#backdoor detection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

l1v-jzn · 14 days ago

Text

silent escape — geum seong je

being Baek Jin’s sister can be exhausting, especially with the whole gang union he’s tied to. So, to escape it all for a while, you slipped out of the bowling club and headed to the park for some fresh air. Only for someone from the union to suddenly show up, shattering your moment of peace.

Being Na Baek Jin’s sister was a full-time job, one you never applied for and couldn’t quit. Not with the gang ties. Not with the eyes always watching.

So when the bowling club got too loud, too crowded, too much, you slipped out the backdoor with barely a sound, traded the crash of pins for the hush of evening air, and walked until you hit the park near the edge of the district.

It was quiet here. Just cicadas singing into the dark and the rustle of leaves whispering secrets. You let yourself breathe—really breathe—for the first time that day.

“There you are!”

You didn’t jump—but your breath stalled. A figure stepped out from behind the vending machines, hands tucked into the pockets of a faded orange windbreaker, his walk all casual indifference.

His clubmaster glasses caught the dim glow of a streetlamp as he approached, pushing them up with a finger like he was too tired to care. His dark, unkempt hair looked like he hadn’t brushed it all day, and his eyes—sharp, quiet, and slightly annoyed—settled on you like you were the third mess he’d been sent to clean up.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, standing a few feet away, not sitting yet. “Baek Jin noticed you disappeared.”

You stayed seated, arms resting loosely over your knees, posture relaxed. “So he sent his errand boy?”

Seong Je snorted. “I volunteered. Unfortunately.”

You arched a brow. “Didn’t peg you as the volunteering type.”

“I’m not,” he said, finally sitting down beside you with a sigh. “But he asked. And when Baek Jin asks, it’s not in a way you say no to.”

There was no threat in that. Just a simple truth.

You tilted your head toward him. “I just needed some space. The bowling club was too loud. Too crowded.”

Seong Je scoffed softly, tapping his foot against the gravel with a lazy rhythm. “Yeah, well, next time try texting before you ghost. Baek Jin noticed you were gone in, like, two seconds. Thought someone snatched his precious little sister.”

You rolled your eyes, the weight of guilt and something less nameable catching in your throat. “It wasn’t like that. I just needed… air. A second. You know how it gets.”

He narrowed his eyes at you—not angry, not even annoyed, just searching, like he was holding your words up to the light to see if they were counterfeit.

Suddenly he stretched his arms, groaning like this little errand had physically aged him. Then he pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously, eyeing the screen.

“Making sure your brother doesn’t summon a search party or go full detective mode,” he said casually.

Before you could stop him, click—he snapped a photo of you sitting on the bench, framed by the soft blur of streetlights and shadows.

“You did not just take a picture of me.”

He grinned, checking the photo like he was proud of his composition. “Relax. It’s for proof of life. You can glare in it all you want, adds to the authenticity.” He laughed at the picture he took awhile ago. “Perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your knees up onto the bench. “You done now?”

“For now.” He stood, brushing invisible dust from his jacket like the moment had scuffed his cool. “I’ll go tell Baek Jin you’re still breathing and exactly as stubborn as he remembers.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him adjust his glasses, a smirk still lingering like it had nowhere better to be. He started to turn away, then paused.

The breeze toyed with the hem of his jacket, and for a moment, he just stood there—half in shadow, half in the soft spill of afternoon sun. He glanced over his shoulder, the phone still in his hand.

“I’m not sending this if you hate it,” he said, thumb hovering over the screen. “But Baek Jin’s about three seconds away from filing a missing person report using nothing but your baby photo and bad handwriting.”

You looked up from the bench, raising a brow. “Let me see.”

He glanced down at the screen, then tilted it slightly, like he might show you—then thought better of it.

“Nah,” he muttered, almost to himself, sliding the phone into his pocket. “You’d probably yell.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Did you just—”

“Nothing incriminating,” he cut in smoothly, holding up both hands like the most suspicious innocent person alive. “Just, you know, visual proof for your overprotective brother that you haven’t been abducted by aliens or joined a cult.”

“You better not—”

“I won’t show him the picture.” The smirk twitched. “Not today, anyway.”

You groaned, flopping back against the bench with theatrical despair. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, already walking backwards toward the path. “You hate me, but I still have the evidence.”

Then he turned, whistling that same offbeat tune, one hand already texting Baek Jin with an update—minus, thankfully, any attachments.

The wind rustled through the trees again, and you stared at the spot he’d just vacated, suspiciously lighter in mood than before.

YOW GUYS SORRY FOR GHOSTING 😩😩 IT’S JUST THAT SCHOOL IS OFFICIALLY STARTING NEXT WEEK AND I'M NOT READY 😭😔 BROOO I MIGHT NOT POST FOR AWHILE BUT I'M STILL ALIVE Y'ALL THIS COMING MONTHS I WILL BE IN HELL HOLE 🥀💔🔥 This has been sitting on my draft for like a month lol i forgot to post, i was debating on whether to post or not anyways XOXO 💋

#geum seong je #geum seongje #keum seongje #wolf keum #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #keum seongje x reader #wolf keum x reader #weak hero x reader #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #weird way to propose haha but anyways yes. i do my man.

211 notes · View notes

mythicalmyles · 4 months ago

Text

Sub!male!reader, noncon, rimming, gunplay, threats of cannibalism

“Hey detective.” Your tired eyes shot up, giving the officer a sleepy smile. “Hey John, how can i help?” You questioned as you rubbed your hands over your face, trying to awaken yourself up a bit. “Another guy in a bath tub.” His face was pulled back into a grimace, throwing the files onto your desk. You let out a loud sigh, this guy was getting bold. It was the third this week. Before it had been once a month, must’ve been strapped for cash.

You opened up the file, eyes flicking over each word. You looked at the stitches across the mans back, as neat as always. At least this one lived to tell the tale. “Can y-“ John cut you off. “He’s outside.” You nodded and gave him the go ahead to send in the man.

He was quite a large man, you figured the guy would have to be huge in order to subdue this man. He looked tired as he walked over to you, reaching a shaky hand out. “You can call me (Name).” You kept your voice light with a soft smile, hoping to bring some ease to him.

By the time you finished talking to the man it was 2 in the morning, you sent him home along with an officer hoping it could provide some comfort. You doubted the kidney thief would strike him again, he hadn’t gone back for any other victims that had lived.

You grabbed up your keys and phone, shoving them into your pockets. You swiped up the drawing you had composed, black sockets stared up at you. The mask left you uneasy, although it had became clear he liked to drug up his victims before hand. By the time you had gotten them to the hospital any drugs had left their system.

At least you were a step closer. You were so wrapped up in your own mind that you didn’t hear the footsteps that followed you.

Your house wasn’t far from the station, you didn’t bother wasting the petrol. You shoved your key into the lock, opening your door. Before you could take a step over the threshold something large and heavy slammed into you, sending you sprawling across the floor.

You flipped yourself over, grabbing your gun from its holster. You almost fainted when the very man you were looking for came inti sight. His mask was a dark blue, large black empty holes for its eyes. A thick black substance dripped from the holes, rolling down the mask and dripping onto your floor.

His head tilted to the side, almost like he was curious about you. Before you could blink your gun was ripped from your hands, you gawked at the man who now swung your gun back and forth. Like he was teasing you.

You couldn’t believe how fast he was, your brain completely missed it. A sudden twisting feeling swarmed through your guys, twisting them up. “Y-you don’t sell the organs. Do you?” You got your answer when he chuckled, it sounded raw and inhuman. A gloved hand lifted his mask enough to show off his grinning mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth. His tongue was long and black as it shot out to lick over his lips.

You shot up, intending to run to the backdoor. You didn’t make it far before being slammed up against a wall, you could feel blood begin dripping from your nose. You cursed and groaned, twisting in his hold. He hand wrapped around your forearms, keeping you pinned up against the wall.

You could swear he was growling as he pressed you up against the wall, your own gun pressing into your back. “Don’t piss me off.” His voice was like a volcano, deep and rumbling. You gulped and stilled yourself, taking deep breathes in order to try and ground yourself.

You let out a gasp when he suddenly licked a stripe up your neck, jaw almost swinging as you froze. “Bet you’d taste real nice.” Nausea ate away at your stomach, blinking back tears. His hands were rough as they suddenly dug into your sides, flipping you around to face him. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing.” His grin set off every alarm in your brain, mind resorting back to an almost primal state at the sight of a legitimate predator.

