water.”

As she walked off, Stack turned toward Annie, who was now laughing uncontrollably.

Girl was gone.

“Annie,” he muttered, “what the hell did you drink?”

She pointed to a half-empty bottle of tequila. “It said ‘Imported!’ Thought that meant safe!”

He rolled his eyes and walked over to you.

“You better wrangle your girls before I have to start charging y’all babysitting fees.”

But there was a flicker of something in his eyes when he looked at you.

Jealousy?

Regret?

Both?

Probably.