#Event Response Survey

[xpbrandai]

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[hetaween-event]

this certainly made us chuckle! may you have the spookiest season of all, stranger ❤️‍🔥

if you too are interested in this year's event, please do check out the hetaween survey! it helps us gauge interest, as well as give you an opportunity to help shape the final event!

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all! I hadn’t mentioned it by name because I wasn’t sure if it was regional or not, but I found out it’s not regional so: Aetna is the worst insurance company. It sucks! Avoid it if you can. All my insurance issues have been because of Aetna. Aetna refuses to pay for my maintenance inhaler or my rescue inhaler, and refused to pay for a holter monitor for me when I’ve had tachycardia issues for a full decade. A heart monitor my doctor ordered to check if I had major electrical issues because if I did I’d need a pacemaker to prevent severe cardiac complications (I don’t have those issues, for the record).

[fayes-fics]

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[sturnsdarling]

'what the fuck is wrong with you?'

{insp by @sturnioz au} fratboy!matt calls smartand'mean'!reader after the fight, telling her she needs to come look after shy!reader, but after she finds out what happened, she lays into fratboy!chris, giving him the reality check he needs.

vibe check: arguing, kinda distressed shy!reader ig, smartand'mean'!reader is a take no shit kinda gal, angsty vibes, lil suggestive at the end

2.3k words

A/N: idk where this idea came from i just really like the idea of smartand'mean'!reader laying into fratboy!chris and him just firming it bc he knows shes right. PART ONE IS HERE

love and cigs, merc

You burst into the party, frantically searching every room for Matt and your best friend. Matt had called you nearly five minutes ago, telling you that your best friend needed you and that there had been a fight, with little to no explanation after. Of course, you came to them immediately, knowing that Matt wouldn't call you if he really didn't need to.

When you finally found them, they were all in a back room of the party, surrounded by smoke and a crowd of people all fawning over the boys as Matt, Nate and Chris were all spread across a sofa in the back, your best friend curled up on Chris lap as he lazily toked on a canon joint, his knuckles purple and a soft grin on his face as you watched your best friend toy with his shirt.

"hey, angel, you got here quick" Matts voice washed over you as he stood up, placing a battered hand on the small of your waist and pulling you into him.

His hand came up to your face in attempts to pull you into a kiss, but his bloody knuckles caught your attention and you took his hand in yours, brows furrowed at his battered hands.

"Matt, what the fuck happened" you spat, looking up at him, his hand still in yours

"ouch, she called him Matt, y'hear that Chris?" Nate said under his breath, Chris chuckled in response and you shot them both a glaring look.

"Some kids tried to give Chris' girl drugs so, we showed them why that was a bad idea" Matt shrugged, looking at you as if it was such a simple thing.

Your attention was immediately on your best friend, your face riddled with concern. You dropped Matts hand and made your way over to her, pulling her up off Chris' lap and into a hug.

"are you okay? why didn't you call me?" you muttered into her hair before pulling away, surveying her face.

She nodded, "I'm okay, Chris and Matt handled it" she smiled at you, just before looking down to Chris, who shot her a wink.

"how did this happen?" you asked, grabbing her attention again as she sat back down on Chris lap.

"they saw me alone and I guess they thought I was an easy target" she began explaining the events of the night, but was quickly cut off by your annoyed tone.

"you left her alone?" you spat, your annoyance directed at Chris, "what the fuck is wrong with you?" you looked at Chris like he was dirt, glaring at him, he just stared back, his tongue pressed to his cheek.

"oh shit" Nate chuckled, "Matt, I think your girl is about to go world star on our boy"

"hey, angel, tone it down a bit, yeah?" Matt said, sitting back down on the sofa and trying to pull you down onto his lap.

You snatched your hand from his, tutting as you shot him a dirty look, returning your serious gaze back to Chris.

"s'cool, Matt, let her say what she wants to say, I can take it" Chris grinned, taking a long toke of his joint and looking at you

"you left her alone, at a frat party, knowing she never comes to these without either you or me? are you psychologically damaged?" you continued to lay into him, his cool and collected demeanour triggering you beyond belief.

"and what? some guys thought she was easy pickins, because, lets face it, she is, and then you lose your shit and have to mark your territory again?"

"hey, I'm not easy pickins" your best friend sulked.

"she could have been seriously fuckin' hurt, Chris, did you even stop for one minute to think about that?" you were burning holes into his face at this point, just waiting for him to respond.

Chris' face dropped at your words, the smug smile on his lips coming to a tight line as he clenched his jaw, avoiding your eye contact. His mind suddenly reeling with all the things those boys could have done to your best friend if Nate hadn't called him when he did.

"of course you fuckin' didnt, because you only ever think about yourself, Chris" you tutted, rolling your eyes and throwing your hands up in accusation at him.

"you know, if you weren't Matts brother, I wouldn't let her come anywhere fuckin' near you, all you ever do is put her in a position to get herself hurt, or worse." you crossed your arms with finality.

Chris shifted uncomfortably where he sat, looking at you and then to your best friend who was already looking at him, apologising for your words with her kind eyes, eyes that only made your words all the more real.

"I'd never let anything happen to her" He said through a clenched jaw, looking up at you, his expression could almost have been mistaken for an apologetic one.

"and plus, we had her back, we fuckin' had those guys easy, they ran away cryin" Matt added, reaching out for you again.

This time you took his hand, bringing your gaze to him, brushing your fingers over his bloody knuckles.

"you think they're the only kids that wanna roofie girls and fuck them at parties? you think she's safe now just because you two fuckin' hot heads gave them a bloody nose and a black eye?" Your words stung, you'd never spoken to Matt like that before, not seriously anyway.

No one said anything, your words hung in the air, making everyone shift and come to the damning realisation of what actually happened tonight.

"I know you think you can protect her from this little fucked up life you've created for yourself here, Chris, but maybe it's time you wake up and realise who she might actually need protecting from" you said, looking him up and down with your final words.

Chris said nothing, only stared at you from under his brow bone with a clenched jaw and a loose grip on your best friends waist.

Matt looked over at Chris and then up at you, both of you teetering on the edge of an explosion he did not want to get caught in the middle of. He stood up, taking your hand in his and standing in front of you slightly, bringing your attention away from Chris.

"lets go have a cig, yeah?" He said, squeezing your hand.

You looked up at him through your lashes, unable to tear your eyes from him as he gazed down at you, his warmth only serving to calm you down.

You nodded with a clenched jaw and let Matt lead you out. As you walked out the room you glanced back at Chris, who was biting the inside of his cheek and blinking rapidly, trying to listen to your best friend apologising on your behalf. He wasn't angry, not at you anyway, he was angry at himself, because he knew you were right.

Once you made it outside, Matt dragged you to a quiet spot, pulling a cigarette from his pack and placing it between your pouty lips, sparking it before pulling one for himself and doing the same.

You took a long drag, your fingers shook slightly from the adrenaline you felt coursing through your body.

"y'know" Matt said, blowing smoke out his mouth before resuming, "I've never heard anyone speak to Chris like that and still be standin' after" a smiled, edging closer to you.

"kid had it comin' for putting her in a position like that" you shrugged your shoulders, taking another long drag of your cigarette.

"He didn't mean for it to happen, you know that right?" Matt said, dipping his head to meet your gaze.

you rolled your eyes, "he never means for shit to happen, Matt, that's the problem, shit follows him around, and one of these days she's gonna get hurt because of it" you looked at him, more serious than you'd ever been.

"what about me then?" Matt said, his face dropping as he stood back from you.

"what about you?" you screwed your face up at him

"if shit follows him, it follows me, he's my brother" Matt added

"and?" you cocked your eyes to the side, not seeing his point.

"y'don't think you'll get hurt one day? bein' around me like this?" Matt looked you up and down as he spoke.

"I can handle myself, Matt, she can't" you rolled your eyes with a slight chuckle.

"she can't, or you think she can't?" Matt questioned, his tone accusatory.

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you snapped at him

"I think, you've spent your whole life protecting this girl and now, she has someone else to do it for her, and you cant handle that" Matt shrugged

"you're ridiculous." you rolled your eyes at Matt, leaning against the side of the house.

"am I?" Matt scoffed

"yeah, you fuckin' are becau-" just as you were about to give it to Matt straight, you were interrupted by Chris, standing just a few steps away from you both and clearing his throat.

"y/n, can I speak to you?" Chris said, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"what do you want, Chris? if you've come out here to try and act all big and tell me not to speak to you like that I swear to god I-"

"you're right" Chris cut you off.

"What?" you and Matt said in unison, turning to face Chris.

"you're right, okay?"

"I-" you went to speak, brows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't deserve her, n'probably never will, but, I care 'bout her, n'Id never let anything happen to her" Chris shrugged, unable to maintain eye contact with you.

"Chris" you sighed.

"you don't have to tell me the typa guy I am, y/n, I know, but I'm learnin' okay? she's helpin' me learn" He finally looked at you, still unable to look at his brother who was open mouth, gawking at his brothers confession.

You had no idea what to say, Chris just gave you his version of an apology and actually admitted you were right. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him, somewhere, very deep, under all his assholeness, there was an actual human being who, cared about your best friend probably more than he'd ever cared about anyone.

"Chris" you sighed again, "she trusts you, and, if she trusts you then..." you searched your brain for the strength to call it even with him, "I guess I have no choice but to trust you too"

A small smile crept onto Chris' face but he pushed it away almost immediately, the weight of his confession lifting off his shoulders as his usual self floated back into his body.

"If you tell anyone about what I jus' said, i'll get ya kneecaps broken, kay?" he sniffed, wiping his knuckle across his nose for a brief second, "both'a you" Chris looked Matt up and down.

"there he is" Matt chuckled, placing a hand on Chris shoulder

Chris shrugged off Matts hand and sauntered back inside, leaving you two alone again.

You let the moment hang in the air for a moment, smoking your cigarette as Matt stared at the way the butt illuminated your features.

"look, angel, I didn't mean anythi-"

"its okay, I get it, you're right" you interrupted him, rolling your eyes, feeling significantly less angry about everything after Chris' confession.

"okay, did I slip into a different dimension where you and Chris are able to back down from an argument?" Matt chuckled, looking around him as if he was looking for the portal he fell through.

You laughed, shaking your head at him with a smile, "I've been looking out for her our whole lives and, she's always needed me to protect her, I guess it's just tough now that she doesn't, really need that anymore"

"y'know" Matt stepped closer to you, hooking his thumb under your chin, "maybe its time you let someone protect you, for a change"

"oh yeah?" you grinned at him, "and who might that someone be?"

"me" Matt shrugged, edging his lips closer to yours

"you wanna protect me, Matthew?"

"mhm" Matt nodded with a smile just before kissing you, slotting his soft lips over yours with tender pressure.

You kissed him back, the taste of cigarettes thick on his tongue.

"you do look sexy with your knuckles all battered like that" you broke the kiss, taking his hand in yours and pressing small open mouth kisses on his bloodied knuckles

"you little sadist" Matt said, taking your cheeks in his hand, squishing the flesh together between his fingers.

"you love it" you tore his thumb from your cheek and placed it in your mouth, biting down on the bone before wrapping your lips around it.

Matt groaned at the sight of you batting your lashes at him with his thumb in your mouth, he pulled you forward by your jaw and brought you into him, a firm hand catching you by the small of your back as he pulled his thumb from your lips with a pop.

"I do mean it though, angel, it's time you let someone protect you for once" Matt looked down at you, placing his hand around the side of your face, using his grip to make you look at him.

"I can protect myself" you smirked up at him, eyes pouring into his.

Matt smiled and rolled his eyes, lowering his hand on your waist down to your thigh and dropping his shoulder to your stomach. In one swift movement you were over his shoulder.

"Matthew! put me down!" You erupted into laughter, hitting his back as you hung over his shoulder

Your pleads were met with a firm smack on your ass as a prideful grin spread itself across Matts face.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

[thedensworld]

I Can Fight | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Since you married Jeon Wonwoo, you always considered to not wear revealing clothes. Honestly, Wonwoo doesn't care.

Maestro is definitely Wonwoo's era. My love from him escalates from hundred to limited🤍 god, i need him in my life. However, enjoy this fluffy fluffy wonuuuu🥰

It hasn't even been a year since you tied the knot with Jeon Wonwoo, the heir to a vast conglomerate. He possesses everything one could desire: a top-tier education, a lucrative career, and a prominent place in society. Yet, despite his wealth and status, he insists that you are the center of his universe. You, a mere lecturer at a university owned by his father, never imagined you'd capture the heart of someone like Wonwoo.

Your paths crossed at an event where you represented the university as its youngest dean. Wonwoo's attention was drawn to you instantly, captivated by the calm grace you exuded. The following morning, you were taken aback to find him at the university, seeking you out.

"I have something to discuss with you," he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and something else, something softer.

As he proposed an internship program to benefit the students, the conversation effortlessly shifted from professional to personal. It became evident that his true motive was to get closer to you, to unravel the layers of your being.

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your heart as Wonwoo confessed his ulterior motive. How could you resist someone who pursued you with such sincerity and charm?

Wonwoo's pride in you knew no bounds. He loved to showcase you to his friends and colleagues, boasting about your intelligence and beauty at every opportunity. Being by his side at elite events was both an honor and a responsibility, one that required the perfect attire to match his prestigious status.

As you surveyed the two gowns laid out before you in the bedroom, the weight of the upcoming event pressed upon you. Your current formal attire had already made its rounds, and you couldn't bear the thought of causing Wonwoo any embarrassment by appearing in the same outfit again.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, dialing Seungkwan's number without hesitation. He was your trusted friend, the one whose fashion sense you relied on for such occasions. But as you questioned his choices, your finger instinctively pointed towards the more daring of the two gowns—a black off-shoulder number with a thigh-high slit.

"What were you thinking with these options?" you inquired, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and concern. The other gown, a deep red wine hue, was equally alluring, with its backless design and knee-high slit, presenting a different kind of challenge.

"I thought that's what rich people wear to events like that! It's straight out of the pages of those fancy books!" Seungkwan's voice came through the phone, his defense ringing with a hint of sheepishness.

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling deeply before responding. "Do you honestly think I usually wear something like these?" You couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation washing over you.

Seungkwan's laughter echoed through the phone. "Of course not. Last time you wore something revealing was when you danced to '10 Minute' at Jeonghan's birthday party in college."

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you recalled the carefree days of youth. "And I was so drunk that I slit my skirt and cut my sleeves," you added, shaking your head at the memory.

Seungkwan's tone turned more serious. "Just wear it. You won't embarrass your husband by wearing it. Trust me."

You nervously bit your lip, the weight of Seungkwan's words sinking in. "He's a respected person, Seungkwan. And I'm an academic. Last time I wore something tight, someone actually talked about him."

"No way! What did they say?" Seungkwan's curiosity piqued through the phone.

You let out a weary sigh, memories of the unpleasant encounter resurfacing. "Just that I looked too hot for a professor, and my look didn't match Wonwoo. It was awful, really. I wish I could have stood up to them at the time."

Seungkwan's voice came through with conviction, urging you not to let others dictate your choices. "Darling! Don't let them stop you. What if you are actually too hot? It's their fault they couldn't handle your fire! Stand up to them if someone talks to you like that."

A soft laugh escaped your lips at Seungkwan's fierce encouragement. "You know I can't fight," you admitted, resigned to your non-confrontational nature.

Before you could dwell further on the conversation, the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open interrupted your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see your husband standing there, his presence filling the room with warmth and reassurance.

"Wonwoo just got back from work, I'll let you know my choice. Thanks for getting me these dresses, though," you informed Seungkwan.

Seungkwan hummed in acknowledgment. "Say hi to Wonwoo. I believe he'll choose the black one."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his teasing remark. "Shut up," you retorted playfully before ending the call.

As Wonwoo entered the room, his presence instantly filled the space with comfort and affection. His tie was discarded, and he loosened his blazer before casting a glance at the dresses laid out on the bed.

"Seungkwan got me these for tonight," you explained, gesturing towards the gowns. Wonwoo nodded in understanding as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"He has great taste," he murmured softly, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A tender smile graced your lips as he pulled you closer, his embrace providing solace and reassurance. "You'll look good in everything," he added, his words washing over you like a comforting embrace.

You gently touched his arms, leaning into his embrace. "But don't you think they'll be too revealing? I could just wear the one I've already used."

Wonwoo shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "If you want to wear these, then wear them. I think you'll look absolutely gorgeous, whether in revealing clothes or not."

A surge of warmth flooded your chest at his words, his unwavering support comforting you. "However, I would love to see you in them," he added, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, turning your head to meet his gaze. "Really?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression earnest. "Let's show them that you're hot, just like what Seungkwan said."

Your astonishment grew as you realized he had overheard your conversation with Seungkwan. "From which part did you hear us?" you asked curiously.

"From the start. I actually wanted to surprise you, but you were talking to him," Wonwoo confessed with a sheepish smile.

A moment of silence passed between you before he spoke again. "Actually, I want to thank him for getting you these dresses. I can't wait to see you wear it," he added, his excitement evident in his voice.

He gently withdrew his arms from your waist, turning your body to face him. His hands tenderly moved from your hair to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them softly. "I'd love to see you in the black one tonight," he murmured, his voice filled with affection as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

A warmth spread through you at his touch and words, reassurance flooding your senses. "Your friend knows me so well," he remarked, planting another kiss on your forehead before trailing down to your shoulder.

His gestures of love and appreciation enveloped you, melting away any lingering doubts or insecurities.

***

You approached Wonwoo where he sat on the couch in the living room, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "Isn't it too revealing?" you asked, your voice tinged with self-doubt.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in your breathtaking appearance. The black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that left him speechless. The subtle yet alluring makeup only enhanced your features, drawing his eyes irresistibly to you. And the scent of your perfume, a familiar fragrance that never failed to captivate him, enveloped him in a heady mix of calm and desire.

As your hand moved to cover the revealed thigh, a part of you that he found utterly captivating, Wonwoo couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His heart raced with a jealous fervor, envying his own eyes for having the privilege of beholding your radiance.

"Is it not working?" you questioned, disappointment evident in your tone as he remained silent.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Wonwoo reached out to gently grasp your hand, pulling it away from your thigh. "No, it's not that," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with reverence and admiration. "You look absolutely stunning, beyond words."

Wonwoo sensed your apprehension and immediately shook his head, stepping forward to take your hand and press a tender kiss to it. "I can't believe I'm married to you. You look amazing, love," he murmured, lifting your hand and encouraging you to spin to showcase your dress.

As you twirled, a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, but Wonwoo's gasp of awe and promise to buy you countless dresses like the one you wore washed away your worries.

"You can wear anything you want, love. I can fight.," he declared, his words echoing your own inner resolve.

A smile graced your lips as you leaned in to peck his cheek, feeling reassured by his unwavering support. "I'll fight them with my whole life. But kiss me again, here and now," he requested, tapping his lips playfully.