Cold metal suddenly pushed at your lips, your eyes widening as you stared at your own gun. “Open up.” Your bottom lip dropped before you could really think about it, closing your eyes as the cold metal slid farther into your mouth.

You figured it was over for you, time lasting forever as he stood with a gun in your mouth. You almost choked on your breath when he finally pulled the gun out, throwing it somewhere behind him. He flipped you back around, large hands heavy on your waist. You could feel his thumbs rubbing back and forth, in any other situation it would have been relaxing.

He was rough as he yanked down your bottoms, you tried not to yelp in shock. “What t-the fuck!” You called out turning around to see him on his knees behind you, his nails were sharp as he squeezed your ass.

“Do-don’t you dare.” You weakly threatened, hands bawling into fists against the wall. You couldn’t stop a gasp from flying past your lips when his tongue licked over your hole, you froze in place. Before you could pipe up again he pushed his tongue into you, you shrieked out as he dove deep. “F-fuck! Aah!" You sobbed out, he wasn't shy about eating you out. Intent in drawing out every sound he could from you. Despite his lack of eyes he had zero issues with seeing, he supposed it was thanks to the demon inside of him.

He stared up at you as you moaned and twisted against the wall, his tongue was thick and long and he pushed as deep as he could into you. You couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing and grinding back onto his tongue, you hadn’t ever felt anything like this. It almost drove you insane, your own hand wrapped around your mouth, failing to hold back your moans.

Your nails dug into the walls, tearing through the plaster as your mind began blanking out. “M’gonna cum.” You whined out, body tensing up as your climax smashed through you. Jack didn’t let up, baring most of your weight as his tongue continued to fuck you.

You sobbed as over stimulation wracked your body, shaking as you came down from your high. Jack pulled away from you, catching you as your legs gave out, you leaned your weight onto him. His arms wrapped around your midsection, keeping you pinned to his chest.

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his arms tucked under your knees. “Fuck, wait. I can’t.” You whined out, almost terrified of how his cock could be. If his tongue was like that you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had in between his legs. You almost sobbed when he undid his zipped, his head felt fat against your ass.

“You will.” Was all the warning he gave as he began pushing into you. You almost screamed when his head slid into you, pushing your insides apart. “Sh-shit!” Was all you could shout as he began sinking you down on his cock. Your hands dug into his back, nails no doubt drawing blood. Once he had buried himself balls deep he stilled, your own sobs flooded your hallway, you could feel him in your stomach.

You looked down, sobbing as you saw his cock bulging out your stomach. “Ain’t that a nice sight.” Jack chuckled, voice dark and twisted as he stared down at your stomach. He licked up his drool, pulling you up and slamming you back down onto his cock. You wailed out, his cock rubbing against your prostate with every thrust.

You could hear your own voice break as he fucked into you, sobs wracked your body as pleasure and pain mixed through your body. He had to be demonic, no human could do any of this. He suddenly stopped thrusting into you, a hand coming to wrap around your neck. You felt unbearably hot, wrapping your hands around his wrist.

“How rude of me. My name’s jack.” You didn’t get a chance to respond before he began slamming you back down onto his cock, you felt like a human fleshlight. Your brain falling to mush as your prostate was abused. Jack’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as your second orgasm began to build, you were sure you were leaving marks all over Jack’s wrist but all you could do was grab harder as he fucked you deep.

Your own cum came shooting at you, coating your face as you stared in shock at the wall. Jack growled, the sound vibrating against your back. You tried to deny the heat that sent through you. Jack bit into your shoulder, fucking you at a breakneck pace. All you could do was sob as he shot you full of cum, you whined as you felt it leaking out of your hole and dripping down your thighs.

Jack was surprisingly careful as he dropped you back to the floor. He zipped himself back up and readjusted his mask. “Thanks for that, princess.” You were about to reprimand him for the nickname but by the time you had turned he was already gone.

It was agony trying to stand up, the base of your spine burning with every step as you made your way to the shower.

#eyeless jack x male!reader #eyeless jack x male reader #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x malereader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x male reader #creepy pasta x reader #creepypasta x male!reader #creepy pasta x male!reader #creepy pasta x male reader #creepy pasta x malereader #creepy pasta #creepypasta x malereader

163 notes · View notes

wttcsms · 5 months ago

Text

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part i. terminal velocity

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student's "suicide", you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains description of dead body word count 3.7k [ next ] [ masterlist ]

There’s an ongoing joke that only those who attend Tokyo Metropolitan College are privy to. It’s posed as a question, serves to make people laugh, but like all things spoken by these students, the intention of the words said are different from what they’re truly asking. It goes like this:

How much was your application fee?

The joke is the idea that any of them would ever actually have to pay something as plebeian as an application fee to attend a college their parents or family have attended for generations. The “joke” has layers to it, though: how much did your parents have to cough up to get you in here? Did they only “donate” a new building? Did they agree to sponsor the next charity event hosted by the university? Or did Mother and Father only have to invite the head of admissions to a dinner party? For children who come from money, social currency holds a significant amount of value in their eyes.

With an acceptance rate lower than most of the Ivies, alumni that consist of the world’s most powerful political leaders, actual royalty, and the most influential celebrities in the public eye, and the prestige that comes from graduating from such a decorated institution, attending Tokyo Metropolitan College should have been impossible for someone like you.

Full ride scholarships to TMC are nearly unheard of and are only extended to the best high school athletes or the brightest minds of the current generation. You’re smart, of course, but not at the caliber Tokyo Metropolitan demands.

With your worn-out bookbag, drugstore makeup routine, and outlet clearance shoes, it’s obvious that you’re a scholarship student. Your classmates might have been willing to ignore your crime of being poor, but not even being able to at least wear last season’s runway designs? Some sins are just unforgivable.

It’s fine by you, of course. You’re nothing but honest, and so if you were to ever be asked the cost of your application fee, you’re not sure how they would react when you confess that it cost a life.

You fall in love with journalism when you’re ten years old. At the clearance grocery stores, the type of shops whose air conditioning never seems to work and there’s a perpetual leak at one area of the ceiling, there’s a rack of magazines (your mother tells you these are called “tabloids”) by the checkout line. Of course, there’s usually only one cashier working out of the entire store, and you spend most of your time waiting in line than you do actually picking out your groceries.

While your mother shuffled her coupons clipped from last week’s newspaper, you would grab the latest issue of National Enquirer, your eyes eagerly soaking up every last word of the publication. Outlandish headlines, anonymous sources, poorly Photoshopped paparazzi photos — this tabloid is your first taste of journalism. It might not be Pulitzer Prize worthy articles, but it is the spark that ignites your insatiable, burning hunger for a story. A true story.

As you grow older, you swap National Enquirer for National Geographic and Time, going so far as to even grabbing your father’s discarded newspapers from the recycling bin whenever you catch a glimpse of an enticing headline. Everyday, there are hundreds, thousands, millions of stories, all happening at once. Depending on who’s telling the story, the immortalized version of events could very well differ from the truth. And at your young age, when you declare to your entire middle school class that you’re going to be the world’s best investigative journalist who uncovers and reports only the truth, you are met with polite, bored applause.

Looking back, you realize just how silly you were. You used to walk around with a Hello Kitty notepad, one of those jumbo sized book fair pens (the one where it comes with like, five different colors you can pick from), and an annoying habit of never minding your own business. It pays off eventually, though. Your inquisitive (all the adults call it nosy) nature and hunger to get to the bottom of things leads you to find out that your seventh grade homeroom teacher was stealing money from the classroom’s activity funds. You got your picture in the local paper (it still hangs on the kitchen fridge, even after all these years), and the school principal even encourages you to start a school newspaper club.

You fear you’ve peaked in the seventh grade, though. It’s been nearly eight years since that incident, and you haven’t quite uncovered anything else that’s newsworthy. You suppose the hot topic on campus right now could be worth getting to the bottom of: did Mei Mei get a boob job or not? If you figure out the truth behind that, maybe then people will actually start to care about what you have to say.

Good stories don’t just fall into your lap; most journalists don’t spend their time sitting at their desk, typing up their finds. Instead, they’re actually on the ground, actively hunting.

You tell yourself — justifying your eavesdropping, really — that this is just you hunting for a good story. Besides, if the conversation was meant to be so private, why wouldn’t he at least have it in his dorm room?

“Listen, Ken — after tonight, I’ll be set for life.” The hushed whisper immediately catches your attention. You pause, glancing behind you to see if anyone’s coming. They’re not. The Liberal Arts Education building houses the least amount of students here at Tokyo Metropolitan, and everyone’s either already in class or getting lunch off campus. No one even bothers with this outdoor walkway; it’s too cold to justify walking in the shade the overhead supplies, and the vending machines located here never have any of the good snacks — just stale packs of peanuts and the brand of soymilk no one likes.

You don’t make a habit of listening in on people’s phone calls. You have some concept of boundaries. It’s just… The Liberal Arts class is such a small group of fish in an already small pond. You’ve run into everyone who has a reason to be in this building. You were forced to take Public Speaking with at least half of them, and this voice you don’t recognize.

That, and everyone who can afford to spend years at college, stress-free and getting a degree in the arts, don’t need to make hushed phone calls behind unwanted vending machines to discuss how they’re going to be “set for life.” Ninety-nine percent of the student body here already are.

“Just trust me,” the voice mumbles. “I’ve got it all under control.”

You’re really trying your hardest to fight the urge to listen, but you can feel it — that sense in your gut that tells you that this is a story worth pursuing. Who cares about whether or not Mei Mei got a boob job? Whatever this student is up to is certainly of more interest than breast implants.

When he stops talking, you recognize that he must’ve hung up the phone. Trying to remain casual, you continue to walk towards the vending machines, and when he comes into view, walking in the opposite direction of you, you briefly glance at him.

Brushed brown hair, slightly taller than you — kind of cute, actually.

“Excuse me,” you call out to him. He stops to turn at you, a polite smile stretching across his face.

“Yes?”

“Do you happen to know where room L203 is? I just switched to that Japanese Literature class, but I’m still trying to navigate this building.”

“Hmm.” He takes a second to appear in deep thought. “I’ve never had to take the course, but L203 should be on the second floor, left side.”

“Thanks!” You chirp out, letting him go on his way. A majority of the buildings here are built similarly; the first number always dictates which floor the room is on, and odd numbers go to the left, with even numbers on the right side of the hall. You know damn well where L203 is; you just needed a second to commit this student’s face to memory. That, and you wanted a good look at the embroidery on his black jacket.

It says Tokyo Metropolitan College Zenin School of Medicine.

One thing about medical students is that they (and the college) can never seem to let anyone forget, for even a split second, that they are a medical student.

You immediately head to your dorm, cracking open your 2006 MacBook that begs dearly for you to put it out of its misery every time you power it on, and wait impatiently as the website for the Zenin School of Medicine page to officially load. Every year, the administrative team at the med school makes a big deal out of welcoming the newest incoming class, and you’re hoping that he, whoever he is, has been enrolled within the last three years. You’re not sure your laptop can handle clicking through more than three links in the timespan of five minutes without excessively overheating and then exploding on your dorm room’s desk.

You luck out when you realize he’s from this year’s incoming class. The picture is taken outside, in the familiar quad in front of the med school’s buildings. There’s only about a dozen students entering, and you spot his bright, smiling face. To the untrained eye, he fits in well with the rest of his peers. Nothing about him appears to be different, but three years learning to navigate this world has taught you well: he doesn’t have the same social standing as these students. In a sea of On Clouds (for the active students, you presume) and Dior sneakers, he’s wearing a pair of Skechers.

You squint at the small font of the caption, listing the students from left to right.

Yu Haibara.

When you search his name on the school’s site, another article appears, confirming your suspicions.

Yu Haibara, Latest Recipient of the Zenin Merit Medical Scholarship. Every other year, the Zenin Family provides a scholarship to a promising individual who will “change the medical field for the better.” With his easygoing smile and genuine attempt at being helpful, you can believe it. Yu Haibara seems like a very nice guy.

Which is why, in the glow of the setting sun, you feel a bit guilty for tailing him. No matter what he does, it’s not even like it’s going to be something publishable for the school paper. Putting a first year medical student’s side hustle on blast isn’t anything newsworthy; you know this. The rational part of your mind tells you to go back to your dorm and actually start working on your history paper due next week. You know, something actually productive and beneficial for your future.

But the gut feeling you’ve never been good at ignoring… It tells you that the hunt is on. There’s something here for you to uncover, and even if you have to keep it a secret to yourself, the satisfaction of satiating your curiosity will be enough.

Following Yu isn’t really a hard thing to do. This side of campus is unsurprisingly busier than the side you normally stay on. There are more bodies for you to blend in with, more noises to disguise your footsteps, and Haibara doesn’t even seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings. He walks with his arms swaying by his sides, and he makes casual, fleeting conversation with a few faces you recognize from the class photo on the school’s website. You’re hoping that wherever he’s heading to isn’t his dorm; if it’s secrecy he wants, it would make sense for him to do everything in the privacy of his own residence, but—

“Hey, girl, what’re you doing over here?” Distracted by the greeting, you take your eyes off of Haibara’s back to look at who’s speaking to you. Sakura; you share a good portion of classes with her. You remember her mentioning a boyfriend who’s in medical school. Something about her making an offhand joke about being a future surgeon’s stay-at-home wife. It’s not like working was something she was actively going to do in the future, anyway. Her mother is a hotel heiress, and her dad owns a hefty share of Vogue.

“Sakura, hey!” You smile at her, trying to peek over her shoulder. Haibara makes a left turn, you note. “I wanted to meet with a professor here, actually. To see if he wanted to give an interview on his research. Running out of article ideas for the school paper, honestly.”

She crinkles her nose. She works for the school paper with you, too, but she’s never paid much attention to anything beyond her submissions to the Beauty & Fashion column. “Have fun with that.”

“Definitely will.” You chirp, glad that Sakura’s not the type to care about what some old doctor has to say about cancer. The sidewalk is crowded with students grouping together, discussing where they want to eat out tonight, but as you make a left turn, trying to follow Haibara’s steps, you notice that the lampposts lining the walkway are fewer and farther between. It’s still not dark enough to really need their warm, yellow glow, but you’re certain you’ll need them on the walk back.

There are less students frequenting this area, too. The buildings here are older, less maintained. You doubt any of the major classes are held here, and the only building you can really justify Haibara disappearing into would be the one at the end of this walkway. A three story brick building, whose large sign can be read even at your distance.

OLD KASHIMO LABORATORY.

Old certainly seems fitting. You wonder if the building is even still in use.

Leaves crunch under your sneakers (that are unfortunately not straight from Rick Owens’ latest drop) as you continue to move forward, heading to the lab. It’s a big building, and it seems a shame that it isn’t as well-maintained as the front-facing buildings that make up the medical school. Your legs are practically burning by the time you make it to the steps leading to the front door. If you realized just how far of a walk it is from your dormitory to the complete other side of campus, you would have at least stretched first.

Anything to get down to the truth, though.

Selfishly, you hope whatever Haibara’s up, it’s something scandalous. If it’s boring, and your gut feeling is entirely wrong, you’re going to be so annoyed that you got your daily steps in for no reason.

Pushing through the large oak double-doors of the building takes some effort, but when you do, you realize the lights here, unlike the other buildings you’ve been in, aren’t triggered automatically by movement. At least the windows all over the walls allow the fading light of the setting sun to filter through the massive entrance.

Way down on the other end, you see it. A silhouette of someone else; you see them, but you’re shocked you don’t hear them.

Haibara?

No. Even from this distance, this figure seems taller than the brunet boy you’ve been stalk— following — for the past hour. The figure pays you no attention, but when it opens the backdoor, for a split second, they’re — he’s — bathed in the glow from the nearby lampposts and sunset.

White hair, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and even at this angle, his sharp, blue eyes that are recognizable anywhere.

Satoru Gojo.

The difference between college and high school is that in high school, it’s pretty common to have a few people designated as “popular.” College is different. Everyone is a grown adult now, whether they like it or not, and concepts as juvenile and irrelevant as “popularity” no longer matter.

At a school like Tokyo Metropolitan, though, social hierarchy is everything. A school this small, this exclusive, this prestigious, thrives because parents send their little heirs and heiresses here in order to network. These kids grew up trading Pokemon cards by utilizing tips from The Art of the Deal.

In a small group where only the wealthy and influential are allowed in, Satoru Gojo comes from the wealthiest and most influential family there is. His father has global politicians trying to cozy up to him, and his mother comes from a family who supposedly made their fortune off of blood diamonds (naturally, the Gojos deny this claim, squashing any speculation about how the wife’s family made their money by spamming the news with nothing but reports of their charitable acts). Instead of pursuing business, Gojo makes headlines by his father announcing how proud he is that his son is choosing the noble path of medicine.