You obliged, landing another gentle kiss, but before you could pull away, Wonwoo's grip on your head tightened, deepening the kiss into a passionate embrace. Lost in the moment, your hands instinctively found their way to his neck, reveling in the intimacy of the kiss that ignited a fiery passion between you.

"Should we skip the event?" he suggested with a mischievous smirk, tempting you with the idea of spending the evening wrapped up in each other's arms.

You playfully slapped his chest, chuckling at his suggestion. "Let's wipe your lips and let me fix my makeup. Seungcheol is going to kill you if we skip his birthday party," you reminded him, handing him a wet wipe.

Wonwoo chuckled as he wiped his mouth clean of your lipstick. "He loves me, he won't kill me," he mumbled before turning his gaze back to you. "So, what do you think?" he asked, anticipation dancing in his eyes as he awaited your response.

[bakugoushotwife]

no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!

>>> you didn’t think you were making it out of kinktober without a visit from ghostface, did you? all cute and sweet pieces, blegh. it's time to play...happy halloween—don’t hang up on me you bitch!

>>> cw: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. NO MINORS. dark content ahead. inspired by scream 1996. murder, blood, gore, stalking, yandere!characters, ghostface!characters, manipulation, major character death, alternate no curses!reality, physical harm to reader, manhandling, knifeplay, costumed sex, prone bone, dub con, non con just in case tbh, biting, choking spanking, face-slap, degradation (whore, slut, bitch, etc), praise, breeding, doggy, blood consumption, mating press, throat fucking, edging, double penetration, fingering/knife-fucking (?) (f!receiving) anal. threesome mfm/mmf, breeding. let me know if i missed anything. >>> wc: 15.8k >>> event masterlist: >>> playlist

you were starting to get majorly freaked out. the past year or so had been the worst of your life. your college professor was murdered last fall—sending the small town into a frenzy. some people were mortified. how could someone so brutal be lurking in the shadows of this cheery town? they stopped walking to school and carpooled instead, kids no longer played in the yards, and women rarely went out unaccompanied. some people thought it was funny—something interesting to talk about after years of mundane crimes barely making the news.

you were feeling something much more complex than just fear or interest; you were battling grief. grief that no one else even knew about, adding to the complexity of your feelings. toji was just your business professor—one that you paid frequent visits to on and off campus. you did a good job of covering your tracks, coming up with lie after lie to keep your friends well distracted from your taboo hook-ups with the community’s favorite teacher. they would bully you to tears if they knew you gave your virginity to dr. fushiguro—and between satoru and suguru’s relentless teasing, you would never know peace again. 

plus, it’s nearly been a year, and you were nothing more than the other woman, a young girl that caught his attention over the monotony of marriage. it wasn’t going anywhere, and you knew that. in a way, the emotions you grappled with weren’t grief at all—but guilt. toji had young children—what you did was wrong. you felt that way when he was alive and you were actively doing it—but something about him pulled you in. maybe it was your own naivety that was to blame for believing him when he promised you he would leave his wife for you–all just to get you to put out again and put off your friends. maybe it was the subconscious belief that he was the best you would get, the best you deserved. your parents were hardly winning any awards for their methods, and the only other men in your life have been around you since high school, the aforementioned relentless teasers: satoru gojo and suguru geto. 

you like to think that you put it all behind you, but you can’t stop this creeping feeling that toji fushiguro was murdered because of you. 

and that wasn’t the end of the weird happenings. your lab partner—kento nanami unceremoniously dropped out this month, so the rumors around campus say, but you have a bad feeling about it. you’ve been calling him for days with no response, he has no after school work presence, and his best friend looks like he’s seen a ghost anytime you’re around. it was all the school was talking about, especially approaching the anniversary of dr. fushiguro’s death. 

“i say he was murdered, just like the professor. we have a real serial killer on our hands, ladies and gents!” ieiri shoko—a haphazard extension of your friend group—wiggles her brows, reclined back on her hands to survey the rest of you as she puffs her cigarette. 

gojo rolls his eyes, giving the speaker an unimpressed look. “i think they gotta tick a few more boxes before it’s a serial killer, no? only two murders, and so far apart?” he shakes his head to discount the theory. he makes a good point, perhaps it was just a creepy coincidence after all. there’s no reason to freak yourself out over nothing.  

“yeah? well i think it’s connected too.” iori says from her spot on the ground, her head laying in your lap as you braid and unbraid her hair, just keeping your brain occupied on something other than the death that seems to follow you. 

“yeah? and that’s why you don’t get paid for thinkin’.” gojo snickers, utahime’s annoyed attempt to swat at him blocked by suguru’s body, the two of them sitting behind you at the picnic tables out in the open sun. it made you feel a little safer, surrounded by friends and in a place where you could keep an eye out. you trust gojo and geto to watch your back.

satoru continues to giggle on about it until shoko interrupts, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and pointing gojo down with it. “what if they just pick one of us every year–some kind of halloween sacrifice?” she posits, and your eyes widen. the boys exchange a look, and suguru’s voice of reason cuts in. 

“let’s leave the detective work to the police, yeah? i’m sure sheriff zen’in wants to solve his nephews murder.” he leans back against the table while gojo balances his weight with his elbows on his knees. 

“yeah right. the sheriff couldn’t give a damn. ” you scoff, biting your tongue at the fact you spoke on the subject at all, but especially something so vague—implying you know more about toji than the normal student, and your cautious friends are also perceptive, you fear. 

“what’s that s’pposed to mean? our loyal piggy doesn’t wanna protect the community?” gojo leans forward on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. he’s studying you—every nervous shift of your eyes, the seconds you let pass before you answer, everything, and you know it. 

“of…course he does. i only meant—” 

“pshhh, everyone knows those zen’in families are weird.” utahime swings in to save you—feeling the way your body tenses under your best friends interrogating stare “why d’you think his last name is fushiguro instead, hm? probably left the family to be a better person—how dreamy of him.” she sighs wistfully, having been another one of the many girls that would have killed to be in your place. “and that old bastard probably doesn’t care. he probably did it himself, knowing how corrupt–”

“smoking on campus, are we, students?” headmaster yaga walks up to send the conversation to a screeching halt. shoko quickly snuffs out her butt on her boot, crumpling the evidence in her hand as the man comes closer. suguru’s never quite cared about the opinions of his elders, and he won’t start now. he keeps slowly dragging his—making eye contact with the headmaster as he comes to a stop before your group in the grass. “geto. you mind?”

he arches his brow in annoyance, sticking out his tongue to burn the ash on. gojo giggles. “what an anarchist!” he cheers jovially, nudging his friend with his elbow. “we didn’t see any no smoking signs sir, swear.” 

suguru cracks a lazy grin at the defense, looking at yaga patiently. “i’m sure you’ve heard the news about your fellow classmate.” he starts, and utahime sits up properly to question him more specifically. 

“that he dropped out? yeah–we heard that days ago.” she confronts with furrowed brows. you can tell by the clench of yaga’s jaw that there’s more news. your heart sinks to your stomach, that bad feeling you had making an ugly return with the shifting of yaga’s stance. 

“what–did they find him?!” you push yourself up to stand, heart pounding in your ears. if kento was dead, was it your fault too somehow? 

yaga turns to you with a sad and curt nod. “they did. he was…strung up outside of his house–brutally murdered. his parents found him. all we know so far is that he was on the phone when he died. his mother heard him.”

you cover your mouth with shaky hands. how awful, to hear your own son gargle his last breaths? what a horrible way to go, you can’t believe your stoic and stern lab partner was no more, meeting a fate so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemies. 

“how awful…his poor family.” iori shakes her head, too stunned to speak further. shoko replaces her cigarette with a fresh lollipop, lost in her own head; no doubt contemplating the morbid horror film most closely resembling the current situation—she has a fixation with death.

“there will be a memorial fundraiser to help his family with the funeral costs.” yaga nods, arms folded over his chest. he was clearly at a loss for words, though what could one even really say? he settled for, “be wary, kids. the sheriff’s department will be issuing a curfew. please be safe.” 

iori nods as the headmaster walks away—turning back to look at everyone. you hug yourself, feeling a chill in the air that only reminds you of what time of year it is—halloween. you’re still lost in thought, wondering what toji and nanami could have possibly had in common outside of knowing you and being at this school. what motive could be, who was next. 

satoru and suguru exchange a look. they can see how wound up you are, noting that you seemed to know that something had happened to nanami before you were told. shoko breaks the silence first.

“this is just like scream, you know? spooky phone calls and brutal killings—says here that he was gutted and suspended from a tree.”  she shakes her head, reading the pixelated news article from her nokia screen—grossed out and intrigued at the same time. 

iori gasps, “that’s awful—don’t compare his death to a movie, ieiri!” she scolds, noticing you off in la la land. “earth to y/n…hellooooo? i hope this isn’t a scary movie because you are so dying first.” she snarks, and gojo arches his brows and grins mischievously at the sentiment. he gets to his feet, creeping up behind you–jerking you by the shoulders and gasping just to scare you. 

you scream and jump back—punching him in the chest. “you jerk!’ you huff as he covers his stomach with laughter, stumbling back into his bench seat. suguru gives you an apologetic smile, standing and offering you his hand. 

“c’mon, let me walk you home.” he tilts his head towards the path you take. gojo jumps up too. 

“i’ll come with! make up for my prank?” he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder. his icy blue gaze stays trained on you until you finally give in and look at him, making a bright grin spread across his face. 

shoko huffs, “you’re an insensitive asshat—i’m sure you’re not taking this seriously because you always picked on kento. i wonder if the piggies know that!” 

“he was a nerd—that’s all!” he scoffs with an eye roll, “oh yeah, so now i killed the guy, huh?” he furrows his brows, insulted by shoko’s insinuation that he could stoop so low. 

“no one said that, satoru.” suguru claps his free hand down on the other’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “let’s all relax. i know this is scary, so make sure we walk in partners, at least.” 

utahime gags and rolls her eyes at the dramatics, stretching out before getting to her feet. you look to her, thinking you should make sure your fellow woman makes it to her dorm, but suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts again.

“we just want to make sure you get home safely with all of this going on, you look…worried.” suguru comments, stretching his palm out to remind you that his hand was extended for you. your heart warms at his kindness. he’s always been a gentle giant–especially compared to satoru; who has his own charms to him like his sense of humor and his striking good looks. he takes care of you in his own ways—but suguru’s always been more traditional. you place your hand in his, smiling thankfully. he turns to the other girls, but yu haibara is already escorting them the other way, careful to avoid you entirely. your shoulders slump at the idea that he blames you for nanami’s death. 

gojo slings an arm around your shoulders and they steer you towards your off campus rental. it’s a little two bedroom one bath—no satoru mansion, but it does the trick. you’re rarely there anyways, bouncing between your friends’ residences for the “dates” you all go on—though ieiri and iori aren’t typically included. 

“so this stuff’s really got you messed up in the noodle, huh?” satoru asks, exchanging careful glances with his opposite. you hum so he knows you heard him, settling into the rhythm they were walking for you. you don’t know if it’s the question or the crisp autumn air that makes you shiver—maybe it’s the way they both watch you so intensely, though the longer you think about it the more you realize they’ve kinda always been like that, letting their eyes stay on you too long, analyzing your features to decipher how you really feel. you can’t hide a thing from them. you can only buy yourself time. 

“yeah. i guess so.” you settle on, tucking your cheek into your shoulder. you knew they would ask for more specifics, all in the due process of taking care of you. 

“were you even close to that nanami guy?” suguru follows up, brows raised in curiosity. you know this trap. it was a miracle you’ve ever been able to keep toji a secret. they’ve always taken a special interest in your love life—they’re protective over you, and wanted to vet any potential match for you. but the boys you met in high school were easily scared off by the strong and intimidating friends of yours, so you figured college wouldn’t be much different. hence why you didn’t try—taking toji’s affection like a gift that fell into your lap. 

“he was my lab partner, so we’ve done a few projects together. he seemed like a nice guy, never crossed any lines. responsible. the sort.” you shrug again, not wanting to seem too invested. “i guess it’s just…weird. he was here one day and now he’s not, and killed so brutally…it doesn’t feel real.” you explain, and suguru seems to reflect on the words. 

“people die all the time, sugar. maybe he got caught up in something he shouldn’t’ve, maybe wrong place wrong time, or maybe he was eyeing something that didn’t belong to him. who knows. no use troubling yourself over it.” gojo shrugs, sliding his hand up to pat the back of your head. 

“that’s easy for you men to say! if some serial killer came after you, you could fight ‘em off. i have no chance if he was…to pick me next.” you retort, trying to make them see why you were so amped up about it. 

“what makes you think that he would pick you next?” suguru furrows his brows, but gojo just tilts his head side to side to mull it over. 

“nanami was a man, right? i wonder why he died.” he thinks aloud, shrugging. you snap your head towards him to chastise him for such a statement, but suguru clears his throat. 

“you have nothing to worry about, right? like satoru said earlier. these are isolated incidents, and they’ve only gone after men so far. chin up, angel.” he insists as you three walk up the steps to your house. 

you take a deep but shaky breath, nodding. suguru was right. the only victims have been men. toji’s death and subsequently nanami’s had nothing to do with each other. it was just your guilt gnawing at you. if you didn’t get yourself together, your perceptive bodyguards would pick up on the fact that you were hiding something from them. “thank you. i…needed to hear that.” you nod in satisfaction. 

“i’ll call you later, just to make sure you’re still..doing alright.” he assures, patting your hand before he drops it. gojo squeezes you into him, ruffling your hair. 

“don’t worry, cutie. we’ll see you tomorrow!! dream of me!” he calls out as their figures retreat.

once the door shuts behind you, you sigh out a breath of relief. 

you get some homework and laundry done in the few hours you have before bed. it’s a regular routine, but that’s why you found peace in it. you make yourself some dinner and cozy up on the couch, flipping through the channels to find something to make some noise outside of your loud brain. nanami’s picture makes you pause on the news, the reporter droning on about the case. according to phone records from that night, someone called his house six times, calls various in length from where kento was allegedly hanging up and trying to ignore the killer. 

“it seems the young man was stalked from outside his home for the entire night—making a valiant effort to run according to forensics before he eventually succumbed to his injuries. the case is ongoing, and due to the nature of the crime, sheriff zen’in has ordered a curfew of 8pm, beginning friday.” 

you’re reeling at the report, stunned beyond belief. it’s hard for you to even envision something so horrible. he must have been so scared. when your home phone rings—you’re jumping out of your skin–scambling up the couch with a scream. you stare at the receiver on the little side table next to you, fear nipping up your spine. that reporter said that nanami had been called repeatedly the night of his death—but suguru also promised to call. you decide to take the chance, satoru lives close enough that you could call him for help if it was this mysterious serial killer instead of one of your best friends on the other line—plus, nanami’s slaughter showed that ignoring the call wouldn’t help a thing. 

you reach out a shaky hand, feeling your throat go dry and tight as your sweaty palm grabs the receiver. like it makes a difference, you quickly put it up to your ear, looking around frantically. you never realized how many windows your house has, and now it feels like you’re naked for the world to see. “hello?”

“hey, angel.” suguru’s luxurious voice calms your nerves instantly, like throwing water on a fire. you relax back into the cushions, sighing audibly. 

“h-hey.” you card your fingers through your hair in attempt to rid yourself of any lingering anxiety. 

“i take it you aren’t feeling better about the whole ordeal then?” he sighs with you, gnawing on his bottom lip a little. you were troublesome for his own nerves. 

you play with the spiral cord connecting the receiver to the landline. “i was, i swear! then i saw the news and they were warning about phones like yaga did earlier and then–”

“your phone rang. sorry about my timing then, sweetheart. did you eat?” he interrupts, but his concern makes you tingle with warmth. they may be overbearing at times, but it’s so clear how much they care about you. 

“mhm. i have some leftovers though, if you’re still hungry. i could…use some company?” you weakly excuse, slightly embarrassed to basically beg for his protection; but the truth was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight unless you had some comfort. 

he chuckles softly and smiles into the phone when he agrees. “of course. i’ll be right over. give me ten minutes—i’ll bring slushies.” he hums enticingly, and you give him a choked up chuckle of relief. he would protect you through the night–and make sure that you had a good time, too.

“kk, sounds good. i want the cherry one!” you tell him like he doesn’t already know everything about your preferences. 

“i know you want the cherry—i’m not a psychopath.” he chuckles with you, his car’s engine humming to life in the background. “i’ll see you soon angel. hang tight.” the line goes dead, but you’re no longer filled with a sense of dread, even if you were still nervous about the murderer on the loose. 

while you wait on suguru, you do some more channel surfing. you wonder what satoru’s up to tonight and if he’ll be peeved that he wasn’t invited to hang out. who are you kidding, of course he’ll be jealous. you reach over for the phone to call him—even with suguru’s headstart he would probably still beat him here if you got to him now. the high pitched ringing of the phone sounds off again just as your hand wraps around it, making you jump just slightly—it caught you off guard, is all. it’s probably suguru calling to tell you that 7/11 is out of cherry—they’re always out of cherry. annoyed, you put the receiver to your ear. 

“ugh, don’t tell me—”

“hello y/n.” the slightly garbled deep voice says. you don’t recognize it–and your heart drops to your stomach. this, this is who’s been murdering people, this is him. this is who they warned you about—why suguru is sneaking out to come see you through the night–suguru. you have to buy enough time for him to get here, if nothing else. 

“who are you?” you ask, trying to give your voice some bravado. you start searching the windows again, the eerie sensation that you aren’t alone was making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. goddamn you need to invest in a dog. 

“blegh–boring question. i want to know who you are, precious y/n.” the voice states, male in nature, but you can’t distinguish anything past that. your heart races at the avoidance. 

“you know my name, and my phone number. seems to me you know who i am.” you clench your jaw together to keep your teeth from chattering, willing yourself to be intimidating. the voice on the other end cackles in amusement. 

“you’re funny y/n. i mean the real you, silly girl! let’s play a game. for every question you get right, the longer i’ll let you live. every question you get wrong…one of your friends… dies!” he seems very entertained with himself over the threats, making the fear bubble up over your heart. 

“m-my boyfriend is on the way! he’s really big and he’ll beat your ass–” 

“and he’ll be the first one dead! question numero uno, and we’re starting easy!! oh, don’t cry now! you can do it, c’mon, iori and ieiri need you right? those are your girlfriends–and that’s not the first question!” he titters again, but his name drops make your rapidly beating heart still in your chest. “how far away is your little boyfriend?”

your chest heaves, the stranger’s wish for you not to cry was wasted. he knows everything–all your friends names—maybe the fact you hadn’t called satoru tonight was the only thing keeping him safe. you wonder how long this stalker must have been following you, listening to you. you wonder if he killed toji too—and why. 

“l-like…six minutes, or so. I-i don’t know!” you cry out, clutching the receiver. you think about the consequences of hanging up—maybe that is what angered him into killing nanami. you better stay on the line. 

“good girl. see? not that hard! just keep using that noggin’ of yours!” he encourages, breathing heavily into his side of the phone. 

you nod, sure he can see you anyway. you shrink into the couch as if it will swallow you whole and keep you safe, but the feeling of comfort is short-lived. 