“He’s all about helping people,” the reporter quotes Mr. Gojo.

That must be true; it’s why Gojo’s so known all over campus. It’s not enough that socially, he’s better than all of them, which makes being his friend all the more appealing. It’s the fact that he’s just a good guy. You remember how last year, the school paper did an article on how Gojo funded the entire extravagant retirement party for a beloved professor at the school. You heard a rumor that the one and only time he was late to class (by three minutes) was because he was helping a student get her kitten out of a tree. During his undergrad, he was captain of the basketball team and took them to the championships every year. He does all of this while remaining absolutely humble, kind, and top of his class.

You wonder if there’s a story there. If maybe Satoru Gojo, who is too perfect to be real, isn’t real. Maybe his parents figured out where to get their hands on an ultra-realistic robot, something that poses as the perfect son. That would explain his eyes, you think.

You’ve always tried to see the appeal in Gojo. He’s handsome, yes. He’s nice, no doubt about it. You don’t think you could find anyone with a single bad thing to say about him. But during your freshman year at this school, you think about the moment where you had to fill in for the school’s photographer. You had to photograph Gojo accepting an award for being MVP on the basketball team (once again), and while Gojo was charming everyone, from the coach to the dean of the school to the girls in the crowd cheering him on, there was your gut feeling telling you that something was just off.

“You’re not the usual photographer, are ya?” He peers down at you, hands in his pockets, a big grin on his face. He’s not teasing you, at least, not in a rude way. He just has a light-hearted inflection on all his words that makes everything he says seem… warmer? Like, he’s trying to put you at ease.

You’re fiddling with the settings on the camera, unused to the tech. “Um, yeah. I’m a freshman, but I’m just subbing in for my senior who got sick.”

“Really? That’s neat!” He says it, and it sounds so sincere, that you nod along. Yeah, maybe it is neat.

(Gojo’s good at that. Putting people at ease, getting them to see things from his point of view.)

“Try your best to make me look good, and I’ll do my best to make sure whatever shot you get is fine! Deal?” He’s still smiling at you, and all you can do is nod. Even at this point in time, a fresh-faced baby to this school, you’re aware of Gojo’s power. When you’re looking at him through the lens of the camera, you think it’d be impossible to get a bad photo of Gojo.

The uneasy feeling you get around him gets chalked up to nothing more than nerves. You’re a writer, not a photographer. Gojo is a legend amongst men, and being in such close proximity to him would make anyone nervous.

But when you look back at the photo once the article gets published, you know why you felt so weird around him.

When Satoru Gojo smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You’re not sure why Gojo is — or, more accurately, was — in this building, but it’s none of your business. You’re here for Haibara, and whatever weird ass, secretive but lucrative side hustle he’s got going on. Probably dropshipping. Or, maybe he’s selling old test banks?

Chances are, it’s nothing special or noteworthy. The reason why you haven’t gotten a good story lately might simply be because your senses, your so-called reliable gut instinct, has just gone dull. Maybe you’ve never even had a good instinct to begin with. Or, maybe losing it is just the karma you deserve for everything you’ve done to get to where you are now. It would serve you right, wouldn’t it? The universe must have a taste for poetic justice sometimes.

You’re hungry. Your legs are sore. It’s getting late. Whatever Haibara has going on, you don’t care anymore. You’ve got a paper due, and a protein bar somewhere in the bottom of your book bag that will serve as dinner for tonight because you don’t have enough funds to get anything halfway decent at the dining hall, and what a waste of time today was.

You’re opening the doors of the building, letting the cool evening breeze hit you in the face as you exit. You still need something to write for the school paper; the lie you told to Sakura might actually be the only valid idea you have, and—

“Holy fucking shit! Is he dead?!”

You look to your right. There’s a trio of students gathered around a lump on the ground. Someone’s screaming, then they’re all screaming. More students are flooding out of nearby buildings, and despite the protest of your limbs, you turn and head right where the screams are coming from.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you barely manage to hold back your own scream.

Lying on the concrete walkway is Yu Haibara, with his neck and body at two different odd angles, his head cracked open and spilling blood that leaks onto the manicured grass of the campus.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #series: anatomy of desire

236 notes · View notes

fancyfeathers · 6 months ago

Text

Requested in messages by @elvabeth

A scenario that lets say all the darlings were in the JL watchtower by themselves cause of some world ending event. The tower is on lockdown (courtesy of batman) to prevent them from escaping. Unfortunately, while the JL are at the other side of the planet or something, the watchtower ends up being attacked by aliens, robots, armed goons or all of them and the darlings can't escape. Doors to the outside are locked. The windows are barred or stuff Ps luthor is responsible Or some sort of high end terrorist group That wants to bring down the Justice League The worst part is that even when the darlings made to the backdoor or secret door whatnot, they can't leave cause of their shock bracelets. Plus the communication system in the tower have been hacked so they can't call for help. Worst part, the Justice league aren't aware of this until after they're done with their mission when Barry can't reach his darling's phone. But when they get there, The watchtower is in shambles and they meet this kind of scene

Minus the dead people The shock bracelets are on the floor soaked in blood but their darlings are no where to be found How will they take this and what's the aftermath Sorry it's so long Ps Hal's darling is paralyzed here

Yandere!Justice League AU Masterlist

Not including Diana’s and Arthur’s darling because I covered why they would not be in the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice here

TW// Very Slight Ableism, Miscarriage, Traumatic Injuries, Loss of Body Parts

It would have been an extremely dangerous incident, the level of Doomsday, in order for everyone to leave. Hell, normally Bruce leaves his darling back at the manor but he has no idea of when he would be returning.

Their one mistake was choosing to leave their darlings in the Hall of Justice instead of the Watchtower, it would be easier to get them all out on the ground if something went wrong.

The Hall of Justice was locked up so tight so that even a drop of sunlight would not even get in, or even oxygen from the outside, but the hall is big enough that they do not even have to worry suffocating.

At first the quiet and person space is nice for a change, especially for Hal’s darling since when he is there he practically never lets her move about on her own, she honestly misses those days as a detective more than anything, but then… she had her accident not too long ago.

Clark’s darling is really just happy to be around other people, it somewhat helps break the perfect family delusion he has made, a darling who is pregnant with his child. It reminds her of who she used to be before all of this occurred.

Barry’s darling is in the same boat as Clark, albeit a tad less delusional, at least lucid enough to know his darling does not want any children… yet, at least. Barry being Barry, I don’t think he can go complete no contact with his darling, so he lets her have phone which has one of those network monitors, so practically all she can do is text and call Barry and whoever else he lets her have contact with. So every few hours he calls up his darling to check up on her, and she does not even have the choice to hang up or ignore it because he has a setting to answer on her behalf, benign all happy and cheerful on the phone, asking how she’s been and having Batman yelling at him to put the damn phone down.

Both Oliver Queen’s and Bruce Wayne’s darlings is just kind of indifferent to it all, it does change any of their circumstances in the long run. Then thanks to Bruce none of them will even have the chance to get out of there, you know those ankle bracelets that people wear on house arrest? Ya turn that up to eleven, pulse, mics, precision point accurate tracking, and a small shock to keep them in line and out of forbidden areas. Though a few won’t let their darlings have this on, because what if something goes wrong or what if it malfunctions and it hurts them? This is namely Clark (because he can always have eyes, or ears rather, on his darling at all times), Hal (his darling was stabbed in the back, literally, when she was a detective and is paralyzed from the waist down, like hell he is going to let something go wrong and fuck her up and hurt her even more), and then Kyle just doesn’t like the vibe of it all.

Kyle Rayner’s and John Stewart’s darlings are just kinda all used to it at this point, with the things they have heard about from the Green Lanterns it’s normally just a question if they should be not worried, slightly worried, or very worried and normally this means how much they need to bunker down. When Hal’s darling comes along they just kinda form a group with how much they get tossed around from place to place for their own protection while they are away.

Then there is just J’onn J’onnes’ darling, who I see being in more of an aroace relationship with him, she is just over everything, literally nothing bothers her because well she does not have no more privacy of her own mind. Like while everyone else is slightly scared or when members of the League are leaving their darlings there, she is just sitting in an armchair, reading her book, completely unbothered by what is happening even when she gets one of Bruce’s cuffs on her ankle.

Now onto the interesting bit of things, it’s one of the nights when they are all alone, they had just finished cleaning up from dinner and everyone is settling down for the night, all of them going off and doing their own things.