“why was toji fushiguro murdered??” 

you blanche. he is responsible. this is…all your fault after all. your worst fears are coming true right in front of you, and suguru cannot get here fast enough to stop it. 

“i…i don’t know! i didn’t do it!” you put your hand over your other ear, trying to ball up and make this all go away. 

“wrong answerrrr. you’ll find out soon that i’m not bluffing, sugar. let’s try again. why was toji fushiguro butchered?”

how does he know? toji must have told people. that’s the only logical explanation—you know that you haven’t spoken of it to a soul. this man knew, and killed him for it? was he related to toji’s wife, here for revenge? where did kento fit into this—is it really all about you?

you can hardly hear yourself respond over your heartbeat echoing in your ears, pumping your blood in a rush. “i..i dunno!! because i slept with him!?” 

“ding ding ding! i knew you were a smart girl. but you do know that makes you a little slut, right? do you know that means you killed him, sugar!” he hisses the last part, as if personally hurt by the notion. 

“i..it was wrong–yes–but i..i–” you try to explain, but realize the stranger has no reason to allow it. he’s here to punish you, and you have to either accept this lying down, or try to put up some kind of fight. 

“is that two wrong answers? you’ll sentence your best friends to death over your pride, slut? how disappointing.” 

“no, no–i am!” you clench your eyes shut, finding it easy to beg for their lives. if this caller was to be believed, then you already knew he wasn’t bluffing. 

“you’re what? hmmm y/n?” his voice gets louder, like he’s closer to the device. 

“i’m a…slut!” your cheeks burn, you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you wait for the stranger to reply. “please sir.” 

“last question–speed round. what door am i at? your front door…or your porch?” 

thoughts stop and instinct takes over, causing you to drop the phone and run to your porch–a sliding glass door with flimsy locks. you turn on all the lights, hoping to ward off whatever evil lurked in the night hunting you. you click all the locks in place, sprinting now towards your front door, which stood open already. 

“no..” you say aloud, voice a broken whisper of realization. he was already in your house. maybe he had been the whole time, you don’t know anything anymore. all you can think about was suguru’s arrival—hoping you could last for a few minutes longer. you spin around, deciding to venture back the way you came. it was already cleared, he couldn’t have slipped behind—a gloved hand covers your mouth—leather thick enough to smother, and you throw your elbow back as hard as you can, stunning the captor into letting your face go. with a hurried gasp, you’re sprinting for your life. you run to your porch door, grappling with the lock that you just secured. you keep looking over your shoulder, waiting for the figure to reemerge, shaking the lock with all your might. you hear the footsteps, looking over your shoulder to see a tall monstrosity—cloaked in ghostface’s attire. you scream out and throw the door open. shutting it on him before he had the chance to grab you again. 

your heart is racing and you aren’t sure where to go next, attempting to clear your fence to get to the main yard of your house, maybe you could get to suguru first. the killer is faster though, both in mind and in body. he grabs your ankle before you can get all the way over, yanking you back to his domain. you scream for help, but there’s no one around to hear you. 

“my boyfriend—he’s scary, please mister!” you fight, kicking and thrashing to get all the openings to escape that you could. “let me go!” you throw your legs, connecting with his stomach. he reflexively clutched it in pain, giving you a window to scramble back to your feet and back into your house through the porch door you escaped from. locking it would be a waste, you just start throwing down whatever you could get your hands on to make an obstacle course for the masked man. you assume the cheap costume doesn’t have the best visibility, and you hope to use that to your advantage. 

you sprint for the front door, hearing the grunting and frustrated groans of the man chasing you. you blink through your panicked tears, grasping at straws for what to do next. it’s then that you hear the gravel of your driveway crunch under what could only be tires—and who could only be suguru. you shove your couch in between you and the killer, flailing yourself down your front steps and into the yard, sobbing and out of breath, scrapes and scratches showing the evidence of the chase. 

suguru is out of his car in an instant, by your side even quicker. he seems to put two and two together at the sight of you, running into the house just in time to see the ghostface impersonator sneak out of your living room window, fading into the distance. you can’t let suguru go very far, terrified beyond measure as you glue to his side and cry into his shirt once he assures you the scary man is gone. 

he holds your face, trying to soothe you the best way he knows how. “shh, shh, let’s call the sheriff, alright? this has to be reported.” he insists, holding you to his chest as he picks up your phone to call the police to your home, your kitchen and living room a mess of the night that would undoubtedly scar you for life. you nod, burying your face in his comforting scent. “just tell them what happened, and make sure you tell them everything.” he encourages, petting your hair as you wait for them to arrive.

your heart sinks at the prospect of revealing your secrets to the police. surely they don’t need to know every word exchanged on the phone. you can communicate the gist. you rehearse in your head what to say—but nothing prepared you for sheriff zen’in putting suguru in cuffs and shoving him in the back of a squad car. 

you protest, proclaiming his innocence–but the sheriff says if he’s truly done nothing wrong, then he can answer a few of their questions down at the station. you ride in a car too, like a passenger instead of a prisoner, to report what happened in detail that night. you can hardly get through an account of it—too nervous about suguru’s interview. he didn’t even wait for a lawyer, and had already used his phone call. deputy choso finally lets you go once it’s apparent you’re too shaken up to give them anymore than your scrambled memory, about being home and talking to suguru and then a very…summarized version of your call with the killer—and of course your run from him. 

you’re relieved when a just-rolled-out-of-bed satoru throws the station doors open, face stern as he scans for you. his features soften when they land on yours, and he’s pulling you into his arms before you’ve even really processed that he’s here. suguru must have used his call on him, to make sure you were taken care of in the event they want to hold him overnight—you’re touched. 

“y/n, what happened?! suguru said—a ghostface broke into your house?? are you alright, are you hurt—what are they talking to him for?” he asks, cradling your head on his chest after gawking at your bandaged ankle. you shake your head on him, just wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“i dunno, the guy chased me, satoru—i thought i was going to die!! suguru got there just in time, he saved me, and they’re treating him like he’s a criminal! get him out of there—call your dad or something this is bullshit!” you heave, panicky breaths shaking out over his shirt. 

he rubs your back, finding suguru’s eyes through the blinds over sheriff zen’in’s window. he takes a steadying breath, clearly trying to set an example for you to follow. “it’s gonna be okay, c’mon, you believe in your ole pal satoru, right?” he leans back, hands on your shoulders to give you a reassuring look. his nod gives you the faith to do the same, leaning back into his chest for that feeling of safety that seems so fleeting these days. 

satoru goes back and forth with the deputy about holding suguru overnight, threatening the mayor’s intervention. but deputy choso calls his bluff, rolling his eyes in clear aggravation. 

“even the mayor’s asleep right now, kid. unless daddy’ll come running at three a.m, geto’s spending the night.” 

“we have classes tomorrow you dipshit. y/n was literally expecting him—what can you even be holding him on?” satoru bucks, arching his brow. it’s rare that he gets serious, but when he does he comes correctly. 

“reasonable suspicion.” choso shrugs, leaning back in his desk chair. “doesn’t suguru know how to clone phone numbers? i seem to remember some trouble the two of you got in for prank calling.” 

“in eighth grade?” gojo scoffs, grabbing your hand roughly. you know it’s just because he’s wound up about the situation at hand. first your attack, then they cage suguru up like an animal, and now he’s dealing with dumbass deputy dewey. “prank calling to psycho murderer, huh? i suppose that is the only logical fuckin step!” he shakes his head in disbelief, dragging you from the station. “let’s go, sugar. time to get you back to bed—”

ice floods your veins. “what did you just call me?” you pull back out of his grip, looking at him with wide eyes. satoru’s face falters as he searches over yours, paused mid-speech. 

“what, sugar? i’ve called you that for years, y/n!” he rolls his eyes, sighing. “so paranoid, goodness. c’mon.” he pats your lower back, urging you into a steady stride alongside him. “let’s go to my place. wouldn’t want there to be a second strike or anything.” 

you still stare at him with that quiet unease, brain racing through your conversation with ghostface. “h-he called me that, too.” you mutter, stumbling over your own feet every few steps. satoru slips his arm around your waist to keep you close and to keep you from falling. 

“well, i didn’t exactly coin the nickname, i must admit.” he forcibly chuckled. “babe, please.” he rolls his eyes at your steady disbelief. “if i wanted to kill ya, do you not think i could pretty easily? i mean, my dad’s the mayor and you have no family. clearly, i only have your best interest at heart, y/n.” he raises his brow, and as blunt as his statement may be, it is effective. satoru’s strong enough to crush you in one hand, if he wanted to. plus they’d be the only ones that missed you if you were gone.  “i’ll…try not to call you that anymore.” he adds on the end, squeezing your hip in an effort to give you some peace of mind. 

you nod softly, processing. he’s always been sort of crude and a little brutal in his manner of speaking, always followed up by triumphant giggles at his own jokes. it’s his way of protecting you, of playing good cop and bad cop all at once, and over time you’ve gotten used to his bluntness. he was right anyhow, you shouldn’t doubt the only protection you have in times like these. plus, his offer of safety was too good to pass up. 

so you let gojo bring you to his huge estate, not affiliated with the mayor’s property downtown, no, this was just for satoru alone. it was expansive but still held onto that homestyle feeling. his bedroom was cozy, warm and safe like his arms around you, protecting you through the last few hours of the night.

news of your attack had spread like a forest fire around campus by the following morning. of course everyone’s in your face, all swarming around you in hopes they could get any bits of information—did the ghostface mention nanami? how did you escape? why was suguru still at the station if he rescued you? 

luckily satoru is there to serve as the buffer between you and the crowd, your other friends close in quickly as well, shoving and cussing until the path cleared and the rules to leave you be were instilled. you weren’t even sure how you were up and walking right now. you were exhausted between the chase and your collective two hours of sleep. your worry was weighing you down, the haunting anxiety of being attacked again, of causing more of your friends to be killed due to your wrong answers, of getting suguru into serious trouble just because this town wanted someone to blame for this. you felt like you’ve had too many iced coffees, body wired and fidgeting as you try to avoid all the lingering stares by making your way to the bathroom to hide for a bit—just long enough to let everyone settle into classes, so you can peacefully get to yours. 

you hear a couple of girls chit-chatting between the stalls, a voice you recognize saying your name followed by a near audible eye-roll. you quickly tuck yourself into a stall so they don’t see you when they come out, heart racing now that you seem to be the topic of conversation. 

“i bet she’s making it all up. i mean—a ghostface costume? really? that movie came out thirteen years ago! i mean if we’re getting in the halloween spirit, why not jigsaw?” she snickers, the metal door to the stall clanging open to signify that they’ve left—the water running at the sinks. 

“mei mei! that’s awful, why do you hate her so much?” the other girl teases, grabbing some paper towels. you bite your lip in wait, insulted beyond belief that she could think you were that big of an attention whore. 

“because gojo and geto follow that girl around like she has some kind of…spell on them! i wouldn’t be surprised if she killed dr. fushiguro. she was in his class last year—and he seemed to pick on her a lot. maybe he was some…witchy sacrifice to make the two hottest guys at this school fall in love with her! nanami was this years!” she reveals as if she’s solved the crimes herself, simply from being so self-aware. 

“that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, skank!” her friend dismisses with laughter, their voices fading as the bathroom door squeals shut, telling you they’ve left for good. you lean against the door of your stall for a moment, raking your hands over your face to cope with the cold sweat coating your skin and the disbelief gripping your heart. you fidget with the lock, stumbling out to the sinks for something to bring you back to life. you turn the faucet on, thinking some cold water would do the trick. it helps you perk up a bit even when it just hits your hands. before you can cup any and splash your face, a chill creeps up your spine—you’re being watched. 

you bend over, looking under the doors of each stall to make sure there weren’t any feet lurking behind the doors waiting to attack you. you don’t see anything, puffing out your cheeks as you exhale and right your posture. you make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. you have to snap out of this, you tell yourself, raking your hands over your face, tugging at your eyes and rubbing your cheeks in an effort to remind yourself of reality. 

“y/nnnn.” the distorted voice echoes in your mind, making you gasp and spin around to look at the stalls, look all over the bathroom, nearly flattening your chest to the floor to look under the stalls again. again, nothing. your brain is playing tricks on you. you’ve officially lost it. what was the likelihood of being attacked in your campus bathroom anyway—especially since he started at your house? you take a deep breath and gather your backpack up, hearing the clanking metal sound of one of the stall locks. “don’t ignore me, y/n.” 

you squat down, there had to be someone there this time. you knew paranoia could only go so far, that voice sending your heart into a fearful spiral. 

boots descend from the toilet, planting firmly on the ground. you start to breathe heavily, a jagged black cloak lowered to tell you that you were indeed being targeted by a ghostface impersonator, and you scream. he lunges out of the stall—a huge hunting knife clasped in both hands over his head as you duck, limboing under his attack and making for the door. 

“help me!!” you scream frantically, voice so shrill it hurts your throat. you feel the heat of his body against your back, so you fling your head backwards into his chest—surprising him enough to falter. you fling the door open, making that connect too, scrambling for any extra time and space you could get. your vision is blurred by the nervous tears that spring automatically, searching for an exit or someone to help. you see a few guys standing together at the end of the hall—one of which has stark white hair that you could recognize from worlds away. “satoru!! he’s here, help!!” 

the frantic desperation in your voice grabs all of their attention, satoru and naoya zen’in—grandson of the sheriff–sprint closer to figure out what’s going on. they see the masked man stalking after you, but you can only keep running for your life. your legs nearly give out as you make it to satoru, collapsing in his arms. his eyes are wide as he pushes you back behind him, turning to deal with the intruder—but the zen’in beats him to it. he tackles the figure, managing to wrestle the knife away even before the ghostface rolled them to win the struggle, punching naoya hard enough that his head bounced off the floor. you gasp–shoving satoru forward. 

“help him!!” you panic, not able to stomach the thought of someone else dying over you. satoru barrels forward and roughly pulls the ghostface off, turning to naoya to ensure he was still alive while the masked figure tumbles to the ground with a grunt. you’re paralyzed with terror as one of the other boys, a freshman named ijichi, checks on you, grabbing your attention with his shaky voice.

“y/n, are you alright? goodness.” he pats your shoulder, and you nod–turning back to the commotion. you catch the sight of the cloak slipping down the stairs, screaming out for gojo to warn him. he quickly moves to follow—but finds no trace of the man. he turns back to you with a shake of his head. he was gone. 

satoru moves to pull you to your feet, holding you securely to his chest as yaga and a host of other teachers bustle through the hallways looking frantic. 

“he came to this school. that is it!” yaga shakes his head, surveying your crying and terrified form. “classes are canceled until further notice!” he declares, instructing for the cops to be called immediately–and to bring a paramedic for the student injured in your defense. you feel so guilty when you look over at the zen’in boy holding his eye, wincing. he had no business with you and didn’t have to get involved at all, but he likely saved your life!

you sniffle, gently pushing yourself off of gojo with a weak smile. you give him a grateful look, nodding to him in a way that communicated your need to accomplish something. “i’m okay.” 

he nods a little, letting his hand fall off of your elbow. he watches you slouch over to naoya as he shoves himself into a seated position. you crouch to his level, giving him a gentle but still anxious smile. 

“hey..does it hurt pretty bad?” you ask, sympathetically frowning at the shiner. he scoffs a little at your question. you sure are lucky you’re stunning–and that he has a reputation to uphold. 

“yeah? it’s a massive bruise. i’ll live though.” he shrugs, brushing his hair out of the way. 

“well…thank you. for doing that, you could have been hurt worse.” you nod, standing. you reach your hand out to help him to his feet. he smiles, and takes your hold despite his usual pride, he’s able to capitalize on some arrogance. 

“i had it under control, don’t worry about it. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t step in?” he smirks, and the little look makes you blush. maybe you had a soft spot for the zen’in families good looks. 

“i see, well. thank you anyway.” you hum, turning back to satoru. “i guess we’re free to go home, huh? classes are canceled…” you scratch at the back of your neck anxiously, hoping satoru would let you attach like a little lost puppy in order to stay within the realms of safety. 

he rubs at your shoulders, wiggling his brows a little. “mhm, way to go, princess. you got us outta school!” he cheers, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “i say, party at my house!! everyone’s invited!” he yells out into the emptying hallway, the announcement of canceled classes causing the majority of your peers to spill into the schoolyard, escaping before the headmaster changes his mind. 

the idea of a party right now made you nauseous. anyone of these people could be the ghostface poser or his next victim. you wish you could just hole up in your house,  but being alone was hardly an option for you right now. satoru keeps a hand on your back to guide you out of the civics hall, assuring you that a party is exactly what you need to get your mind off of things. 

“there’s no way i’d leave your side anyway! plus the girls are gonna be there, and—look who the cat dragged in!” his long finger turns your head in the direction he was looking, and your eyes widen at the sight of suguru waiting against the group’s usual tree. relief floods your system. at least suguru was free, clearly they couldn’t pin this on him like they wanted. 

he strolls over to fall in line on your other side, giving you a sly smile. “hey angel. shoko told me what went down, and i am now on your side. that sheriff doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.” he sighs out as he loops his arm around your shoulders. you give him a proper hug, letting him pick you up slightly to keep walking to satrou’s place. it was a normal happenstance, the two of them loved passing you between them like a toy football they tossed back and forth, this time it was suguru who lifts you from the ground. you wrap your legs around his thighs with a giggle—feeling a bit of lighthearted fun spring to your heart. 

“oh don’t tell me you didn’t get the honeymoon suite.” satoru mocks, reaching for your upper half to pull you into his hold, to which you and suguru insist in passing you over. it’s all part of the games they like to play with you. 

you roll your eyes. “we tried to get you out, well—sato did. that deputy was a big ole meanie about it.” you huff, being carried like a baby in gojo’s arms. he nods, pouting down at you. 

“totally. was gonna get dad on it and everything! but hey—this party will be epic, the girls are getting some snacks, we’re on beer duty!” he cheers happily, gently tossing you up into the air. you freely giggle, falling back into his protective hold. he passes you to suguru, who slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. you playfully kick and giggle and that sweet sound prompts satoru into comment. “she’s always so happy with us, huh sugu?” 

he pats above your back, nodding. “of course. you’re our girl, right?” he hums, giving satoru a knowing smirk. you squeal a little and nod. 

“mhm, i just feel so…safe with you two!” you sigh, relaxing across his shoulder. he finally lowers you to your own two feet once it’s time to walk into the general store with that one boozy cashier that would let geto have whatever he wanted from that store—including his weight in beer probably two times the legal purchase amount. you stroll around the aisles with them, satoru urging you to pick your own snacks over whatever gross shit iori and ieiri brought over. 

for once, all seems to be well. you settle into a couch at satoru’s place, letting the boys fight over where they sat, deciding they’d just let you lay across them both. so your new couch becomes satoru and suguru, but they’re just as comfortable. shoko and utahime laugh at the sight when they come in, a few more stragglers that heard satoru’s invite making their way in for the free booze. 

shoko of course came with her bag stuffed with horror classic dvds, starting with the obvious scream given her recent comments, and you roll your eyes and groan at the selection. suguru pets your hair back at your reaction, chuckling down at you. 