And things certainly go wrong in the night.

…

When the Justice League returns they certainly do not expect what they see…

Everything is in ruins…

Blood lining the walls…

The cuffs on the ground and-

Oh god that is an arm.

The footage was bugged so they cannot even look back to see what happened, the power was cut which made everything a complete blackout.

Bruce would barely be able to track anything if it was not for the last security measure he put in place, a chip in his darling’s neck so he could track her if anything went wrong.

While everyone else is arguing about what to do, Bruce and Clark have already figured out their location, though Bruce is much more put together than Clark is.

The Superman looks mortified, just standing there in shock and staring down at the ground.

“There is only one heartbeat…”

Their unborn child never got to see life because of what happened.

It was some mass terrorist organization who the Justice League had bumped heads with before. They saw an opportunity and took it, god knows how they got the information but if they were able to hack the system of the Hall of Justice then they really should not be surprised.

They can’t kill…

But they have to rescue them first…

And then shut down what’s going on.

The Green Lanterns will get to the darlings first, use their constructs to stabilize whatever happened to them, Clark’s darling is a priority since a miscarriage can be deadly, so is Hal’s darling due to her condition, along then with whoever lost the arm. The others will clear the way and-

When they find them all they are a complete mess…

Serious lacerations on every single one of them.

Hal’s darling was clearly thrown against the wall when they arrived and she clearly had head damage and was laying in her own blood that she could not even push herself out of due to the injured state of her arms and the uselessness of her legs.

Serious damage to the left eye of Barry’s darling, cut by some sort of rusted weapon.

Kyle’s darling had broken her right ankle and left leg, along with a huge gash on her upper back. John’s darling was looking after her as the best she can with a broken foot.

Oliver’s darling is the one with the missing arm, clean sliced off along with a punctured lung and in a state of unconsciousness while Bruce’s darling looks after her since she was lucky to get off with only a sprained ankle.

Then there was Clark’s darling, a complete mess, head trauma, broken ribs, and a miscarriage causing her to bleed out. Similar to the previous, J’onn J’onnes’ darling was in well enough condition to take care of her, just enough to stabilize her.

When everything is said and done and they are safe again, there is a heavy bitterness in the air.

The kidnapped them saying that they were keeping them safe…

Hal’s darling entered a coma from her head injuries after being rescued and has not woken up yet after her surgeries.

Barry’s darling had to get her eye removed in order to prevent infection, and then minor damage to the other eye.

Kyle’s darling can’t move out of the awkward position the doctors put her in on her side, so she doesn’t put pressure on the gash on her back or the shattered leg with a metal pole in her leg because of it.

John’s darling is one of the lucky few with only a boot and crutches for a few weeks.

Oliver’s darling had gone into surgery after surgery for her injuries, her arm and lung getting her placed in severe intensive care for at least a few months.

Clark’s darling is in a state of pure emotional distress along with her injuries, her head having been braced and stitched up after a surgeries to take care of her head damage and her… her miscarriage.

Clark is just as much in a state of distress as his darling over her injuries and the fact that he was supposed to protect her and their child and now one of them is dead and the other has injuries she will never fully recover from.

J’onn’s darling and Bruce’s darling are far more focused in looking after the others since they are far more healthy than the others. They visit them all in the medical wing, Bruce’s darling leaving flowers at their bedside, J’onn’s darling reading to them (I think she would be a librarian before all of this), and either of them sitting with Hal’s darling while she is in her current state along with Oliver’s darling who is in recovery.

All of them are in extremely pain emotionally and physically, they were kidnapped, told it was to keep them safe and for their own good, and now one of them is in a coma after she was paralyzed a number of months prior, another is missing an arm along with extremely brain trauma, one of them is missing an eye along with being now legally blind in the other, and one of them is now dealing with the loss of a child.

God when Hal’s darling wakes up she will be having a field day when she was right all along.

251 notes · View notes

cillianmesoftlyyy · 1 year ago

Text

How About It, Agent Miller? | Lenny Miller x fem!reader

Summary: The year is 1988. The Cold War is well underway and tensions are slowly rising between the US and the Soviets. CIA Agent Miller isn’t threatened by the new young agent from the Soviet Union but she has a plan to get his attention, and to get even.

Warnings: Misogyny, violence, gun, kidnapping, restraints, dubious consent, noncon, smut, unprotected sex, edging, drugging.

word count: 4661k

Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones 🎶

Devils Haircut- Beck 🎵

You Know I’m No Good- Amy Winehouse 🎶

Movie: Anna (2019)

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks!

He thought this job was going to be simple, almost easy. She was working for East Germany, young, and new to her position; surely she wouldn’t be that difficult to eliminate. He’d been working for the CIA for nearly fifteen years at that point. He was one of the top agents and had orchestrated the downfall of many notable German and Soviet spies. To be fair, there had been that minor detail of receiving several severed heads from the KGB back in 1985 but that was all behind him now. They didn’t scare him now, and certainly, that twenty-something agent he’d heard so much about wasn’t about to make him lose sleep. In fact, he was looking forward to meeting her.

The girl in question was twenty-two and one of the deadliest spies to ever work for East Germany (the communist side). Y/N Y/L/N managed to slip past the CIA on multiple occasions, stealing out the backdoor or using false passports to get out of the country undetected. She’d made one mistake, however, and Agent Miller was quick to catch it. He rued the way she’d avoided detection for so long when it felt like it was all due simply to good luck. She didn’t seem especially smart or conniving, just pretty. It pissed him off. The mistake that Y/N had made was small, easy to look over, but Agent Miller was looking, and he found it.

Y/N tricked men around her to get information on the US. Once she’d get them alone, she drugged them, shot them, etc; anything to get them out of her way while she downloaded classified files from their computers. She had managed to steal these files before without leaving traces of her crime but low and behold, the last time she had removed the flash drive without ejecting it from the computer’s system. The computer held onto the flash drive's information and told Agent Miller exactly what the young woman was planning next. She’d been collecting information on nuclear weapons and international trade deals that the US was trying to keep hush hush. And for that reason, Agent Miller knew who she was going after next.

He straightened his striped blue tie and cleared his throat as he and his team crowded into the elevator. The men behind him carried larger guns and thick bulletproof vests, ready for whatever the girl threw at them. They’d followed her into a hotel in New York City, a place that felt too normal for the situation at hand. When the elevator doors opened with a soft whooshing noise, Agent Miller nodded his agents on, directing them to either side of the corridor. Quickly, they raided the hotel room belonging to the man they believed she had gone after that evening, but did not find her there. She was nowhere in the hotel. Agent Miller cursed beneath his breath and gritted his teeth. He knew his impatience was his worst quality and it only hurt him in these situations, but then again, the American government isn’t known for being very patient with communists…

Clenching and relaxing his jaw, Agent Miller went back down in the elevator with his men. They separated into groups in the lobby, each climbing back into the armored car sent by the CIA. Agent Miller waited behind, his cold eyes trained on the curb in front of the hotel. His car was separate from the others and would take him directly back to his office. A sharp wind ruffled his dark brown hair, displacing one strand into his face as his car pulled up to the curb. Agent Miller climbed into the dark backseat, the car door slamming closed beside him and a lock clicking into place. He looked up. The barrel of a pistol was pointed at his forehead. He froze.

“Hello, Agent Miller. Wie geht es Ihnen? I’m so glad we finally got a moment alone. I apologize for the circumstances but you know how the politics are these days… it’s so… toxic. Ja? Now, be a good boy and hand me the glock you have at your hip,” a young woman smiled on the seat beside him. She was wearing all black and blended in against the dark leather seats and tinted windows. Agent Miller frowned, his hands unmoving.

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it? You’re putting me at a disadvantage here.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself like that, Agent Miller. You and I both know what you’re capable of,” she chuckled mockingly but her sunglasses hid her true meaning. “Give me your gun, now.” Her voice was hard and cool like a porcelain plate, one of the perfect edges with a chip. Agent Miller raised his hand slowly and moved his jacket to the side, showing his holster. As soon as she had his gun in her hand she tapped the glass partition between them and the driver, signaling him to drive.

“Where are we going?” Agent Miller sighed calmly, leaning back against the seat. Y/N smiled, pleased at his temperament. It made things easier.

“One of my favorite places in New York City,” she answered with a smirk, a gun still trained at the man beside her though it had been lowered.

“And what kind of place could that be, god forbid?” Agent Miller asked rhetorically and looked over at the window beside him.