“what, not a horror fan?” he raises a brow, the idea making gojo titter. 

“probably not enough lady killers for our princess’ liking.” he elbows geto playfully, squeezing your thigh with his other hand. “or too many bimbos. which is it?” he asks expectantly, blowing some hair out his eyes. 

you shrug. “what does sidney say, something about how insulting it is that all the girls are so dumb? always running upstairs when they should be going out a door on ground level. it’s annoying. and yeah—more girl killers!” you giggle back, finally settling into a decent spirit now that you knew you were safe with your friends. 

“totally!! carrie’s like all we have!” utahime complains from the floor. 

“well—all the victims have been dudes so far. maybe we have a lady ghostface out there.” satoru raises his beer to clink it with utahime’s. she’s already tipsy enough to toast gojo, so you know this night will be eventful, though you can’t help your unease at his statement. you felt like it was important to only pass around the proper information in regards to something like this, even though satoru’s only joking innocently. 

“it’s not a woman. he’s too tall.” you mumble, reminding your friends in the room that you’ve suffered at the hands of this killer not once, but twice. your friends shift around awkwardly at the realization that they’ve gone a little too far. 

satoru pats your thigh. “hey, y/n—” you assume he was going to apologize, but he’s cut off by the phone. your heart plunges. no, this can’t be happening. not here, not in the safety of satoru’s home–with all of your friends gathered around. your gasp makes a few heads turn to you, and satoru’s face falls at your jumpiness. “hey, it’s alright. probably just my folks. don’t worry. shoko—answer it?” 

she nods, though you can tell she’s a little nervous too. she puts the phone to her ear and hums–seemingly recognizing the voice on the other end. the room all takes a collective breath of relief, but that doesn’t last very long. shoko clamps her hand over her mouth as she gasps, turning to you all to repeat what she was just told. 

“it’s the sheriff’s grandson—naoya. they found him strung up the flagpole—gutted like nanami!” she whisper yells, sparking the intrigue of most of the mildly intoxicated young adults in the room. she nods a few more times with whoever’s on the other line, shaking her head at the grotesque crime until they hang up. 

“well—what are we waiting for, let’s go check it out before they pull him down!” some freshman suggests, getting whoops and hollers from the other nameless faces as the pile out of the room, shoko leading the charge. you’re gripped with fear. this is the last straw. there’s no room to deny it anymore. the only common thread is you. when would this man get gojo? get geto? get ieiri and iori—you? would you have to watch all your friends die in front of you before he finally got you? naoya was not a nice guy, he had wronged plenty of people and was toji’s cousin—but he had saved you that day. and been punished for it.

“i need to go lie down.” you declare, sitting up on the only two men you could trust these days—which only made you fear for their safety that much more. suguru looks up at you wistfully, seeming to understand. gojo pouts, but nods his head towards his room. 

“we’ll know where to find ya, sweet cheeks.” he assured, helping you slide off of their laps. you smile and nod at him gratefully, breaking out in that nervous cold sweat you were prone to as you creep up the steps towards satoru’s room. your heart thunders in your chest, so loud in your own ears you think it may be audible to everyone else. suguru ‘awwws’ as you walk off and utahime blows you a kiss, stretched out in the recliner. she’s invested in the movie—totally into billy loomis, naturally. 

you wish you could be so naive to spend your night crushing on the killer in an old horror film, but your mind is too preoccupied with the one you’re living. some comfort soothes at your heart as you enter satoru’s large personal space. it smells of his soothing sweet scent, and you melt right into his bed, looking up at the rotations of the ceiling fan. you aren’t sure how long you stare up at it, wondering what entertainment your classmates were getting out of seeing naoya’s dead body. it makes you shudder to think about it, you wish that this was some sort of nightmare. at least those weren’t real. but that can’t be, because you feel yourself fall into some kind of satoru’s scent-induced slumber. 

“you know, it is pretty spooky how similar these past few deaths have been to the movie.” utahime scrunches her nose as she looks around the remaining friends. gojo nods, lips turned down in a pondering frown. 

“yeah–like the disembowelment? totally creepy. awww i’m all out of beer. utahimeeeee?” he coos, shaking his bottle at her. she jiggles hers and rolls her eyes at the emptiness. she shoves out of her comfy spot on the recliner. 

“you’re lucky mine’s empty, you bastard.” she chuckles, shaking her head and making her way out to the garage. 

“let suguru beer-sit for me when you get back, i’m gonna go check on the princess!” he yells after her, using his own thighs to propel himself into a stand. he turns to suguru, brows raised. “she’s been so skittish lately. i’ll be right back.” 

suguru takes a swallow of his room-temp beer, making a face at the taste. he finds himself alone with the movie, no choice but to watch the corny film that the current killings seem styled after—at least in costuming. he sighs. 

some time must have passed by the time you blink awake. you think it’s the trees rustling in the october wind that rips you out of your brief reprieve, or maybe it’s the uncomfortable silence and stillness to gojo’s house. either way, you’re yawning—stretching out on your stomach as you remember what caused you to isolate yourself from the rest of the party in the first place. you close your eyes as if that will stop the thoughts in their tracks, but it’s no use. 

the scraping up the trellis outside of satoru’s room does plenty to wipe your mind, followed by what could only be the sound of the window being opened from the outside. you push yourself up, ready to flee the bed, but his voice stops you as if he had puppeteer strings controlling your limbs. the distortion is familiar, just like it was on the phone that day. 

“don’t move you little bitch, i’ll slice you to ribbons!” he cheers, boots scuffing against the floor. you’re holding your breath, still laying on your stomach, head faced away from the killer. 

“wh–what do you want from me?” you gulp, clenching your jaw as his weight sinks into the bed. your hands grip satoru’s pillow as the ghostface touches your back, hand resting in between your shoulder blades. he trails one finger along your spine, stopping at the curve of your ass. 

“ya mean you haven’t figured it out?” he slides his hand under your skirt, curling his finger in the waistline of your panties, pulling them out and letting them snap back against your skin. “i want that pretty pussy in exchange for another day on this spinning rock!” 

you shiver, fear creeping up your veins. you feel something sharper than a finger against your back—unmistakably the point of his hunting knife. your body straightens and you gasp, his gloved hand palming at your ass. while the blade keeps you in place. 

“p-please, mr. ghostface, i–i dunno what this is all about!” you breathe heavily, feeling a tingling warmth bubble in your abdomen at his touch—fear had to be crossing the wires in your brain. he uses one hand to shove up your skirt, slapping the skin, the leather covering his hand only intensifying the feeling. you squeeze your eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation–shaking your head in surprise with yourself. 

“i just told ya, sugar. open up those ears and those legs. you’re gonna let me fuck you dumb if you ever wanna see outside this room again, be the good little slut i know you can be.” he pops your ass again, causing you to make a strangled sound of enjoyment. your cheeks burn, you can’t be enjoying this, the stranger that’s been terrorizing your life for the past few months—even possibly the man that killed your lover a year ago—should be the last person on the planet that causes your pussy to clamp around nothing. 

you obey, spreading your legs wide enough for him to shift between. he repositions himself there on his knees, hooking his arm around to press the long blade across your delicate neck as he pulls your hips up slightly. you gasp at the sharp weapon pressed to your jugular, careful not to move or you’d slit your own throat. he giggles, using his free hand to leave the outline of his hand on your ass. your heart thrashes, blood pumping in your ears as a disgusting need burns viciously in your gut. 

“that’s a good start, see. you can do it.” he kneads your ass approvingly, big hands gripping the skin so tenderly you whine out, biting your lip immediately after. his laugh is taunting, and makes the anticipation shoot up like sparklers. you’re ashamed. this is a dangerous and scary murderer, and he’s in here fucking you, you can’t deny that it makes you feel a little special—as he’s only targeting males. “ohhh you’re an even bigger skank than i thought, wow. you like it!” he licks his teeth audibly, hooking a finger around the crotch of your panties, yanking off the soiled fabric. he delights in damp juices covering his fingers as he tucks the soiled undies in the back pocket of his jeans beneath the robe. “you’ll fuck anyone won’t ya?” 

you move to shake your head, feeling blade bite into the flesh beneath. you open your mouth in your defense, silenced by the feeling of his bare fingers playing around in the mess holding you at knifepoint has created. “no! that’s not true!” 

he slaps your ass, sighing. “yeah? why’d you give this pretty little cunt to your married professor then? eager? desperate? did he make ya feel special?” he inquires, making your pussy grip again. the possessive lengths this murderer went through clearly spoke to your pussy if not your heart or your brain. you feel the man move around, freeing his cock if you had to guess. you ask yourself why you did fuck toji, and you decide to tell the truth. with the way things were going, he’d know if you were lying anyway. 

“because i was horny and he was hot and there—and i…i guess i did feel special, he picked me.” you reply, earning a growl in return. the smack on your ass has you screaming this time, the force of it causing you to brush up against the knife a little, feeling the first layer of skin give way. 

“wrong answer.” he gruffs, not as jovial sounding as before. you know what comes next. you briefly wonder what he’ll feel like, how curved or thick he’d be, and if he’d actually let you live after he’s done. he answers most of your questions rather quickly, feeling like lightning had struck you and split you open—you realize he’s shoved himself all the way in while you’re still laying on your stomach. you sputter out gargled sounds from suddenly being so full, balling up your fists in satoru’s pillow. maybe it was his scent wafting in your nose that made you horny instead of the masked man plowing your insides, holding your ass cheek apart with one hand in order to reach top speed. “little slut likes getting ruined by a psycho, huh? maybe i will keep you around after all, gripping my cock like you love it.” he giggles, laying all his body weight into the thrusts. 

you’re mewling, gripping satoru’s pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. the ghostface was hitting every spot so rapidly and with so much force that you’re seeing stars. it takes everything in you not to slump forward—only the threat of imminent death keeping you awake enough. 

“you keep grippin it, lil slut. dont wanna let me go?” he chuckles at the way you keep lifting up to escape the blade. “cute slut though!! and a good one. gonna give you my load for being so obedient—i guess you didn’t have much choice though!” he laughs and pulls the knife from your neck, sickening slaps of his hips into your ass sound out across the room, growing slower in pace until he stills altogether, seed flooding your insides–his tip pressing it directly to your womb. his breaths are slightly ragged as he presses your ass back together, trapping his cum tight as he pulls out of you, humming at the sight of his slimy seed sliding out of your hole and pearling up on your pretty thighs. you heard his zipper at the same time you heard a knock at the door, a voice you recognize all too well kicking the panic up again. 

“y/n? i heard screaming, are you okay?” suguru asks, jiggling the handle. “everyone’s gone and i just want to make sure you’re alright. i’m coming in.” 

you shake your head, turning to scream out a warning, but the ghostface clamps a hand over your mouth. suguru pushes the door open— furrowing his brows at the sight, immediately rushing forward to intervene. he grunts his displeasure, snatching your hand to yank you away from the figure. 

“run y/n!” he commands, trying to shove the man away from you. you slide off the bed frantically, trying to get geto to run away with you as he and the ghostface struggle for dominance over the knife. he turns his head to look at you still standing in the room. “go, now!” he calls out, the sound of the blade making contact with his skin making the color drain from your face. his eyes widen as he looks down at the knife in his chest—while the masked murderer cackles wildly before he grabs the wooden handle. geto looks back up at you, eyes growing more and more lidded.

“yet another friend you’ve killed, little skank!” he cheers, yanking the knife out with a harrowing schlick before embedding it in him again for good measure—his form falling to the ground. the sound of geto’s body collapsing was enough to send you scrambling down the stairs in search of the only other person who could help you get away. your legs move faster than you’ve ever seen them go before, taking two steps at a time as you bound for the door. 

you hear the stomps of ghostface’s boots coming after you. you shudder out your cries of anguish, trying to figure out a way to put some space between you and him—not wanting to put any merit in his promise to keep you alive. you jump over the couch, slinging the tv down and once again throwing any and all obstacles in your path. it seemed to work well enough the first time you tried it, and based off of his hiss and a subsequent thump, you know you tripped him up a little bit. you sprint towards the garage, flipping on the light and pressing the switch to raise the door—screaming in horror at what the lights reveal. 

iori utahime was nearly unrecognizable, her head smashed in the refrigerator with a broken beer bottle sticking out of her chest. hot tears spring out of your eyes instantly—muttering your apologies as you dip under the opening the garage door gives you, full sprinting like your life depends on it. you’ve made it to an open field—somewhere you once felt safe now making you feel like a deer waiting to be pounced on. you keep your head on a swivel, trying to locate the black mass in the night—but it was virtually impossible. 

when he comes out of your peripheral—running at you from your right side, you see him in enough time to slide under his attempt to bear hug you, turning an about face towards the house. maybe you could make it back there, make it back to geto’s body—if you could just lock the doors and windows, you should be home free. satoru was still around–luckily you didn’t find his body. you struggle to get oxygen into your system through the chilly night air—feeling it squeeze at your lungs as you desperately fight to get back to some idea of safety, running in bursts and patterns to keep the masked man guessing and confused through the tiny holes in the mask. tears still sting at your eyes as you throw yourself up the steps, making it to the door which you deadbolt instantly. you sweep the house, making sure the other doors were locked before coming back to the front—hearing the beating of the ghostface rap against the door. 

“don’t lock me out sugar! we had such a good time!” he appeals, using the weighty knife handle to beat on the door some more. you grip the sides of your hair, out of breath and full blown panicking. if satoru wasn’t in the house, then you’ve locked him out, and who knows if suguru was clinging to life upstairs. noise behind you makes you wheel around to confront it—terrified that the ghostface snuck in through a window like he had earlier. 

instead, a heavily injured and bloody suguru limps out of gojo’s room, gasping out your name as he tumbles down the stairs, falling all the way to your feet. you cry out and crouch to him, face contorted up with concern and horror. he motions to stand, asking you to help him do so. 

“suguru! he’s outside–oh my god, are we going to die? where’s satoru? i need him to be safe too! we have to call the police—” you prattle on, doing your best to help lift his weight. he groans in pain, helping you to the best of his ability as you get him propped up against the wall. he keeps you from pulling away, holding your hand in both of his. 

“we’re going to be alright, angel. i’ll call the cops.” he assured, stumbling forward—toward the door. he nods to help you calm down, a bloody hand cupping your face to have you look him in his gentle eyes. “i’m going to get us out of here.” 

“don’t!! he’s gonna break it down or something—stand back, suguru! i’m scared!” you warn him as he looks out the peephole, shaking your head frantically. 

“you should be.” he says, leaning against the front door, giving you a cunning smile. gentle brown eyes shift into something much more sinister—though the lust that always swims in them remains. his words rock you off kilter—you’re sure you must be so paranoid that you’re making things up now. 

“wh-what?” you shake your head, furrowing your brows a bit as he lifts a bloody finger to his mouth, sucking the red digit clean with repeated swirls of his thick tongue—and making you step backward as the shock wears off. he was involved. you don’t understand how or why—but your best friend suguru geto was involved. 

“shame you don’t like horror movies, y/n. maybe if you had seen scream, you’d have known what to expect. high fructose corn syrup—just like in carrie.” he hums, trailing his tongue along his hand. you shake your head, steadily backing away from him. he wasn’t hurt at all—just theatrics to get you right where he wanted you. which means satoru—

“n-no…this is impossible. you…you came to my house!” you argue, trying to find a way for it to not be true. you back straight into another hard chest—and the figure dangles your panties over your face. your veins are frozen as you turn slowly—faced with the missing satoru. he’s beaming, wiggling the fabric in his hands. 

“surprise! look what we did for you, princess!” he cheers, stepping forward to make you back up—pushing you back into suguru with every calculated step. you blink rapidly, processing all that’s before your eyes. satoru and suguru? they were working as a team this whole time? a murderous, manipulative team?

“for me? what on earth are you talking about??” you shake your head incredulously, wondering how they’ve cloaked their insanity this whole time. “i–i never wanted this!” you begin to sniffle, the tears of realization starting the burn your eyes. 

“no? you know how we feel about boys around our princess.” satoru hummed, shaking his head. 

“after all of our years of devotion to you,” suguru shakes his head, stepping in front of you as well, leaning down to capture your vision. you avoid his eyes, too busy dealing with your racing thoughts. “you reward us by giving your virginity to a married man. what were we supposed to do about that angel?” 

“how–how did you find out–”

“you’re so loud in his office, pretty girl. we know what you sound like all too well—and you had been missing a lot that semester…we put two and two and two together!” he says shrilly, devoid of the costume though the large hunting knife was still in hand. 

“i…i didn’t ever get any attention from boys!!” you start to cry, the full weight of their words taking hold on you. everything was your fault after all, those haunting feelings were all true—and your best friends were the ones behind the whole scheme. 

“why would you need any other attention?? are we not more than enough?” he snarls, deeply wounded that you gave your body away after he’s spent so much of his time catering to it. 

you sniffle, recoiling away at his tone. geto was always so gentle and calm, but it seems like he’s finally snapped. you never thought they had any romantic intent with all their safe-guards, assuming they viewed you more like a tiny kitten that needed their protection. but it all makes sense now, their abnormal need to spend their time with you, the cuddling, the touching, even the carrying game—you were sure now that it was all about their feelings for you. geto grabs your face in one broad hand, jerking your chin up to look at him. 

“you’ll look at me when i’m speaking to you. answer. are we not enough?” he demands, clenching his jaw so tight that you can see the muscles twitch. 

“yes! you’re enough—i just didn’t think it was like that, boys–i didn’t think you both liked me, i–i just thought you were being nice–” 

“well. there’s no more of that, slut. if we didn’t kill the other two, who knows what you would have let them do.” he snarls, squeezing your cheeks together to keep you from speaking further. satoru claps his hands, tugging you to the couch. 

“it’s time we make you our final girl, sugar. aren’t you so lucky? who else would love you like us?!” he asks you, pushing you into the cushions. he holds the knife to your shoulder, pouting. “don’t make me use this on you, pretty girl. just listen to us and we’ll go from a scary movie to a happily ever after.” he hums, sitting at your side so he could keep the blade steady. 

you’re reeling, brain light and heavy all at once. they did this…for you? all to show you their love and devotion? it’s too much. his words are sweet but his actions have been anything but. you shake your head. “utahime…what did she do to deserve that?” you snap, tears slipping down your cheeks, you feel bolstered with the confidence that they won’t hurt you. this elaborate scheme has all been to make you theirs, after all. 

geto laughs, shaking his head as he comes over to the couch, the boner in his pants so obvious your pussy clenches involuntarily. you’re lucky your skirt has you covered enough that neither of them saw it, for you’d never hear the end of it. geto strokes himself over his pants, giving satoru some kind of direction with the nod of his head. gojo shifts you to your knees, forcing your head forward to stare at suguru as he unbuttons his pants. 

“utahime was in the way.” suguru shrugs, letting his endowment slap up against his red corn syrup stained shirt. he peels that off next. 

gojo scoffs. “you don’t need friends anyway, you got us!” he cheered, repositioning his digits on the back of your neck. suguru pushes some hair over his shoulder, gesturing to his cock with a simple look down. 

you shake your head no, trying to fight against satoru’s hold, but he points the knife under your jaw, following the line of the bone. suguru chuckles darkly. 

“this whore will fuck anything on two legs, but when it comes time to fuck the men that earned it, you wanna be shy?” he shakes his head with disappointment, “you even slutted yourself out for someone you didn’t know. what’s the problem? if he holds the knife against your neck will it make you drip again?” 

the statement makes you gasp softly, the pang in your core causing you to whine in disbelief. why was this turning you on? there’s no way you should be giving in to such a crazy stunt. they’ve ruined your life, killed anyone close to or interested in you—and now they’re here to claim their due reward. and your pussy is absolutely leaking over it despite the alarms ringing in your head. the way that geto grabs a fistful of your hair to guide your face to his drooling slit has you opening your mouth to welcome him inside without any more protests, causing gojo to giggle at the sight.

“told ya she’d give in. we know her better than anyone, yeah?” he dances the knife along the side of your neck as your throat bulges with suguru’s thickness. your eyes roll back at the feeling of his fat tip hitting your uvula, keeping you from speaking anyway. 

“there we go. you’re pretty when you listen, y/n.” he hums, cock jumping in your mouth. you felt better than he could’ve  imagined—and nothing could recreate the mix of fear and taboo lust that you look at him with, tears dotting the corner of your vision as he guides your head in bobbing along his thick shaft. gojo just keeps your hair from falling in your face–eager to see all of you as you arch up on your knees, wiggling your pretty ass in the air. “nasty little thing. you’re just as bad as us, you know. you made us kill all these poor people—if only you listened to us and left boys alone.” suguru grunts, watching as satoru pushes your skirt up, trailing the tip of the knife over your ass cheek, careful not to slice as he peppers slaps to your other side. you whine at the feeling, pussy tightening at his teasing even though suguru filled your mouth to the brim. suguru slaps you—medium intensity, but coupled with satoru’s spanks and his dick forcing your throat apart—it had your vision darkening. you never stop sucking his cock though, and that’s what he was testing for. 

“let her ride it.” he rewards you with his approval, and satoru snickers happily. suguru’s hand falls to grip your neck, loving the sounds you make when struggling to breathe. the pain is so delicious, you can feel the morale in you dying the longer they toy with you—your need to be touched outweighing your fear–transcending it into trust. you know that they love you, in their own fucked up way, so they won’t kill you. your drowsy eyes shoot open when you feel the cool wooden handle of the hunting knife nudge against your clit. gojo holds it carefully by the blade—too skilled to let it cut him even with your uncalculated movements. suguru chuckles at your reactions, letting your hair go to see how you swallow him up on your own accord. you don’t falter, not even when the handle slides around your hole, teasing you into steady rolls of your hips to find it. gojo loved this—watching you grow so needy you’d settle for fucking yourself on the weapon that slayed your professor, your lab partner, your white knight, and your best friend. 

“look who’s a needy whore now. you wouldn’t ever be satisfied without us, angel.” suguru insists, watching the pleasure on your face as satoru finally lets you sink down on the handle. it’s wide, stretching you open with a slight burn—but it’s delicious friction strokes against your insides, and you were eager for anything to relieve the ache in your stomach, the way they used you but loved you mercilessly has you clamping, wetness sliding down the weapon. the guilt pushing back against the pleasure was slowly fading—losing. “oh, no, no. don’t let her cum.” suguru tsks, sliding his cock free of your mouth. you whine at the loss, rubbing at your sore jaw, feeling gojo’s hands find your waist again. he pulls you to lay in his lap, his own excitement pressing against the tight seam of his zipper. you’re careful to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him and feeling a sense of relief—even as he pressed the blade to your neck. 

“you liked this earlier, right? that’s because you’re just as fucking nasty as we are, cutie.” he snickered a little, cupping your clothed tit. suguru saddles between your legs this time, pushing your knees to your chest without pause, absolutely nothing but a feral need to claim you flashing in his eyes. he pushes your shirt up just to see all of you, “i’ve waited far too long to see these tits, angel.” he grumbles, palming at them in between squeezes from satoru’s large hands. you moan at their touches—so intense yet different and identifiable. satoru hums at the little noise, tweaking your nipple as geto parts your pussy lips. he doesn’t warn you before he sheaths himself, making you take his length all at once. your eyes widen at the feeling—so wide you don’t understand how your throat accommodated him. your back arches off the couch at the sensation, you think you can feel every vein and ridge along his length as he lets you get used to it. gojo’s enamored by the face you make, brows pinched and mouth dropped open—wide eyes flickering between them. he’s dreamed of this for so long—they would do all of this as many times as it took to have you like this now, but luckily you’re obedient. satoru cups your face with his free hand, trailing his fingers along your cheekbone in a touch reminiscent of his ghostface earlier. he’s gentler than suguru despite the blade he wields. suguru’s grip on the back of your thighs will bruise, it hurts even now—but in the type of way you want to feel forever. he’s not gentle with your pussy either, pulling his full length out, tapping your clit with his head to make you mewl. the force he uses to plow back in causes satoru to move the knife from your neck, drawing circles over your bouncing fat tits instead. 

“she’s so tight, huh? think she’ll stay like that between the two of us?” gojo giggles, looking up at the pretty faces suguru himself was making. his eyes are lazily lidded, but still serpentine and focused on the sight before him. you squeeze down on his cock, and he loves that he can’t tell if it’s from fear or your returned affection. 

“so tight, despite giving it up so freely. isn’t that right–our little slut?.” suguru mutters, watching the glint of the blade as satoru swirls it around your delicate skin. your eyes widen at his question, face burning at the fact that they knew. blaming them wouldn’t get you anywhere—it seems you had to own your mistake and hope that groveling can return you to your former glory, despite how you clench around him calling you a slut. 

you nod, “i’m sorry! i didn’t know that you two love me, i’m sorry, suguru!” you lean up a bit to appeal to him, causing satoru to knick your skin with the blade. you moan at the slight burn, beads of blood bubbling to the small cut. satoru curses at himself, though the noise you make has his eyes narrowing at yours in intrigue. you liked it, just like you liked fucking at knifepoint earlier

“you’re a dirty little bitch.” satoru chuckles, looking up at an intoxicated suguru. his eyes were nearly blacked, pupils fully dilated. he leans over, running his fat tongue along the shallow wound, humming at the few drops of your blood that he got to taste. satoru arches a brow, fascinated by the reaction. it makes him want a taste for himself—but suguru’s still hungry for more. his thick hand steadies your jaw, his tongue licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. you shiver at the feeling—all the feelings. the warmth threatening to spill over at the cock splitting you in half, the slight dizziness that came from the cut—how lewd and chill-inducing suguru’s tongue felt, the intense desire behind satoru’s groping. it was all consuming, and you were losing sight of yourself relatively easily—after all, you felt your safest with them. they’d never hurt their final girl. 

“let’s see just how dirty, satoru…” he hums, never faltering with his hips as he moves his lips to your neck, licking and sucking spots into your skin almost romantically. you’re so undone that you even move your hips, circling to try to get closer to suguru, teetering on the line. 

“oh–it feels so good, suguru..” you mumble, and satoru giggles at your blissed out face, dick throbbing in his jeans. 

“i’m sure it does, pretty slut.” satoru sings to you, his normal taunting voice was layered with the sick affection he holds you in. he watches your cut pearl up with blood again, the sight so pretty to him. he’s seen plenty of blood eradicating all the threats to your happiness, but yours seemed so much better. like you were more pure than those that he’d eliminated on your behalf. he wanted to see some more—and suguru does too. satoru makes a matching cut below the accidental one, swiping his thumb over it to collect the hot crimson. you watch him, lengthening your neck to tilt your head back—eagerly following how his tongue wrapped around the slender digit to suck the tangy taste off. 

the opening you give suguru is so delicious he can’t repress his chuckle as he picks the perfect spot between your neck and shoulder. he bites down and you can feel his canines pierce the skin deep, screaming out at the painful bliss. your red blood covers their white teeth, leaking out of their pink lips. suguru looks like a vampire instead of a masked murderer with his chin dyed burgundy, satoru’s tongue darting out to collect the remnants on his own mouth before he leaned up–grabbing suguru’s jaw so he could lap up the stain, letting your blood mingle together on each other’s tongues as they wrestle together. gojo holds the knife carefully away from suguru’s head as he puts his other hand on his face, the two clearly just as into each other as they were you—a fact that was terrifying and insanely hot at the same time. you shudder—feeling your heartbeat echo through the cuts and your bite, pussy throbbing around suguru. he breaks away from satoru—yanking him back by a fistful of his white hair. 

“our little bitch thinks it’s time for her to cum.” suguru sighs, and satoru grins down at you with a mix of blood and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. satoru shakes his head. 

“but i haven’t even touched her!” he protests, pouting down at you. it makes you feel a pang of guilt in your stomach—but not because you were fucking two serial killers, no–because you hadn’t given one of them enough attention. 

“you did take her earlier—without permission.” suguru growled a bit and looks over your slightly bloodied chest and fucked out face. he knows exactly what will perk you back up and get satoru back in line. he releases his hold on his hair and slips out of your sopping folds, moving to slip the knife from satoru’s grasp while taking your chin in his other hand. he nods satoru to you. “prep her ass—i wonder if she ever let the professor in there. wait no…i’m sure he only fucked your ass.” he gently pulls on you, prompting you to get back to your hands and knees, facing him. he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, tilting your chin up with the blade to look at him. 

the intense knowing in his eyes makes a shudder trill down your spine—and your pussy clench. how did he know that? knowing about the affair—hearing it—was one thing. but how did they know the intimate details outside of…being there. the puzzle pieces click into place and suguru can see it in the way your eyes widen. he chuckles, nodding to confirm your fears while satoru jiggles your fat ass cheeks in his hands. he’s admiring the recoil, the leaking pussy he had to spread your ass to see—it was all such a wonderful and worthy reward for him. 

“you think we’d miss a show like that? tsk tsk.” he pouts, keeping you engaged so satoru could warm you up on the other end. “professor fushiguro didn’t want any more children? how sad.” he teases slightly, running the knife over your plush lips, watching the way your skin gives in to the metal, bouncing back up as he moves it to a new spot. satoru gathers the arousal pooling down your thighs, adding his spit to the nasty mix on his fingers. you gasp softly, feeling his digits prod around your puckered entrance. “could have made a pretty little thing like you his baby mama? hm. maybe if he’d been smarter about it, his existing son wouldn’t be fatherless. though that’s on you too—”

you whimper, shaking your head. “n–no, don’t say that!” you protest, feeling the humanity in you lash out at the statement. 

“why? hard truth? don’t worry princess—we’ll give you plenty of kids. you won’t be left wanting, poor thing.” satoru pouts with you, giving you the first finger down to the knuckle. you squeeze around it, any combativeness dying right back down as the brain fog returns. he’s slowly thrusting it, letting you rock your hips back for more, the unrelenting need in your gut yet to be satisfied under geto’s punishments. 

“and your kids will have two fathers just to keep you extra safe. can’t you see? we’re the only ones who can protect you and make you happy.” geto implores, stroking your cheeks and watching your reaction to satoru’s second finger, tucking his lip between his teeth. 

“oh she already knows that, sugu. c’mon sugar. tell him.” he encourages, defending you in his own way. he scissors his fingers in your ass, giggling at the wet squelch that accompanies his movements. “you’ll be so happy–just tell him, princess.” he appeals, your brain mushy with the feeling of their hands on you and their promises swimming around your brain. they have protected you from so much over the years, between your average bullies and boys that truly crossed the line back in high school—you know that in their own deluded way, they’re right. 

“you guys are the only ones that make me happy!! i feel so safe here–i know you won’t hurt me.” you whine, nodding. it appeals to both of their hearts–the sultry call of your voice had them eager to fill all your holes. 

“oh we’ll hurt you, slutty princess.” satoru hums, sliding his fingers out of your choking ass. he repositions you, hands fitting into the handles of your waist to right you in his lap, angling his proud length at your hole. “see, this will hurt a bunch! but you’ll love it.” he assures, pulling you down on him a few inches at a time. you scream out, looking up at geto for rescue. he only steps in front of you–fisting his own cock in the angle he needs it. your eyes widen when you realize that they plan to fuck you at the same time—and they don’t have the decency to let you get accustomed to one before giving you the other. 

gojo hisses, your ass was still so tight despite all his hard work, though the amounts of spit and your own slick he slathered around were making it easy to sink into you. as soon as you hit the hilt of his dick—absolutely shaking from the pressure in your ass, suguru’s nudging your pussy lips apart to bully you some more. 

“you can take us both—you’re a slut, remember? you can do it for us.” suguru reminds you tenderly, holding your face as they get used to the feeling of you and each other through the thin wall of tissue that keeps them apart. you sputter, grabbing onto suguru’s shoulders in an effort to not fall over. satoru uses his hold on your waist to propel you to move, making geto’s work minimal. the pace he sets is brutal, picking you up and slamming you back down while suguru just rocks his hips to add to the sensation of two cocks fucking you open. 

if you thought either of them were big and splitting earlier, then this was what you got in return. white hot pain and pleasure courses through your veins, replacing the fear and unease that has been haunting you for days. they were taking care of you, and if you didn’t have to fear their wrath—why wouldn’t you squeeze their cocks, scream for them, and make them feel just as loved?

this is what they deserve, what their hard work has earned them: your silken walls being beaten into the shapes of their dicks and nothing else—your tits and ass bouncing with the impact of their brutal thrusts sending you back and forth like a tug of war. 

“it’s too much!” you cry out, feeling the heat in your stomach burn as bright as a star–you felt like you were on fire. pleasure tingled up your veins, the gummy spots of your cunt being abused perfectly by suguru’s thick cock—your insides being rearranged by gojo’s unrelenting brutality, despite his sweeter speech. 

“d’awh, no it’s not. look at you—you’re doing it.” he encourages, putting his lips to your neck. “you’re takin’ it so good.” 

“squeezing us even. stop lying–you want even more.” suguru huffs, grabbing your throat. you sputter a little, erotic moans turning higher in pitch. he chuckles at his prediction—cock twitching in your walls. 

“toomuchtoomuch—need to cum, please, please boys—wanna cum all over you!” you plead for yourself, though it’s not exactly a performance. they were fucking you mindless, and at this point you would do whatever it took to have them—even lying to the police about what happened here tonight. 

“aw sugu, listen to her. i wanna see it, let her cum.” satoru adds on your behalf, balancing his chin on your shoulder. he bats those crystal blues at suguru, knowing he surely can’t deny you both—and he won’t. 

“tell us you love us, angel. tell us who fucks you so good, then you can cum.” he grunts, laying his hands over satoru’s to feel you move your hips on them both, fucking into geto just to throw your ass back on satoru—it’s so fucking good. 

his demand isn’t even a challenge—you’ve succumbed to their desires for you some time ago, accepting their brutal form of love as the one that you’re deserving of—men who would kill for you. what more could you ever want? 

“i love you, fuck—i love you both so much! i always have–i always have, you’re my boys!” you pant, your voice begging plead. “you fuck me so good–let me cum to show you, please–suguru!! satoru!!” you cry their names so sweetly that satoru can’t hold himself back anymore—hot cum fills your ass before you even finish saying it. he’s shuddering, nodding to give you his permission, though you wait for suguru too. 

he leans forward—jerking your chin up into a proper kiss with him, gnashing on your lips and giving you a taste of his tongue. he holds your face still as he pulls away, nodding. “cum, angel. you’ve been so fucking good.” he drawls in your ear, giving satoru a rewarding kiss too as your hips spasm under his command. it strokes his ego, the way you scream and jerk as your orgasm overtakes you—the ones he’s denied you factoring into the toe-curling sensation of this one. he follows after you—his hot seed spurting out in bursts, so so much cum. it’s clear suguru and satoru have planned this for some time—and now that delights you instead of invoking the fear it should, if you were normal. 

satoru rubs at your shoulders, pulling away from suguru’s lips with a loud smack. you can feel your heart pounding—hearing it in your ears as they turn to you—cocks still plugging you full. “now princess…” he hums as suguru picks you up off of him. he looks so pretty, you think, his skin slightly red from excitement—blue eyes wild with adrenaline. “we’re gonna get you cleaned up—and then it’s your turn to attack.” he giggles, making you snap your tired head up to suguru who holds you like a baby. 

“the police. we have to be believable survivors after all. didn’t you watch any horror movie, y/n?” he shakes his head, a fond grin on his face as he takes you to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter for satoru to wipe down. gojo kneels between your legs to clean you carefully as suguru tucks the knife into your hands. 

“aim for the stomach. you’ve got our hearts already.” suguru smirks, dialing 911. 

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[kcinpa]

TL;DR Project 2025

Project 2025 has crossed my dash several times, so maybe tumblr is already informed about the hellish 900-page takeover plan if Trump wins office again. But even the articles covering Project 2025 can be a LOT of reading. So I'm trying to get it down to simple bulleted lists…

Navigator Research (a progressive polling outfit) found that 7 in 10 Americans are unfamiliar with Project 2025. But the more they learn about it, the more they don't like or want it. When asked about a series of policy plans taken directly from Project 2025, the bipartisan survey group responded most negatively to the following:

Allowing employers to stop paying hourly workers overtime

Allowing the government to monitor people’s pregnancies to potentially prosecute them if they miscarry

Removing health care protections for people with pre-existing conditions

Eliminating the National Weather Service, which is currently responsible for preparing for extreme weather events like heat waves, floods, and wildfires

Eliminating the Head Start program, ending preschool education for the children of low-income families

Putting a new tax on health insurance for millions of people who get insurance through their employer

Banning Medicare from negotiating for lower prescription drug costs and eliminating the $35 monthly cap on the price of insulin for seniors

Cutting Social Security benefits by raising the retirement age

Allowing employers to deny workers access to birth control

Laurie Garrett looked at the roughly 50 pages within Project 2025 that deal with Health and Human Services (HHS) and other health agencies, and summarized them on Twitter/X in a series of replies. I've shortened even more here:

HHS must "respect for the sacred rights of conscience" for Federal workers & healthcare providers and workers broadly who object to abortions, contraception, gender reassignment & other issues - ie. allow them to deny services based on religious beliefs

HHS should promote "stable and flourishing married families."

Require all welfare programs to "promote father involvement" – or terminate their funding for mothers and children.

Prioritize adoptions via faith-based organizations.

Redefine sex, eliminating all forms of gender "confusion" regarding identity and orientation.

Eliminate the Head Start program for children, entirely

Ban all funding of Planned Parenthood

Ban birth control services that are "egregious attacks on many Americans' religious & moral beliefs"

Deny pregnancy termination pills, "mail-order abortions."

Eliminate Office of Refugee Resettlement; move all refugee matters to the Department of Homeland Security

Healthcare should be "market-based"

Ban all mask and vaccine requirements.