“The Plaza Hotel,” she answered slowly and shifted in her seat. Her pleated leather skirt shifted across her black stockings, showing more of her thigh, fleshy and round. Agent Miller noticed it and smirked, the comedy of the situation being too much for him to take seriously. The car stopped at the back of the hotel by the service entrance. Men exited out of the building and held a door open, waiting as Y/N escorted the CIA agent inside. Agent Miller followed her calmly as he searched for someone who could help him.

“No one’s here. It’s off-season,” she sighed lightly and pushed him into an elevator.

“It’s never off-season in New York,” Agent Miller raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Surprise, surprise.”

They took the elevator up to the top floor. Agent Miller’s hands began to sweat as he was led out of the elevator and around the corridor to a suite, separated from the others.

“You must get a good salary,” Agent Miller cracked as the woman jerked the gun towards the door of the suite. He kept his hands visible as he entered the room and looked around. The room was large and was actually made up of multiple rooms. In the center of the living room area, a chair had been left out.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Bitte.” She had a way of talking that sounded like a purr but it was clear to Agent Miller that her words were more threatening than they sounded. Still, it was hard to take her seriously. It was hard to believe that this woman was the deadliest spy in East Germany.

“Danke schön,” Agent Miller muttered, his American accent muddling the German.

"Kannst du Deutsch sprechen, Herr Miller?” Y/N pretended to sound surprised as she closed and bolted the lock. “I’m flattered, really,” she smiled and removed her long black coat. Slowly she placed the coat on a couch’s arm and pulled off the blonde wig on her head, revealing her dark hair beneath which fell into a messy bob around her shoulders, over her dark mauve blouse. Last she removed her sunglasses and folded them neatly on her coat. Then she met his eyes.

“Nein? Well, then it's good I’m so fluent in English. You would never tell by my accent. At least, you didn’t the last time we met.”

“We’ve met before?” Agent Miller asked and shifted in his chair.

“Oh yes.” She smiled and dimples deepened on her cheeks.

An image came back to him, one of a young woman dropping a stack of manuscripts in the lobby of a hotel where they had been investigating the last crime scene. She’d been wearing a long brown wig and tortoiseshell glasses. She even had brown contacts in her eyes to hide her true eye color. He’d stopped to help her collect the manuscripts.

Oh gosh, thank you so much. So sorry about that. My boss is going to kill me. Thank you! She’d blushed as he handed her the papers. He’d met her before. She’d shown herself to him just to play with him. He scowled.

“Now I feel even more at a disadvantage.”

“How? After all, you’re the big-shot CIA agent, due for a promotion any day now… and I’m just a little girl. I don’t need any real smarts, not when I can just use my good looks to get what I want. Right, Agent Miller?” Her voice darkened as she finished, flashing with resentment. “You could fight me right now. It’s just the two of us. I’m surprised you didn’t. You’ve had ample opportunities to but you blindly follow my orders. It’s not that you’re scared to hurt me, you aren’t that sexist.”

“I don’t see the point of fighting when you’ve put so much work into getting me alone. I assume you have something to say.” Agent Miller swallowed, his cool facade slipping slightly as the woman approached him slowly.

“Aw how chivalrous of you! Oh, but what if I told you that I was only interested in getting you alone so that I could finally get even with you.” Y/N twirled the gun around her pointer finger and shifted it to his chest. He stiffened.

“Get even?”

“Settle the score,” she offered with a shrug.

“I don’t think I follow,” Agent Miller frowned warily.

“Then let me explain,” Y/N purred and with quick movements, she removed a pair of handcuffs from the back of her skirt and closed them tightly around both of his wrists, tying his hands around the back of the heavy chair. His eyes widened slightly when he realized what she had done.

“The fuck…” he started but she cut him off quickly.

“You didn’t think I could outsmart you or get the upper hand… you thought you could so easily catch me. And what a good job you’ve done!” She crossed her arms across her chest and set the gun down, smiling. Agent Miller averted his gaze, staring at the upper corner of the room. He clenched his jaw and struggled against the handcuffs for a brief moment.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Agent Miller?”

“Figured what out?” He snapped impatiently.

“I've been planning this for months. Do you really think I accidentally removed my flashdrive wrong, coincidentally leaving you all of the information that i’ve gathered since starting my mission? You’ve really underestimated me,” she clucked her tongue and kicked off her high heels, standing barefoot in her pantyhose on the dark pink shag carpet.

“I knew you’d find the mistake, I wanted you to. You did everything you were supposed to do, good boy,” she carded her fingers through his dark hair. The soft warm lighting in the room brought out the freckles across his pale face. Just as he started to turn his eyes to hers, she yanked his hair back so that he was looking up at her. “But how did this special agent who graduated from MIT of all places, end up in this position?”

“Did you do all of this just to show me how smart you are?” Agent Miller growled as she continued to pull at his roots.

“Something like that,” she smiled again, “I get off when men think they’re smarter than I am. I like proving them wrong… and then killing them.”

“Is that your plan for tonight?” He tried to keep a level voice as the smell of her perfume wafted down to his nose. She shook her head slightly and chuckled.

“You’ve been trained to resist torture, so there won’t be much that I can get out of you that way. And anyway, there isn’t much that I don’t already know.” She released her grip on his hair and stepped back. Y/N moved to the bar cart, stocked with crystal jars of whiskey and bourbon.

“So what are you going to do to me?” Agent Miller raised an eyebrow as he watched her pour a small glass of whiskey. She turned slowly and approached him again, swirling the whiskey in her glass. She raised the glass to his lips and poured it gently into his mouth. He parted his lips for her, his eyes trained on her face.

“Whatever I want,” she whispered and pulled the glass from his lips. Agent Miller raised his eyebrow, swallowing.

“Won’t your government disapprove?” He scoffed and shifted in the seat, calming himself down. His body was starting to get hot and his collar got tighter.

“Shhh,” she shushed him, a finger pressed against her own lips. Y/N approached him again and trailed one manicured finger from his arm to his hand. He shivered beneath her touch and his heart began to race. He felt his pulse in his stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair again, softer this time. She placed one knee on the chair between his thighs, pressing against his crotch. She tipped his head back with the edge of her nail beneath his jaw and leaned in close, exhaling beside his jaw. Seeing an opportunity, Agent Miller tried to kick her, jutting his knee up because it wasn’t restrained. She stopped him quickly, forcing him back into the chair, not missing a beat. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on it. Her hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed but not harshly. His skin was warm beneath her hand and she smiled, her white teeth flashing.

She pressed her knee sharply into his thigh, holding his leg down, and slid it closer to the top of his crotch. She chuckled softly when she felt the outline of his cock inside his pants with the side of her thigh. Agent Miller’s body tensed below her, his hands folding into fists as he exhaled sharply.

“Aw does this hurt?” She cooed as she dug her knee further into the flesh of his thigh. His jaw tightened as she teased him. Moving closer, she rested both knees between his thighs, forcing them against the arms and pinning them in place. Suddenly she was so close and her thighs were pressing against his stomach…

How was it that he was getting an erection from this shit-show? How could she get this reaction out of him so fucking quickly? He tried to even out his breath as she shifted in the seat, her hands trailing up his chest to the knot of his tie.

“What did you drug me with?” Agent Miller muttered. Strands of her hair brushed against his cheeks.

“You don’t have to resist it, Agent Miller.” She ran her hands down his sides beneath his dark blue suit jacket. His body was full and firm, and warm. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered against his forehead.

“What did you put in my drink…” he repeated, his voice wavering in strength as her hand moved down his stomach to the front of his pants. His erection was pronounced and visible, pushing against the fly of his trousers. She must have given him something, something to get this response. He wasn’t even that turned on. He sighed, frustrated and mad. He turned his head to the side, avoiding her soft lips.

“You think I have to drug you to get this kind of response? Silly boy,” she slid off of his lap and sat on the edge of the couch in front of him. She crossed her legs at first and allowed her eyes to trail up his body like a man would to a woman. Agent Miller stared back, his blue eyes hard. She giggled and reached up her skirt, hooking her hands under her pantyhose and pulled it down her thighs. She rolled the pantyhose slowly down her calves and slipped it off her feet. Despite his best efforts, Agent Miller watched her closely, studying the way she pushed the pantyhose to the side with her foot.

“I prefer genuine responses, it helps with my ego,” she broke the silence and watched with a sly smile as Agent Miller swallowed. With a sigh she stood and leaned over the CIA agent, her hands gripped around the arm rests. “Are you embarrassed? The high and mighty CIA agent succumbing so quickly to someone like me?” She teased him sharply, a glint of malice behind her bright eyes. “Tell me, Agent Miller. You’re thinking about me… you want me to touch you more. You want to see what I could do to you.”

Agent Miller cocked his head slightly and sighed, pretending to be disinterested. Y/N grabbed his face, her fingers digging into either side of his jaw. When she kissed him, he exhaled, almost relieved. He kissed her back, forgetting himself and liking the way she tasted, the way her lips felt in his mouth. She pulled his face closer to hers, still hovering above him. She kissed him feverishly and he followed blindly, distracted by the pleasure found in each movement her lips made against his. Then as quickly as it had started, she pulled away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Some of her lipstick was smudged across his mouth but he couldn’t tell. He was breathing heavily, his lips pulled apart so that he could catch his breath. She took a few steps back and grabbed a file from a nearby table. She flipped it open and turned the pages until she landed on the right one. She held the folder open in one hand and with the other she began to unbutton her blouse from the top down.

Agent Miller felt his cock throb as he watched her shrug off the silky blouse and drape it over the arm of the couch. When she turned he could see her black t-shirt bra fitted perfectly against her breasts. Her collarbones rose and fell as she breathed and Agent Miller nearly groaned. She read aloud from the file as she moved back to the chair.

“My records tell me that the last number of confirmed nuclear weapons in the American arsenal was 27,000. It’s been half a decade since that information was released to the Soviet Union. What is that number now?” She straddled his lap slowly, smoothing out her skirt over their legs. Agent Miller moved his eyes from her breasts to her face, trying to keep his face straight as he felt the woman’s hand unbuckle his belt.

“I can’t tell you that,” he managed as she played with the zipper of his fly, her fingers dancing over the hard bulge.

“Has the number grown?” She offered and slid her hand below his waistband. Her hand grazed the patch of his pubic hair before she reached his cock. He shivered and looked up at the ceiling of the hotel room. “More?” She asked softly as she wrapped her fingers around his erection, it was hot and wet in her hand. He was so sensitive already that he groaned softly when she touched him. She squeezed him softly and freed the hard length from his pants. She rubbed her hand up and down. Agent Miller panted softly as she masturbated him. His eyes snapped open and he watched her, their eyes locked.

“Has the number changed?” She asked again softly as the agent clenched his jaw.

“I can’t tell you that,” He fought the words out as her hand sped up.

“Are there less? Has the US been involved in a trade agreement for its nuclear weapons?” She pushed, her hand moving faster.

“Fuck…” Agent Miller panted as her grip tightened around him. His cheeks deepened with color and his chest shook as his climax built. Just as he felt like he was about to cum, Y/N pulled her hand away and clucked her tongue.

“You’re going to make this very hard on yourself,” she observed and smiled as she watched him pant. He was completely erect beneath her skirt, resting against her bare thigh. They stared at each other as he caught his breath. She snapped the folder closed and tossed it to the side, sighing impatiently.

“Who has the US traded with in the past year?” She asked, her hands holding his thighs down.

“That is public information. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I want you to tell me about the trade deals you haven’t made public,” she loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “Which countries have illegal trade agreements with the US?” She added before kissing his neck, sucking on the soft flesh until she started to make hickeys. With her freehand she held his cock still as she lowered herself onto his head. She moved her hips slowly up and down and pulled away to look at his face. His adam's apple quivered in his throat as she moved on top of him.

“I-I can’t-fuck,” he gasped softly as she started to shift her hips over his lap, taking him deeper, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Come on, Agent Miller,” she whispered against his ear, “be a good boy for me,” she smirked. “Does it feel good? Is this harder than torture?” She teased him as her hips sped up, rocking back and forth. Agent Miller moaned softly as she held his face to face her. His mouth was agape in pleasure as she began to bounce slightly, falling hard on his cock. He grunted as she went faster, moaning theatrically against his lips which she refused to kiss.

“Do you want to cum, Agent Miller?” She whispered against his lips, her tongue touching his bottom lip with a flourish.

“Fuck…” he panted again.

“Can you cum for me?” She purred and Agent Miller nodded weakly, his eyes now closed. She smiled and pretended to pant, coaxing another deep moan from the man’s throat. “Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She asked, raising herself up and holding him inside her. He weakly tried to thrust but she held him down.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his brows furrowed in frustration.

She snapped her hips down, taking him in again and hugging his cock. He gasped as his stomach tightened. He was going to cum.

“Has the US been sending nuclear weapons to West Germany?” She repeated sternly, not moving on his cock as the wave of climax started to dissipate again.

“I can’t fucking tell you that-fuck,” he growled when she moved her hips very slowly.

“But you can tell me, Agent Miller, and if you do, I’ll let you cum,” she stroked his cheek and kissed his jaw feverishly. “I want you to cum. Fuck, I want you to cum inside me too.” She whispered against his neck. When he resisted saying anything she pulled herself off and backed away towards the bed in the room beside them. Agent Miller watched her, his chest rising and falling quickly. Still watching him, she slid her leather skirt off, showing that she had no underwear on underneath. He felt like he might explode just by the sight of her.

“Jesus…” he groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. He couldn’t help himself but look back as she undid her bra and dropped it to the floor. Standing completely naked, she laid back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows.

“If you won’t cum, I’ll just have to finish myself off,” she sighed and trailed her fingers up her thigh to her cunt, wet from sex. “It just never feels as good.” She rubbed her fingers over her clit over and over again until she felt an orgasm grow. She curled her toes and bit her lip, grinding against her own hand. Agent Miller knew that he could look away but the scene was just too much to ignore. He watched as she arched her back and twisted her hips, reacting to the sensitivity of her clit. Her eyes danced below her eyelids as she thought up fantasies to fuel her climax. Rubbing harder, she started to moan softly and quivered. Agent Miller pulled at the handcuffs, struggling to remain calm as he watched her touch herself. As her orgasm finally arrived, she collapsed back onto the mattress and caught her breath.

“Enough,” Agent Miller sneered from the chair, still erect and horny. “At least get me out of these so I can fuck you the right way.”

Y/N smiled and hopped off of the bed, her tits bouncing slightly as she did.

“You want to fuck me, Agent Miller?” She leaned close to his face again. He stared back at her, his jaw set.

“Let’s get it over with,” he answered nonchalantly and she tilted his jaw up but didn’t kiss him. She undid the handcuffs around his wrists and he sprang to his feet, grabbing at her body. He kissed her feverishly, lapping at her mouth with his tongue hungrily. She pushed off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt as he slipped off his shoes and pants. They didn’t have time to remove his shirt before he entered her. He took hold of her hips to pull her closer and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close to his chest. She clawed her hands down his dress shirt, her knees high on either side of his waist. She moaned loudly and he studied the way she opened her mouth to do it, mesmerized by the way she reacted to him inside of her.

“Good boy,” she praised him when he sped up, hitting her G-spot. She reached her hand down between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, coaxing a stronger orgasm.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Agent Miller ordered, short of breath, “let me do it.” He massaged her clit himself, his large hands covering the front of her cunt. Her mouth fell open into a loud gasp as he synchronized his thrusts to the way he rubbed her clit.

“Fuck,” he exhaled tightly as he felt her flex around him.

“Keep going,” she wrapped her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer to her face, their mouths exchanging exhales, “fuck me right.”

He kissed her deeply as he moaned, the muscles in his back tightening beneath her nails. She was so tight and wet, he nearly came just thinking about it as he moved. She carded her fingers through his hair and pulled as he chased their peaking climax. He was grunting now as she began to finish around him, shaking without much control. He moved his hands back to her hips and rocked himself deep inside of her as he brought on his orgasm. He came inside of her with loud grunts, thrusting until he’d finished completely. Only when he was done did he pull out and collapse beside her on the elegant duvet. He panted loudly, exhausted. They remained in silence until Y/N rolled over, putting her lips close to his ear.

“You know, I didn’t have to ask you all those questions. I already know the answers.” Her voice was serious and cold, Agent Miller eyed her.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see you tied down,” she answered calmly. He raised his eyebrow and scoffed just before the sting of a cold, sterilized needle pinched his neck. Then he quickly went to sleep.

When he awoke, he found himself alone in the hotel room. Everything had been returned to normal and the place scrubbed for fingerprints. And she was gone. She’d gotten away again.

#lenny miller #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #cillian fanfic #cillian x y/n #cillian x reader #smut #Anna #agent miller #long reads #1980s #fem!reader

371 notes · View notes

captainsophiestark · 7 months ago

Text

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Seven Prompt: "Let me remind you."