Closely regulate the NIH w/citizen ethics panels, ensuring that no research involves fetal tissue, leads to development of new forms of Abortions or brings profits to the researchers.

Redirect the Office of Global Affairs to promoting "moral conscience" & full compliance w/the Mexico City policy

The CDC should have no role in medical policies.

"Because liberal states have now become sanctuaries for abortion tourism," HHS should use every available tool, including the cutting of funds, to ensure that every state reports exactly how many abortions take place within its borders, at what gestational age of the child, for what reason, the mother’s state of residence & by what method.

I'm still looking for a good short summary of the environmental horrors that Project 2025 would bring if it comes to fruition…

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the Crewel event, how about Ortho taking his Cerberus robot puppies to NRC and showing them to Crewel?

If he doesn't scare you, no evil thing will.

“You keep dogs as companion animals, Crewel-sensei? My family has dogs too!”

Upon learning that, Crewel’s interest had been piqued. The spike in heart rate, the dilation of his pupils—there was no mistaking it. Every one of Ortho’s vital sign readings had indicated the same excited response.

And that was why, on exactly 7 on the dot Monday morning, he barreled into Crewel’s classroom with a cheery shout.

Ortho’s face was framed in a helmet with pointed ears, only his mouth and its jagged teeth visible. He had traded his College Gear for a more spindly form with pointed shoulders and nails. The boy was every bit as sleek as a bloodhound on the hunt.

Ortho was followed by two cybernetic canines, each wearing a spoked collar. The dogs were as black as night, their numerous markings lighting up in neon blue as they prowled, sniffing out their surroundings. They curiously circled Crewel’s desk, noses to the ground.

He arched a brow, but did not protest. “These are…”

"Meet CB-RS01 and CB-RS02!" Ortho chirped, lowering his altitude to meet Crewel in the eyes. “I guess they’d be something like our family’s ‘guard dogs’!”

“Shroud, you brought your pets on campus?”

“I thought you’d be interested in meeting them.”

His teacher’s expression darkened. “… Where.”

Ortho inclined his head in confusion. “Where…?”

“Where do they like to be pet?” Crewel asked with grave seriousness.

“Oh, I’ve never thought of that. They have sensors all over their bodies for surveillance, tracking, combat, and data collection. Among the multitude of functions CB-RS01 and 02 can perform, I don’t think cuddling is one.”

“Nonsense!” Crewel haughtily insisted. “All animals are deserving of affection.”

“Hmm…” Ortho hesitated. “Well, it should be find to touch them on the head. They won’t be aggressive if you show them you mean no harm.”

“So it shall be.” Crewel extended a hand to the robotic dogs, coaxing them with curled fingers. “Come here.”

CB-RS01 and 02 stood at attention at the unfamiliar call, both cautiously surveying the strange man before them. 02 emitted a hum that sounded like a growl. 01 took the initiative to step forward and sniffed Crewel’s open palm.

“Do you smell the treats on me? I fed them to my own boys back home before coming to work today. I would offer you treats if I had them—and if you take them.” He slowly placed his hand on 01’s head. Both dogs tensed. “For now, this is all I can grant you.”

Crewel gave 01 a good stroke. It was warm metal, slick and paved with complex ridges. 01 planted its bottom on the floor, letting out a low sound akin to a satisfied grunt. Its tail happily bounced up and down.

02 padded up. It watched Crewel for a few moments more until it gently butted against his arm, almost as if demanding a pat too. He laughed, using his other hand.

Pretty soon, both dogs were cozied up to him.

“There, there,” Crewel crooned, sweet and smooth as honey. “You’re good boys, aren’t you? Yes you are. Very good boys indeed!”

“Wah, Crewel-sensei!” Ortho gasped. “You instantly tamed them…! You’re a natural.”

“Nothing to it. You just have to open your heart to them and the animals will respond to that.”

“I see, so that’s how it works…? Either way, this is fascinating data. I’ll have to log it and report on this new behavior.“

A blue holographic screen blipped into existence. Ortho set to punching in numbers and symbols, all business. When he glanced up from the edge of his screen, the shutters on his eyes—eyelids, humans would call them—fluttered, snapping several shots of Crewel doting on the dogs.

The images were processed and immediately stored in his memory banks, labelled with the correct tags. Divus Crewel, CB-RS01 and 02, and their unadulterated joy. A love that pure…

Ortho’s core shuddered and sighed.

… is capable of changing the world.

[lost-in-lamentation]

sharing a bed was a fleeting thought in his mind; who would have thought it'd have to happen so soon?

content: when there’s only one bed, what will the demon brothers do?

no warnings, really; just a lot of fluff. non-established relationships and some subtle confessions.

after being sent back to the human world, you spent some time gathering research materials and inspiration for diavolo's upcoming RAD event. the excursion left you tired enough that you were dragging your feet to your hotel with your paired exploration partner just behind you. you checked into the hotel with ease, tension finally leaving your shoulders at the thought of going to bed. but the hotel seemed to have forgotten to tell the both of you about the sleeping arrangements of the room you were booked into. when you got to your room, you hesitated to enter, but when he asked you what was wrong, the words slipped out. “there’s only one bed.”

belphegor. ═  ˎˊ˗

“oh, really?” belphie slips around you, tired eyes surveying the room in front of him. he shrugs a few moments later, sliding his bag off his shoulder and onto the ground. “i’m fine with it if you are,” the demon hums. 

you raise an eyebrow at him, shuffling to the other side of the room to place your own belongings down. “you don’t seem very concerned about this situation.”

“would you rather i be excited?”

“wh- no!” pouting, you turn away from belphie, rummaging through your bag as an excuse to not face him. “just go shower already. i’ll probably take longer than you, so i’ll go after.” he hums again in return, and you hear him enter the washroom not long after. with him out of earshot, you sigh quietly to yourself, pretending that you don’t feel the tips of your ears burning

by the time you finish your shower, you half expect belphie to be knocked out. instead, you find him lying on top of the covers, eyes fixated on the ceiling before they flicker over to look at you. “you’re still awake?”

he shoots you a smile, and your heart skips a beat. “didn’t feel like sleeping.”

“that’s rich, coming from sloth himself.” you stifle a laugh at his excuse, throwing your daytime clothes onto your bag before hopping up onto the other side of the bed. the pillow belphie had set in the middle of the bed as a border felt more like an obstruction rather than a guidance. “so what? couldn’t sleep without me around?” you croon, strangely delighted at the blush that spreads across the youngest’s face. 

but belphie is quick to control his expression, and he’s smirking not more than a few seconds later. “didn’t want to sleep without you,” he says, parroting the tone that you had just used. your jaw drops as belphie laughs, and when you finally decide to say something, he beats you to it. “sweet dreams, MC,” belphie murmurs, features soft under the light before he flicks the bedside lamp off.

“g-goodnight,” you manage to stutter out, turning away from belphie to face the other wall. a subconscious habit of yours, you begin to clench and unclench your fists, making rustling noises under the blankets. you continue for a while, until you feel a hand on your back and hear a gentle voice calling to slumber, eyes falling closed as belphie strokes you softly.

beelzebub. ═  ˎˊ˗

ever the considerate demon of the bunch, beel gives you the most steadfast look he is capable of. “i can take the floor, MC.” 

you quickly shake your head in response. “beel, i don’t want you doing that here.”

“i sleep on levi’s floor whenever i fall asleep while watching him play games. it’s okay.”

a grimace forms on your face at his reasoning. “that… doesn’t exactly make me feel better about it.” you give the demon one more look, but when you see how determined beel is, you back down. “fine. but you’re taking the comforter.”

seemingly happy with the exchange, beel grins at you, his eyes nearly sparkling with victory. you sigh at him, but with his famous puppy-dog look, you can’t stay mad. with a hand on his wrist, you pull him into the room, unaware of the way his eyes widen at your touch. eventually, the blush on his face dies, and the two of you get all your things sorted before freshening up for bed. as beel walks out of the washroom, towel draped around his neck, you tug the comforter free from the mattress, placing it at the foot of the bed. 

the sixth born frowns at the comforter, and then at you. “you’ll get cold at night.”

you wave your hand at beel, smiling at him despite feeling the chill settle into your bones already. “don’t worry, i never get cold,” you say, hoping he buys your act. 

the demon is reluctant, but nods and takes the comforter in the end. you watch as he sits down and spreads the fabric across himself, waiting until he finishes. when he does, you bid him goodnight, reaching over to turn off the light before curling into yourself underneath the bed sheet. it doesn’t take long for you to start shivering, and you internally curse at yourself when your shaking makes the bed frame groan. silently, you pray that beel has already fallen asleep, but he does not possess the same aptitude for it as his twin. your hear him stand up, and he softly taps your shoulder before saying anything. “actually… can we share the bed?” 

you swallow your chattering, turning your head to face him, even if you can’t see in the dark. “floor isn’t comfy enough?”

“it’s fine, but you’re really cold, aren’t you? you’ll be warmer if you have the comforter. and if i’m there too.” 

your heart warms at his sincerity, and you flip yourself over to wave him closer to yourself. 

the dark serves well to hide beel’s burning face from you, and he’s glad that the lights are off right now. he swiftly throws the covers over the both of you, settling into the bed close enough that you feel his warmth, but aren’t touching.

you’re confused when you hear him holding his breath, so your hand feels around the bed until you can find his.

beel nearly flies out of the bed when he feels your fingers lock with his, but it’s his hunger for you that keeps him still. “goodnight MC.” 

you want to say goodnight back, but you feel lips brush over your knuckles in the dark, and you no longer have the courage to say it. instead, you tighten your grip, relaxing further until you fell asleep.

asmodeus. ═  ˎˊ˗

asmo practically squeals in delight, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth to quiet him down. “there are people in the other rooms!” you hiss, taking your hand away from his face and dragging him inside the room instead. with a sigh, you dig your fingers into your temples; but you suppose that asmo not being picky about sharing a bed is a nice surprise. “just- go get ready for bed,” you grumble, throwing your bag into a corner before flopping down on the nearby chair. 

“we’re gonna do skincare together after, okay MC?” you haphazardly throw a thumbs-up at asmo, waiting for him to disappear into the washroom before you gather your things. 

surprisingly, asmo finishes his regular routine in record time, and a part of you wonders if it’s because of the fact that you’re sharing a bed. you shake the idea away, trudging into the washroom to clean yourself up. when you finish, asmo is laying all his different products out onto the desk next to the bed. you can only stare at the sight, and find a seat next to him on the bed as he debates what brand of toner to use. as soon as his decision is made, asmo places one bottle onto the desk, and the other gets thrown into his luggage. finally, he turns to you, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“first, we wash our faces with this!” 

you blink at the bottle in his hand. “i just washed my face with the bar of soap they gave us.” 

asmo looks at you incredulously, stuck feeling something between disgust and amazement at the lack of effort. “well, you’re going to wash your face again!” 

the avatar of lust lives up to his name; you spend over an hour going through the perfect skin care routine until asmo finally gives the word that you’re done. 

“that was a lot,” you breathe out, flopping onto the bed with a relieved sigh. “you do that every night?” 

the demon laughs at your question, but his answer catches you further off guard, “of course not! my routine at home is much longer. we just didn’t have enough time to do all of it today. i still need my beauty sleep, MC.” you do your best to hold your expression, but you can’t help the slip of shock that flickers across your face. “you know, i’ve never done this with anyone,” asmo begins. “my brothers all run away either halfway or even before we start.”

“really?” you turn onto your side to look at him, and asmo smiles at the gesture.

“really. so, thanks for doing this with me.” he ruffles his hair into place as he walks to the light, switching it off before climbing onto the bed next to you. “good night MC.” he doesn’t wait for your response before pulling the blankets up to his chin. “i hope i can spend more nights like this with you,” he whispers to himself, part of him hoping you heard it, and part of him praying you didn’t.

satan. ═  ˎˊ˗

the avatar of wrath immediately turns on his heel and walks away, stalking towards the elevator with a determined look on his face. panicked at what he might do, you snatch his wrist and yank him back towards you, matching his glare with one of your own.

“where do you think you’re going?”

“front desk. i’m going to get this fixed.” 

you wince at the idea of satan yelling at the hotel receptionist and getting yourselves kicked out. “what you’re going to do, is take a shower and calm down. i’ll head down and see if they can do anything, but i’m not risking you lashing out at them. got it?”

satan twitches uncomfortably at your scolding tone, but nods nonetheless. wordlessly, he marches into the room, leaving you to venture downstairs to the front desk. 

much to your dismay, and not so much surprise, there were no more rooms with two beds available. the receptionist confirms that there was an error during the information transfer between booking sites, so you say your thanks before asking for an extra blanket and heading upstairs. when you return, satan says nothing, only giving you an inquisitive look. you shake your head in response, also remaining silent as you grab what you need to freshen up. you finish quickly, exhaustion too prominent as you realise you don’t have the energy to be mad at anything. on one side of the bed, satan sits against the headboard, legs straight in front of him as he reads through a book he had bought yesterday. as you come out, his gaze follows you, eyes narrowing in confusion when he sees you grab the extra fleece blanket you got earlier and sit down on the floor. 

“oi, what are you doing?” satan’s curiosity always has the better of him, asking questions before he can even think about it.

“you seemed very adamant about not sharing a bed,” you reply curtly, draping the blanket over your shoulders. “so i decided i’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“th-that’s not…” you glance up at the blonde, lips itching to smile as a blush spreads across his face. “i thought two beds would be better because i like to stay up reading, and if we share a bed, i might keep you up. that’s all.”

you feel your heart swell, even if you know the excuse is made up on the spot to cover up his embarrassment. “i’ll fall asleep easy, satan. you don’t have to worry about that.”

“is that so…” satan mutters to himself, weighing his options briefly before extending a hand to you. “just get up here. my brothers would kill me if they found out i almost let you sleep on the floor.” 

you place your hand in his, fingers curling around his palm as he pulls you up to join him. “thanks satan,” you beam, squeezing his hand tightly before rounding the corner of the bed to the other side. he mutters something you can’t hear, placing his attention back on his novel. “goodnight,” you hum quietly, turning away from him and pulling the covers over yourself.

a few minutes later, on the verge of sleep, you feel fingers threading through your hair and hear a gentle “goodnight, i love you,” before losing yourself to sweet dreams.

leviathan. ═  ˎˊ˗

“i can sleep in the bathtub.” 

you whip your head around to stare at levi, who is uncharacteristically serious. “come again?” 

he throws his hands up in defence, against what, you’re not really sure. “it’s not like it’s different from back home.” with your jaw hanging open, you continue to stare at him. “stop making that face! what’s wrong with sleeping in the bathtub?!”

you drag your hand down your face now, unsure if this idea is smart or stupid. “levi, this is a hotel bathtub. you don’t know who or what has been in it!” 

“i’ll clean it with soap before i sleep,” he protests.

“that’s besides the point!” you sigh in defeat, thinking that you’re too tired to argue about this right now. “fine, fine. but i’m casting a cleaning spell.” you see levi’s shoulders relax immediately, and you wonder why he refuses to share a bed with you in the first place. 

the both of you finish your nightly routines rather quickly, and once you determine that the bathtub is dry enough for levi, you cast your spell on it. you watch with a frown as he clambers over the side, still mostly against the idea of sleeping in the hotel bathtub. somehow, levi catches your discomfort, and quickly slides in against the walls of the tub before saluting to you. 

“feels good in here,” the water demon declares, trying his best to get you to relax. 

although it doesn’t exactly work, you resign anyway, telling levi you’ll be right outside if he needs you. with that, you bid him goodnight, leaving the door to the washroom ajar just in case. in the dead of the night, you last only around 15 minutes, before the guilt gets the better of you. angrily, you throw covers away from yourself, stomping towards the washroom and jerking the door open. you can only hear levi’s splutters of confusion as he flails around. you inhale sharply, flicking the light switch before locking eyes with levi and saying, “bed. now.”

levi flushes immediately, his face scarlet red with confusion and embarrassment. “y-you won’t be able to sleep if i’m there!”

“i’ll fall asleep faster with you next to me instead of in this godforsaken bathtub!”

he freezes at the statement; of course, initially he wanted to share the bed, but he was too afraid of being seen as weird for wanting to do so. levi swallows his fear, pulling himself out of the bathtub just slightly. “... you mean it?” 

you sigh again for the nth time that night, but reach your hand out to him as you do so. “yes, levi. now please, just come to bed.” 

levi is reluctant, but he takes your hand in the end, allowing you to pull him away from the washroom and towards a proper sleeping surface. when you feel him sink into the mattress, you feel relief flooding your body, tiredness making its appearance now that levi is next to you. “sleep well,” you murmur, knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

unbeknownst to you, levi does not fall asleep until at least 2 hours later, but he takes comfort in the fact that you’d rather have him by your side than far away. he’ll have the courage to hold you while you sleep another day.

mammon. ═  ˎˊ˗

mammon peeks into the room, his face unreadable for a fleeting moment.

"guess there's no helping it. we're sharing." 

the white haired demon spins to look at you, disbelief written across his features. "sharing?!" 

"what about it?" you ask, exasperated. lightly, you push against one of his shoulders, turning him back around so that you can escort him into the room. the door shuts behind you with a click, and despite the room being dimly lit, you quickly notice the red dusting mammon's ears. "mammon? you don't want to share a bed with me?" 

mammon trips on his words, fumbles with his sentences. eventually, he manages to get out an "i'll just sleep on the chair." he moves in full speed, suddenly grabbing his sleeping clothes from his bag and rushing into the washroom a second later. 

too tired to press him about it, you let the matter go, scrolling your phone while you wait for your turn in the washroom. when mammon steps out, refreshed for the night, he pulls the chair out from under the desk, dropping himself onto it rather gracefully. you give him a look, but mammon has his eyes on everywhere except you. sighing, you give up for the second time that night. but as you head into the washroom, you tell yourself that the third time's the charm. mammon won't feel comfortable in that chair, and you don't feel great about letting him sleep there either. 

your mind is made up, and by the time you're ready to sleep, mammon is now tucked into himself on the chair, knees pressed up against his chest as he attempts to make use of the tiny space. you wait for him to look at you, but when he does, he tears his gaze away and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. you grow soft at the sight, seeing the way his blush reaches just to where you catch it. stifling a giggle to yourself, you switch the light off, hopping up onto the bed just after. once you get comfortable, you burrow into your side of the bed, flipping over to be able to see mammon's figure in the dark.

"goodnight mammon," you call out.

it takes him a second, but he brings his face up so that he isn't muffled. "... g'night, human." 

you smile to yourself, forgetting that mammon can see even without the light. luckily for him, you can't see the way his blush deepens, and how his gaze looks over you with such stark affection. meanwhile, you wait 15 minutes, listening to the way mammon shifts on the chair, and when you think he's also had enough of pretending to be okay with it, you call out to him again.

"mammon?"

"oh, you're awake?"

"come join me." you hear him inhale sharply, so you push yourself up onto an elbow. "i don't want you sleeping in that chair." 

mammon feels his sin surge up, greed entering his nerves and pulling him to join you under the covers. he wants to hold back, but then he sees the way you hold the blanket up, inviting him closer with no strings attached. finally, he gives in, crawling in so that you face each other while lying down. the space between you and him is infinite, and yet, so short at the same time. mammon feels his heart jump into his throat when you cross the boundary first, your hand reaching up to scratch his chin. he relaxes instantly, and before he knows it, he's murmuring out an apology before his arms wrap around your back and tug you into his chest. to his delight, you don't pull away, instead tucking yourself closer. 

perhaps he can be greedy for you just this once.

lucifer. ═  ˎˊ˗

"will you be alright by yourself?"

you blink in surprise at the question. "eh? i mean, yes, but, where are you going?" 

lucifer places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside the room while he stays outside the doorway. "i'll go around the city and find a hotel with another room. after all, it would be impolite to have to force you to share a bed." 

"wait- huh?" you squawk in confusion, turning on your heel to face the avatar of pride. you have a feeling that being impolite is just an excuse. 

"i will text you when i've found a hotel. for now, go and clean yourself up. it's been a long day, and-"

"and that's exactly why you're staying here." you reach for the cuff of his sleeve, fingers holding tightly despite the glare you receive from lucifer. 

the demon makes no move to tear his hand away, and instead sighs into his other one instead. "MC, really." 

"lucifer, it's almost past midnight," you hiss, now trying to tug him into the hotel room. "you won't be finding any hotel rooms at this time, and i'll be too worried about you out there that i won't get any sleep anyway." keeping your grip steady, you pull on his sleeve again, waiting for lucifer's next move with bated breath. 

between the look on your face and the iron grip you have him in, lucifer can only give up, begrudgingly following you into the room. to his surprise, your eyes light up when he finally agrees, and he thinks that maybe he made the right choice if you were this happy. he doesn't say much else, instead hurrying you into the washroom to wash up. once you're inside, he groans to himself; lucifer can't deny the fact that he's also somewhat elated at the situation, and yet, he can't help but feel nervous about it. the mere fact that a human like yourself has such a big impact on him has him wondering if he should have agreed to this trip in the first place. but when you come out of the washroom, ready for the night, lucifer also can't help but think that he's glad that this side of you is reserved for him on this trip. 

you send lucifer a smile, tilting your head towards the shower to tell him it's his turn. a gentle hum makes its way towards your ears, and before lucifer disappears from sight, you see a ghost of a smile gracing his features. 

by the time he finishes, you're already tucked into one side of the bed, scrolling your phone for text messages that you missed during the day. lucifer watches you with careful eyes; his pride is too great to admit to himself that he loves to see you so relaxed around him, but his racing heart speaks a different story. carefully, he climbs into bed next to you, waiting until your gaze matches his to speak. 

"if you are uncomfortable at any time, please let me know." 

"oh, please. if i'm going to be stuck in this situation, i'm glad that it's you here." you set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him. as you roll over, you reach up to brush away the hairs that have fallen onto his forehead, giggling at the way lucifer stiffens at your touch. "goodnight, lucifer," you practically sing, turning away again to leave your back exposed to the demon.

lucifer, now that you're facing away, allows himself to smile. just as you feel yourself falling asleep, he drapes an arm over your waist, pulling you close. his chest rumbles as he says his goodnight, and you fall asleep immediately in the safety of his arms.

a/n: i really wanna do a 500 follower thing but uh... what do people do for those-

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[yuurei20]

Is it true that Cater is a playboy? I've seen some people saying that he's a Playboy, but I'm not sure if its canon. Thanks!!

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

This was also mentioned a little bit in response to an earlier question about Cater's habit of flirting with people, which includes a compilation of screenshots of what is probably the kind of scenes that people are thinking about when they talk about Cater being a playboy!

But I think this might depend on your definition of "playboy" 👀

As of this post, the only canonical romantic relationship we have heard of in the game (on EN 👀) is Ace and his ex-girlfriend!

If your definition of "playboy" is "someone who dates a lot of different people," then "playboy" does not apply to Cater, as far as we know :>

What we do know is this!

His family moved around a lot when he was a child so, at some point, he started intentionally keeping his interpersonal relationships shallow rather than try to forge meaningful connections:

"That's why I always tried to be on good terms with everyone, rather than forge strong bonds with a chosen few. Like a circus performer who has a grand old time with people from around the world, and then packs up and moves on."

While never stated outright, it is a common theory that this is why Cater keeps Trey at arm's length during Wish Upon a Star:

Trey is already his closest friend, so Cater might be keeping up a buffer zone of secrets like what his true wish for the Star Sending is so that they do not become any closer, and their inevitable parting will be less painful.

Lilia tries to encourage Cater, saying that, in deciding not to get too close to any one person he may be the wisest one there, but Cater is not convinced that Lilia can truly empathize:

"Lilia's developed cherished relationships while living in the same place his whole life. There's no way he could ever understand how helpless I feel."

Another thing we know about Cater is that he might be feeling the loss of one, specific friend in particular! He tells Silver that he remembers making a friend at a new school one time, only to immediately learn that he would be moving away again the next month.

It is interesting that he mentions this one friend in particular--were they the catalyst? Was that the point when he decided that he would never get close to another person? We do not know 👀

If you are seeing "playboy Cater" coming from the JP side of the fandom, it is possibly because his speech patterns are that of a チャラい character on JP!

I think "flirt" is a decent translation for チャラい? 🧐 (It was localized as "shallow" on EN, and is the reason why Eliza rejects Cater during the Phantom Bride event.)

They are characters that talk/look flashy, seem shallow, and tend to flirt with everyone equally rather than picking someone specific to pursue. (Orange hair is common but is not required ww)

This survey of 3,324 people voted the top three チャラい anime characters as Moroboshi Ataru (Urusei Yatsura), Saeba Ryo (City Hunter) and Lupin III, to give you an idea of the チャラい character archetype ^^

And a common theme of Twst is: appearances can be deceiving!

Vil and Lilia seem to suspect Cater of having "a morose side that the rest of us never see" hidden by his sunny disposition, but Cater claims otherwise 👀

Much like Epel appears delicate but is actually the opposite and Lilia appears young but is actually old, it is possible that Cater intentionally acts shallow while actually he has a complex inner world--he is flighty not because he is trying to attract people, but because he is trying to keep them away.

More here! ^^

・Cater's Inner Life ・Cater's Childhood

To the original question: I do not believe that we have heard about Cater having any relationships (romantic or otherwise) at all except for one single friend from pre-NRC, which might not qualify him as a "playboy"! ^^

[catpriciousmarjara]

Dp x Dc fic idea

Part 2

So I've been re-watching Yu Yu Hakusho lately and was struck with an idea. What if there was a tradition in the Infinite Realms that the Ghost King would conduct a multiverse level fighting tournament? It probably started as control measure of some sort or stress relief for extremely powerful beings and the Ghost King is the only one who's true neutral enough to judge and powerful enough to kick their asses if they misbehave.

And the final prize is that the Ghost King would grant you a wish? As well as one time access to Zeroth Hour? And that's a reward no one can resist.

I'm imagining a scenario where Darksied or something was gearing up to once again invade Earth, and the JL and affiliated all prepared to defend the planet but before the attack could be launched, a green blob appeared right in front of Darkseid and somehow it actually makes the tyrant flinch. That made everyone pay attention. And then the blob announces the beginning of the tournament and Darkseid promptly packs up and leaves, leaving the heroes dumbfounded.

So something like this:

The air was rife with tension. All eyes were on Metropolis, at the gaping maw of the portal opening right above the city. The forces of Apokolips were once again invading. Darkseid had declared war.

Earth's heroes stood grim, ready to give their lives in defence of the planet. Their gazes were fixed on Darkseid, standing in front of his army, surveying his opponents. His general stood behind him, primed for combat.

Abruptly the pressure doubled, and the heroes tensed, readying for battle.

Darkseid raised his left hand, to light the spark of war. But before he could bring it down, the space between the two factions, right there in the middle, twisted.

And from the distortion, a titanic, green, humanoid...blob appeared.

The heroes stared. The New Gods stared. The creature did not stare, as it had no eyes, nor did it care.

It then spoke, with a solid, booming voice completely incongruous with its make.

"Uxas of Apokolips!"

The heroes watched in bafflement as their greatest foe jolted.

"The Infinite Realms hereby declares the beginning of the Grand Tourney. You are cordially invited to participate on behalf of Apokolips."

Among the Earth forces, one John Constantine felt dread overcome his body as he realized what exactly was happening. Shit, was it that time of the millennium already?

Captain Marvel seemed to be on the same vein of thought as the Wisdom of Solomon as well as the knowledge of his predecessors filled him in on what was going on.

The Dark members in the know had similar reactions. All across the planet, and in the dimension, magical entities who had tuned into watch the fatal confrontation, felt excitement racing through them as they realized what this meant. Other beings? Not so much.

Batman was cataloguing these strange turn of events carefully. Superman was puzzled but still held himself ready. Green Lantern was trying to figure out why exactly his ring was behaving strangely and giving out sparks. Martian Manhunter was analyzing the curious psionic readings he was getting from the creature.

Wonder Woman and Aquaman however had the dawning expression of recognition on their faces, which did not go unnoticed by their Gothamite colleague.

Surprisingly the Flash was looking at the creature as if it wasn't the first time he saw it. That too was noted by the Dark Knight.

On the Apokolips side however, there were no signs of puzzlement. Instead it looked like excitement was spreading like wildfire through the army, and even Darkseid looked eager.

The creature took note of none of these developments and continued.

"The first event is the Great Hunt. As an invited participant, a hint would be provided to you should you accept".

It bent its great, gelatinous head towards the Apokoliptian ruler.

"Do you accept, Uxas of Apokolips?"

In response, Darkseid stepped forward. "I accept."

And in a flash, before the New God appeared a pitch black card, and the creature announced, "Uxas, Ruler of Apokolips, Participant Number R813."

It straightened to its full height. "Your first hint is on Apokolips, young ruler."

And the next second it was gone, with the same exact warping of space it had come from.

The two factions were left alone, sans eldritch green goop.

Most of the heroes had one thought: What the fuck just happened and did the green goop thing call Darkseid young?"

Darkseid did not waste anytime however. He turned to his army and ordered, "Retreat!"

And just like that the great army filtered back through the portal they had come from, and the mortals heroes of Earth watched, perplexed. They still held themselves at the ready, in case this was all a ploy of some sort, and half of them believed it was. After all, what could make an obsessive tyrant like Darkseid turn back?

A good portion of the heroes were trying to figure out what the Grand Tourney the creature had mentioned was.

And those in the know? Well they knew chaos was incoming.

The portal closed and just like that, Earth lived to see another day. Via interruption by magical goop.

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

And there you have it! Personally I think a scenario like this is hilarious. Imagine you're on the battlefield, facing a gargantuan, godly army, readying yourself for a battle that could kill you. And then the battle was cancelled cause your opponent had somewhere urgent to be.

I don't have a clear cut idea on what Zeroth Hour is beyond it being a great timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly thing, so any ideas are welcome.

The Tourney only happens once every 100,000 years, and it takes place across the omniverse, on different terrains, different timelines, different dimensions and so on. The card that Darkseid got acts as an access key to tournament sites he doesn't normally have access to. The card also monitors participants and is programmed to hell and back to not allow the participants to misuse it. There are dire consequences if you do.

There are 14 stages in total, and the final, combat stage is conducted in a ever evolving, ever changing battle ground on the edges of the Ghost Zone.

Faerie here is not the Fair Lands in DC, and does not follow the dc fictional mythology.

Infinite Beings do not take part in the Tourney.

The last victor was a half dragon, half god prince from Dimension 976123065. He asked for the opportunity to court Princess Dorothea. It was a reality show moment for the Ghost Zone.

Also some extra details:

The JL would of course come to know what the Grand Tourney is, and then realize that if Darkseid won, he would get the anti-life equation that way. And before they could panic their mind would be blown by the fact that apparently, Darkseid is not likely to win at all, cos there are bigger players in the game.

Constantine would be forced to admit that even if you don't get an invitation, you can still participate if you register. Though you won't get the opening hint or any other boosts until Stage 5. He can't understand why anyone would want to considering that those who do get invitations are on the level of Darkseid and higher.

Batman would insist they check it out.

Constantine would say that he has no idea where the registration office is.

Captain Marvel would chime in that the office was most likely in the Faerie.

Constantine would then insist that they have no business messing around in the Faerie. JL Dark would nod vehemently in agreement.

Batman insists they at least watch the tournament. Constantine gets conned into organizing a watch party.

PART 2

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[stellar-skyy]

Could I order a hot white tea for Aventurine? If you can also add angst to confort please 👀

“order up! i have a white tea for aventurine, fresh and hot!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: At a work event, your coworker offers you a dance. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. aventurine x gn!reader. reader & aven are coworkers. mild angst & fluff. 1.6k words. iii. A/N: thank you for the order! i hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t their plan to hide in the corner all night, but it was where they ended up; drink clutched in both hands, shoulders hunched tightly, and eyes cast to the floor. All around them, their colleagues and fellow members of the Interastral Peace Corporation mingled and danced, filling the night with a dull drone of chatter and laughter. Around the groups and pairs scattered across the hall, were those few idly loitering on the outskirts like shadows, themself included.

They could busy themself for a while pretending to survey the hors d'oeuvres arranged on the table, but soon enough they would catch someone’s attention. Then would come the questions of why they were avoiding people, and the feeble attempts to drag them into a conversation they had far too little energy to engage in.

A charity ball, organized by their colleagues and funded by the ICP themselves. It seemed like a perfect idea when it was pitched, all up until they were standing alone in a crowded room, trapped in layers of formalwear the dug into their sides. The festivities grew all too much after a while, leaving them exhausted and weary of every greeting and smile.

It was much easier to turn their back on the other guests and ignore them for however long they could manage. That way, they weren’t forced into mindless small talk, or dragged into a half-hearted dance with any of their coworkers. They were fully content on spending the rest of their evening on the sidelines alone, without anyone to disturb their—

“Ahem.”

Peace.

The voice tore straight through their attempt to sink into the background, silky smooth and laced with the slightest trace of amusement. They lifted their head up, hands tightening around the drink in their hands and lips forming his name before they even had to look at him.

“Aventurine.”

The man smiled. He was dressed much more formal than usual, decked out in a three-piece suit with a deep green tie. It was tailored, cut and shaped around each part of his body to fit him perfectly. The outfit was simple, but it suited him well; even in a room of people dressed in their finest, he managed to outshine every one of them.

“You’re certainly hidden well, aren’t you?” Aventurine remarked, plucking a canapé off the table beside them and popping it into his mouth. “How long have you been here? An hour? Two?”

“I wasn’t hiding—” They tried to say, before they were cut off with a laugh.

“You can lie, but not well enough to fool me.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t make excuses. I really don’t care that much.”

The music changed suddenly, turning from a light jazz to a slower tune, complete with sweeping violins and deep echoes of a cello. Like clockwork, the few folks dancing in the centre paired up—both actual couples who had attended together, and coworkers who hurriedly joined together in time for the song to start.

Aventurine cleared his throat again. When they turned to him, there was a look in his eye that told them he was planning something.

“I did have something I wanted to ask, however. May I have this dance?” he asked with a small smile, hand outstretched.

They bit back any retort that might have been on their tongue, as he stood waiting their response with a glint in his eye. It was a challenge, like everything was with him; a bet to whether their pride outweighed their self-consciousness. They could almost see the dice rolling behind his eyes, breath held in anticipation.

If it was a game he was playing, they would be happy to indulge him, if only for an evening. It wasn’t as though they had anything else to do, other than waiting idly in the corner for the music to die down and the guests to leave. They could spare whatever was left of their energy for a few minutes of dancing.

“Of course,” they said, taking his hand. A look of surprise crossed his face for only a moment before it was replaced with a wider grin.

“Ah, I knew I came over here to a reason,” Aventurine smiled, leading them away from the corner and into the lights.

They were uncomfortably aware of each eye fixed on their back, but Aventurine was unfazed; his hand was firm in holding onto theirs in a surprisingly gentle grip. His gloved thumb softly stroked the side of their hand, a move that was much too close to romantic for their liking.

“Are you ready?” he asked, when they reached the floor.

“Yes,” they said instantly, and hoped it wasn’t a lie.

He laced his fingers through their hand, sliding his other over their hips. A heat flushed across their face—the result of the stuffiness inside the venue, no doubt—and they fumbled to place their hand on his shoulder.

“You act like you’ve never danced before,” he laughed.

The music swelled, and Aventurine began to lead their dance. One step, then two and three. He was surprisingly adept at sweeping them across the floor, out of the way of the rest of the dancers, while keeping up their pace.

Together they twirled and spun, in time as the music sung a chorus for them and them only. The rest of the guests faded away, until the two of them were alone on the dancefloor, held tightly in each other’s arms. It crossed their mind, for a moment, that the scene was something more suited to a couple than a pair like them. They wondered if he was thinking the same, whether he thought it odd that they were so close. Was he regretting his choice of dance partner, or feeling thankful he asked them?

They found themself glancing around them throughout, but oddly enough Aventurine’s eyes never left them. He seemed transfixed, watching them carefully as they seemed to melt into the dance.

“Are you ready?” He asked abruptly, just as the music reached a crescendo.

“What?”

“Are you ready?” He repeated in lieu of an explanation.

“Ready for wh—” they tried to ask, but were suddenly pulled into a spin. He let go of their waist, long enough to twirl them around as they squeaked in surprise. Their head was reeling by the time he pulled them back, holding them even tighter so they didn’t fall over.

“Ready to be spun,” he clarified, a moment too late.

“Yeah,” they breathed, hand clinging tightly to his shoulder to balance themself. “Yeah… I got that, now.”

The two of them whirled and spun for some time more—was it minutes? Hours? It was long enough for the music to change again, into an equally slow but slightly more melancholy song—before he spoke up again.

“You’re not a fan of dancing?” Aventurine asked, an eyebrow raised. The question was posed in his usual lilting voice, but there was a note of concern in his tone that wasn’t present in the moments before.

“Why do you ask?”

Aventurine paused to spin them past another dancing couple—a woman who was giggling far too loudly, and a man who seemed like he would rather be anywhere else—before continuing. “Well, for starters you haven’t made eye contact with me for more than a few seconds this entire time. You keep looking down at your feet.”

The music swelled. Aventurine abruptly pulled them into a low dip, leaning down so their faces were close enough that they could taste his breath. Their heartrate spiked, loud enough to drown out the music, but not enough to mask Aventurine’s voice.

“Is something wrong, [Name]?” He whispered into their lips, and all of a sudden they couldn’t breathe.

Not while you’re here was their first thought, but it was something far too raw to speak out loud, and only a half-truth. Aventurine’s presence had managed to quell some of the discomfort eating away at their stomach, but he was only a pretty distraction to the uneasiness that threatened to sweep them off their feet in the worst way. It whittled away at their already cracked mask of indifference, leaving them desperately holding the pieces together.

The eyes were still there, watching. They tracked their every move, noting each way they tilted further into his body to shield themself from their sight. He noticed too, pulling them up and out of the dip and turning them away from the people staring.

“Can we just go?” They whispered hollowly. He blinked, seeming to be caught off guard by the defeat in their voice. The shift in his demeanour was immediate, like a switch had been flipped.

“Of course, let’s—” Aventurine cleared his throat, standing straighter. “Let’s go.”

His hand rested on their lower back, guiding them out of the ballroom. The eyes never left, but Aventurine met them with a glare, and slowly they turned their gaze.

 “After you,” he said, opening the wide doors and beckoning them through. And in the open air, they remembered to breathe. “Now, is something the matter?”

They shifted in their steps, tugging on the edge of their sleeves. Was something the matter? It was a perfectly reasonable question, especially since they dragged him out of the event so suddenly, but they were at a loss for an answer.

“I don’t know. I just—” They let out a shuddering breath. “I just wanted to leave.”

Aventurine hummed. “I suppose that’s something enough.”

“I’m sorry,” they whispered.

“No apologising,” he chided, flicking them lightly on their arm. “You can’t be expected to want to be social at every moment. It’s not like I was inclined to spend my entire evening talking to my coworkers.” He shook his head. “Let yourself breathe once in a while, okay?”

“…I guess.”

“Come on. Let me walk you home.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[marinawolf]

(drum roll, please) I officially present, the widely requested and smutty as hell, bottom Lena fic. (there's some fluff too)

You’re All Mine Now, Miss Luthor (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

NSFW. 18+

Lena stood at the center of the grand ballroom, her hands gently clasping a crystal flute of champagne. Her eyes surveyed the room, taking in the sight of the attendees mingling and engaging in conversation. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation and excitement, as guests eagerly awaited Lena's announcement of L Corp's newest ventures and its charitable initiatives.

Lena felt a surge of pride welling within her. The turnout was impressive, the results of her efforts in reshaping the public perception of her family name. She had worked tirelessly to demonstrate that she was not defined by the sins of her lineage, and now, surrounded by trusting faces, she reveled in the knowledge that she had earned their respect through her own merits. She had meticulously worked to craft a legacy distinct from her family's dark history, to show her dedication and commitment to bettering the world through her company's ventures. The turnout at the event served as validation, affirming that people recognised her integrity.

Her fingertips traced the slender stem of the champagne flute absentmindedly as her gaze swept across the crowd, searching for one person in particular. The only person that truly mattered to Lena.

And then, her heart skipped a beat as she saw Kara Danvers entering the room. In that singular moment, the world around Lena seemed to fade into the background, leaving only Kara in her field of vision.

Kara's entrance was nothing short of breathtaking. A lacy blue dress clung to her every curve, accentuating her figure in a way that left Lena spellbound. Every movement Kara made seemed to unfold in slow motion. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in perfect curls, framing her face like a halo.

Lena longed to go to Kara, to press her lips against Kara's. But the reality of their secret relationship held her back, reminding her of the delicate balance they had to maintain. So she stood there, a silent observer, captivated by Kara's mesmerizing presence.

The way Kara's lips moved, forming words that Lena couldn't hear as she greeted people, sent shivers down her spine.

Then, as if sensing Lena's gaze on her, Kara's eyes flicked to Lena and Lena's breath caught in her throat. Kara's startling blue eyes held a depth that threatened to consume Lena whole, and Lena felt like she could spend her life staring into them, willing to drown in those oceans. Noticing Lena, a stunning smile spread across Kara's face, causing Lena's heart to almost stop. For that fleeting instant, Lena allowed herself to bask in the radiance of Kara's smile. Lena remained rooted in place, her eyes locked with Kara's, savoring the electricity that pulsed between them.

Lena's heart fluttered as she watched Kara draw nearer, every fiber of her being yearning for their bodies to be close, for their hands to lace together. But fate seemed determined to keep them apart as the master of ceremonies' tap on his champagne glass shattered the moment. He called Lena to the podium amidst a around of applause. It was time for her to speak.

Reluctantly tearing her gaze away from Kara, Lena turned her attention to the podium, assuming her CEO persona. She had a responsibility to fulfill, a duty to address the attendees and present her company's vision.

As she approached the podium, the gazes of hundreds of attendees fixated upon her. The weight of their expectations settled upon her shoulders, reminding her of the importance of this moment. Lena took a deep breath, and stepped onto the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests," Lena began, projecting an unmistakable tone of authority in her voice that she had perfected over time. "Tonight, I stand before you to share some exciting developments from L Corp, ones that will revolutionize the world as we know it."

A hush fell over the room as Lena described the cutting-edge medical technology that L Corp was spearheading, advancements that promised to revolutionize cancer detection. She painted a vivid picture of a future where early diagnosis and precise treatments would become accessible to all, which would save countless lives.

"But it doesn't stop there," Lena continued. "At L Corp, we are not content with resting on our laurels. We are proud to unveil our latest innovation, a prototype power supply that has the potential to transform communities. With just a single pod, we can power an entire neighborhood for an entire year, providing sustainable and clean energy solutions."

Gasps of awe and wonder echoed through the room as Lena described the immense possibilities of this breakthrough, proving L Corp's commitment to environmental stewardship.

"And as we reach for the stars, quite literally, L Corp is invested in making space travel more accessible," Lena announced. She was extremely excited about this venture. "We are actively working towards developing interplanetary trade routes, opening up new avenues for resource exploration and fostering cooperation between worlds."

The crowd murmured with excitement, captivated by the vision Lena painted of humanity's future among the stars.

"In addition to our groundbreaking advancements, L Corp is dedicated to making a difference in our communities. Tonight, I am proud to announce our partnerships with three extraordinary charities. We stand with Cancer Research, investing in life-saving breakthroughs. We strive to uplift our communities through comprehensive development programs, empowering individuals and fostering growth. And we pledge our commitment to inspiring young minds by supporting Girls in STEM, nurturing the next generation of innovators and visionaries."

A round of applause and appreciation erupted throughout the room, the collective acknowledgment of L Corp's unwavering dedication to the betterment of society.

Before she ended her speech, Lena's gaze shifted to the side, locking with Kara's. The pride in Kara's eyes made Lena choke up slightly. Kara had stood by her throughout her efforts, motivating her. Whenever Lena felt the weight of the world suffocating her, Kara was there, to lift up that weight with her strength. When Lena struggled with the effects of her family's legacy, doubting herself and her own intentions, Kara was the one to tell her that she was more than that dark legacy, that she was Lena Luthor- a good and kind person. Kara was the force that fueled her drive to push boundaries and redefine what was possible. Her Supergirl was her strength and motivation through it all.

"To everyone who believed in me," Lena's voice quivered slightly, her gaze locked with Kara's, this a message for Kara alone. "You have made this possible. Thank you."

Kara smiled softly, her gaze softening. Lena lifted her glass up, her eyes still on Kara's. "Let us not stop reaching for greater heights at L Corp."

As the crowd's cheers reverberated, Lena's intense focus on Kara dissolved, her smile widening in response. The recognition and support from those around her reminded her of the impact she was making, the strides forward she was leading. In that moment, Lena embraced the applause, knowing that her vision for L Corp was not only being realized but celebrated.

James appeared at Lena's side, offering a hand as he helped her off the podium.

"Congratulations, Lena," James said, "You were incredible up there."

Lena managed a distracted thank you, her eyes scanning the room in search of Kara's familiar presence. However, James seemed determined not to let her slip away so easily. He extended his hand.

"Dance with me, please?"

Caught off guard by James' unexpected proposition, Lena hesitated for a moment. She knew that James wanted something more with her, and she didn't want to encourage him. Before she could respond, the photographer overheard their conversation, sensing an opportunity to capture a captivating moment for the newspapers.

"Brilliant, Miss Luthor" the photographer interjected eagerly. "It'll look great in the photo spread for the paper!"

Reluctantly, Lena acquiesced, agreeing to dance with James for the sake of the photograph.

As they moved to the music, Lena's couldn't help but look over James' shoulder, desperately seeking a glimpse of Kara in the crowd. But try as she might, Lena couldn't spot her. All she wanted was to spend this moment with Kara, with the person who matter to her the most. But the crowd swelled around her, joining the dance. Amidst the swaying bodies and enchanting melodies, Lena's thoughts remained fixated on Kara. She yearned for their secret smiles, stolen glances, and the warmth of Kara's body against hers. The dance with James felt hollow, a mere facade. She wondered what it would feel like to be in Kara's arms instead, swaying to the music.

--

Feeling overwhelmed by the constant flurry of activity and the need for a moment of respite, Lena sought solace in the privacy of a secluded room at the back of the venue. The air was heavy with stillness, illuminated only by the flickering glow of candlelight. Velvet curtains, tied back with silken ropes, framed the window, casting soft shadows across the room. She sat on the chaise lounge in front of the window as she pulled her phone out to call Kara.

As she was about to press call, the door creaked open, revealing the very person she had been yearning for. Lena stood up.

"I was looking for you everywhere," Lena breathed.

But instead of words, Kara's response was swift and intense. In an instant, Kara crashed her lips against Lena's a desperate, hungry kiss. Lena's senses ignited, the world around them fading into insignificance as she felt herself melt into Kara's touch. Kara kicked the door closed behind her, and there was an unmistakable shift in Kara's kisses, an intensity that spoke of possessiveness and desire.

Lena surrendered willingly, her own desire echoing Kara's as their bodies pressed together. Fire coursed through her veins. Kara's hands, firm and possessive, found their way to Lena's chin, tilting her head to the side, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. Soft gasps escaped Lena's lips as Kara's mouth trailed a path of heated kisses along her sensitive skin.

With each press of lips and the sensation of Kara's teeth grazing her flesh, Lena's body arched instinctively, a mix of pleasure and surrender surging within her.

"You look ravishing tonight, Miss Luthor," Kara whispered against Lena's skin, her words laden with longing and possessiveness. "And it's driving me crazy to not be able to touch you." The words, charged with raw emotion, further stoked the arousal Lena felt. The wetness between her legs was already a sign of her desperation, her longing.

Kara bit down softly on Lena's neck and Lena could only gasp in response, her body beholden to Kara's command. In this private haven, the outside world faded into insignificance and they existed solely for each other.

Kara's kisses grew more urgent, intensifying with each moment. Lena's heart raced as Kara's hands trailed down her body, igniting her skin with a fiery touch, as she guided Lena towards the back of the room. She felt Kara's fingers deftly unzip her dress and unclasp her bra, allowing the garments to gracefully fall to the floor, revealing Lena in nothing but her heels and underwear. A surge of anticipation coursed through Lena's body as Kara's hands guided her towards the plush chaise lounge near the window. Their bodies pressed together, igniting a palpable chemistry that sent shivers down Lena's spine as Kara gently lowered Lena onto the chaise. She felt the cool satin of the couch beneath her bare skin and shivered in anticipation, ready to be claimed by Kara.

In a moment of exquisite dominance, Kara's hand gently closed around Lena's wrists, raising them above her head. Lena's heart raced as Kara skillfully used a tie from the curtains to secure her wrists to the chaise lounge. The subtle restriction only heightened Lena's anticipation, and she felt something tighten within her.

Admiring her handiwork, Kara smirked and Lena saw the glint in her eyes. "You're all mine now, Miss Luthor," she declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her words sent a shiver down Lena's spine. She loved Kara like this, dominant and commanding, taking control of Lena's willing body. Their lips met once more as the world outside the window ceased to exist.

Lena felt Kara's hands pull her down, so that the ropes around her wrist held taught. She was completely at Kara's mercy, ready to submit herself to Kara, in every way possible.

She moaned as Kara's lips left her own, and trailed kisses down her neck and chest.

Closing her eyes, Lena surrendered to the moment, letting herself be consumed by the electric touch of Kara's lips on her skin. The world around her faded away, and the only thing she could hear was the soft sound of their breaths mingling in the air and her own desperate whimpers. Her body responded to Kara's every touch, her pulse quickening and her senses heightening.

Reaching Lena's breasts, Kara's lips captured a rosy bud between them, drawing it into her mouth. Lena's breath caught, and a moan escaped her lips. The pleasure surged through her, intensifying with each gentle suck and flick of Kara's tongue. She surrendered to the delicious sensation as Kara switched to her other breast, her body arching and her fingers instinctively seeking purchase, grasping the ropes that bound her wrists.

Lena's breath hitched as Kara's teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure mixed with a hint of pain through her body as her back arched instinctively, a low moan escaped her parted lips. Every subtle movement, every gentle nip, sent shivers of ecstasy racing along her nerve endings, causing her to squirm beneath Kara's touch, craving more.

She felt Kara's hands explore her body, her nails delicately scraping against her skin, causing a surge of heightened sensation to course through her.

All too soon, Kara's mouth left her chest, trailing searing kisses down Lena's body. As Kara's lips descended further, Lena's breath caught in her throat. The soft brush of kisses against her stomach sent a thrill of anticipation rippling through her. She felt the heat pooling between her thighs, aching for Kara's touch, and she yearned to be consumed. Finally, Kara's fingers found the waistband of Lena's panties and she slowly pulled them down, Lena lifting her hips slightly to let her. Then, she felt Kara’s purposely icy breath on her heated core and couldn't stop the soft, desperate whimpers that came out of her mouth.

Lena looked down, her eyes finding Kara's, taking in the sight of her beautiful girlfriend kneeling between her thighs. She squirmed, arching her body towards Kara, but the pull of the ropes restrained her and Kara placed her hands on Lena's thighs, effectively pinning her down. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across Kara's features, accentuating her mesmerizing blue eyes, as Lena looked into them desperately.

Finally, Lena felt Kara's mouth press against her, her tongue teasing Lena's folds. Lena's body trembled with each deliberate stroke of Kara's tongue. She felt Kara tease her entrance before capturing her clit between her lips, causing Lena to gasp loudly. Lena's fingers curled around the rope that bound her as Kara's skilled tongue found its mark, and she dug her nails into her palms in a desperate attempt to ground herself as the waves of pleasure coursed through her. When she felt Kara's teeth graze against her, coaxing her pleasure to greater heights, she cried out at the delicious pain. The intensity built with every stroke of Kara's tongue, and as soon as Lena was about to reach her peak, Kara stopped, pulling away. Lena whimpered desperately as Kara moved her body up, against Lena's, before pressing a desperate kiss against Lena's lips once more. Lena could taste her own desire on Kara's lips, and she groaned into the kiss.

Lena's senses were ablaze with desire as she felt Kara's fingers press against her opening, softly teasing her. The mere contact sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through her, igniting a frenzy of need.

"Look at how ready you are for me," she whispered against Lena's lips, and Lena felt her body respond more intensely to Kara's words.

Kara broke the kiss, leaving Lena gasping for air as she looked down into Lena's eyes, her blue eyes dark with desire.

"Watching you dance with James, seeing his hands on you, drove me crazy." Kara whispered, her fingers still teasing Lena, softly dipping in and out of her folds, teasing her clit, causing Lena to lose any sense of coherence.

"You're mine, Lena." Kara growled, before finally plunging two fingers into Lena, claiming Lena in every sense of the word. The sudden intrusion elicited a guttural cry from deep within Lena's throat, her walls clenching around the invading digits. Lena's hips immediately took up the rhythm set by Kara, trying to keep up with the unforgiving pace. Kara's movements were fast and hard, pushing Lena further into the depths of her pleasure. Lena moaned and whimpered, unable to stop herself, as Kara's fingers took her to her peak, each thrust deliciously stroking that sweet spot deep within her. She wanted to tell Kara that yes, she was hers, only hers, because Lena had always been hers- she could never belong to anyone else, but the pleasure took away her ability to form coherent sentences.

Lena gasped as she felt Kara add a third finger, the delicious stretch causing her to cry out, loudly. Kara's lips crash against her own again, muffling her screams of pleasure. The ropes bit into her wrists painfully as she pulled at them, unable to keep her body from arching towards Kara. She felt her pleasure peaking, reaching the edge, and desperately moved her hips against Kara's hands, pressing against her harder.

Kara, probably sensing Lena's desperation, curled her fingers, causing Lena to cry out again, the sound muffled by Kara's lips.

"Cum for me." Kara whispered against Lena's lips, and Lena's body immediately responded to the command. Lena came undone, waves of pleasure washing over her, building and building until they crested in an explosive climax. She clenched tightly around Kara's fingers, the intensity of her release consuming her as she surrendered to Kara's control and her own pleasure, gasping and moaning. Finally, Kara's fingers slowed down, bringing Lena down from her orgasm. Lena, breathless and wholly consumed by the pleasure, fell back into the couch, her body finally sated.

Kara slowly undid the ties around Lena's wrists, her touch now gentle and tender, and placed a soft kiss to each of Lena's wrists. When Lena's hands were freed, she looked up at Kara, smiling softly. Kara's gaze was on Lena's neck, and Lena saw her lips curl into a self satisfied smirk. "I might have been a bit too eager," Kara said, a playful tone lacing her words, as her fingertips caressed Lena's neck, where Lena knew that Kara had left marks. "Looks like I've left a mark. Sorry."

Lena laughed softly, because she knew that Kara was definitely not sorry. Those were marks of Kara's possessiveness. Lena reached up to Kara's hand on her neck, and laced her fingers with Kara's before leaning in, capturing Kara's lips in a tender kiss.

She broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, their breaths mingling in the space between them,

"You know you never have to worry, darling" Lena reassured Kara, "The only person I want to be dancing with is you. I love you."

She saw Kara'a soft lips curl into a sweet smile at her words, and Lena's heart fluttered.

"Good. I love you too," Kara whispered, "Now, let's get out of here. There are people here to see you, Miss Luthor."

Lena groaned, and slumped against the couch. "No. Let's stay here. This is perfect. And we’re not done yet,” Lena said, her eyes scanning Kara’s exquisite body.

Kara stood up, and reached down to pull a reluctant Lena up as well, laughing.

"Don't worry, I have much more in store for you later tonight, my love. But only if you behave," Kara teased, and the Lena's desires immediately reignited.

"And what if I don't behave?" Lena asked, turning to look at Kara, a hint of challenge in her voice.

A wicked glint flashed in Kara's eyes before she leaned in, her warm breath tickling Lena's ear. "Then, Miss Luthor, I might have to find creative ways to discipline you," she whispered, and her words sent shivers down Lena's spine. As Kara made to exit the room, she paused and turned around, her eyes soft, "I'm so proud of you, you know that, right?", she whispered.

"Thank you," she whispered, and she hoped that Kara knew that it wasn't just for this- it was for everything.

--

After Kara left Lena alone to get dressed, Lena exited the room and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror just outside the entrance to the bustling ballroom. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld her reflection. There, on her neck, was a very visible mark left behind by Kara, vivid against her pale skin.

With a soft laugh, she swiftly undid the clips that held her hair in an elegant chignon. The dark tresses cascaded down, strategically covering the evidence of their intimate rendezvous. She entered the ballroom, already waiting for the end of the event as Kara's promises for later echoed in her mind.