Summary: Dick's SO is having trouble adjusting to the new scrutiny of attending Wayne galas as his date, but thankfully, he has an idea to help with that.

Word Count: 1,449

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sipped my champagne, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I could handle fighting the Joker and Scarecrow with no problems, but attending a Wayne gala as the partner of Dick Grayson was throwing me for a loop.

I fought the urge to scowl about it. If one thing could make this night more awkward, it would be some person I barely knew finding me making faces in the corner.

What irritated me the most was that this was by no means my first Wayne gala. I'd grown up with Dick and spent countless hours in the manor with him and his family. We'd been each other's primary entertainment at these things as kids. But being here as his date, and as an adult expected to do more than turn the banquet tables into a fort, was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.

When we were kids, nobody seemed to care what we did much beyond just noticing and thinking we were cute. Now, it seemed like everybody in this room wanted something from Dick, and either saw me as a threat to their ability to get it or as a secret backdoor to him, if only they could get me on their side.

I was seriously on the edge of losing it and going back to the buffet tables kid-style.

Dick had done his best to stick with me, but people kept showing up to pull both of us away from each other for a conversation, and we hadn't been able to do much without being incredibly, obviously rude. I'd finally managed to extract myself enough for some breathing room, but I could see Dick still in the middle of things, a group of old men who almost certainly wanted money from Bruce talking his ear off.

Even from here, I could tell Dick was barely paying attention to them. His eyes scanned the crowd, and after a moment, they landed on me. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately for me, he knew me too well and was too good of a detective to believe it.

Dick quickly made his excuses to the men around him, and didn't take no for an answer as he left the conversation and headed in my direction. He crossed the massive room quickly to stand before me, and this time when I smiled at him, it was much more genuine.

"Hey," he said, returning my smile and leaning in to kiss my temple as soon as he reached me. "How are you doing?"

"Good." I tried to strengthen my smile, but Dick saw right through it. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"...Are you sure?"

I sighed. "It's just... this all feels a little weird. I've known you forever, you know it's never been important to me that you're the famed son of billionare Bruce Wayne. But it seems like that's all anybody else here can think about, and they all either hate me because they want to be with you or want to be my new best friend, all so they can get to you and Bruce. It's fine, none of their opinions matter to me, but... I just didn't expect to feel so weird coming to one of these things again."

Dick took a step closer to me, reaching out to take my arm with a concerned look on his face. He spoke quietly enough that, even if someone had been intentionally eavesdropping (which had happened more than once tonight), they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Do you want to go? I'm happy to leave if you want to. We don't have to stay here."

I shook my head before he'd even finished his sentence.

"Running and no-showing Bruce's galas isn't a long-term solution. And seriously, it's fine, I'll adjust. I just... I don't know. I miss the days where we hid under the punch bowl giggling out of sight of everybody, you know?"

My boyfriend grinned. "I mean, if you really think about it, there's nothing keeping us from doing that again."

"I can think of a few things," I laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. He hummed, but sobered quickly as he scanned the room, clearly thinking.

"Well... if you're sure you don't want to commandeer the space under the desert table?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why don't we try dancing? That's a little more... socially acceptable than hiding under the tables, but it's one of the things we used to have the most fun doing at these things. Remember how we'd just take over the entire floor to do whatever we wanted when we were kids?"

I laughed. "Yeah, of course. Although it's a little harder to remember the feeling that inspired us to just run out there before."

Dick smiled softly and extended his hand to me.

"Let me remind you."

My heart did a little backflip, especially when I met Dick's sparkling blue eyes. I huffed a little laugh of disbelief, especially at the thought of stepping into the center of the spotlight when I knew just how many people were going to be watching. But then I looked at Dick again, and I decided that, as long as I was with him, they didn't matter.

I took his hand, and he didn't waste a second before pulling me after him to the dance floor. I laughed, unable to hold back a smile even as heads turned towards us. Dick ignored them completely. He pulled me to his chest when we reached the center of the floor and wrapped an arm securely around my waist, the other taking one of my hands. I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and as we started swaying together to the music, his eyes didn't leave mine for a second.

"You know..." he started after a moment, drawing my attention back from a glance over his shoulder to where people were watching us. "This is nice, but a slow dance wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

I gave Dick my full attention and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Something more like this."

Suddenly, Dick was spinning me out and away from him, twirling across the floor before pulling me back. We'd know each other long enough and spent enough time as vigilante teammates that his steps were easy to follow, even as he started something closer to swing that didn't match the music at all.

I laughed, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I shared a smile with my partner. In the back of my mind, I knew more people were probably watching and judging than ever. But suddenly they didn't matter like they used to.

Dick swung me around again, then pulled me close and into an exaggerated dip. If I didn't know he was a superhero, I probably would've been a little worried about him dropping me. Instead, it just made me laugh, especially as Dick grinned and led me into something way too close to something you'd do to Cotton Eye Joe.

With every second that passed on the dance floor with Dick, everyone else in the room faded further and further away. It felt like when we were kids, just me and the most important person in the world to me having the time of our lives.

"Feel any better?" asked Dick, whispering in my ear as he pulled me close again, both hands wrapped tight around my waist. I smiled, running my hands up his arms and across his shoulders.

"So much better. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. We're partners, you know I'd never leave you hanging."

I pulled back enough to meet Dick's eyes, and found their familiar sparkle and a smile waiting for me. I gave him a soft smile back.

"I love you, Dick Grayson. So fucking much."

Dick beamed back at me. "I love you too. Now come on, the band's finally catching on to what we want. I want to dance with the love of my life to music that's actually fun for dancing."

I just laughed as Dick swung me out and away from him again, the two of us twirling across the floor, this time in sync with the now-faster music. Suddenly, after a few minutes with Dick, the propsect of all these Wayne galas didn't seem nearly so daunting anymore. Sure, I might have to deal with a few unpleasant strangers whose opinions didn't matter to me. But I'd also get to do this, laughing and dancing and having the time of our lives, with my favorite person in the world.

Worth it in the long run, as far as I was concerned.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

123 notes · View notes

lu-is-not-ok · 7 months ago

Note

In the roadmap of this season, the new .5 shown is one seemingly related to the sweepers. Given each of the .5s/second .5s were ones that setup for their next cantos I am wondering what sort of info you wish to glean from it?

I myself am rather interested in sweeper lore generally, so more about that, and perhaps the dynamics between them will again parallel Gong Lu's family. I wonder if Dante’s autotranslate for distortions will allow them to speak with the sweepers, they do seem to be standing in front of them in that teaser image.

I am. So excited anout that intervallo.

So here's a brief list of things I'm excited for, plus maybe a few silly predictions cause why not:

Since we're dealing with Sweepers, we're likely going to be in the Backstreets of whatever District Canto 8 is gonna take place in. I'm really excited to learn more about the worldbuilding for the Backstreets. Plus you fucking know Rodya is gonna have some shit to say about the class disparity, as is often the case.

Sweepers are in this interesting place of having Family-like structures, but having them work in a similar way to Bloodfiend Families - in that one can choose to become part of a Sweeper Family rather than being forced into being born into it. Considering how Fanghunt Hong Lu is the way he is, I hope facing that idea of choosing one's own Family so directly will elicit some sort of reaction out of Hong Lu.

An introduction to a new faction. I doubt they can make Sweepers into IDs (they're not like power armor where you can have the helmets be conditional, nor are they like prosthetics where you can only have a part of the face be replaced), so if they go with Event Identities we're gonna need something else for those. I'm personally hoping for a Syndicate because I like em.

Partially related to the above, I'd love to see a plot that at least partially parallels/references the Sweepers chapter in Distortion Detective. For those who don't know, there's a short arc in DD where Moses and co end up stuck out in the Backstreets during the Night and are forced to weather the waves of Sweepers while looking for shelter. Moses is able to tell they'll be unable to survive through all three waves of Sweepers, so they try to get the people already in hiding to let them in. Eventually, someone does - a group of Thumb members, causing Moses and co to have to make a deal with them to stay overnight. I'm hoping the Intervallo will have some sort of parallel to that, where the Sinners will be forced to make a deal with someone (potentially the faction used for Event IDs hopefully) to survive the night.

In general, some sort of Hong Lu nuclear bomb is inevitable. Something with the same dramatic impact as the Don Quixote being a Bloodfiend reveal at the end of Warp Express. My bet is on a proper reveal that he's a runaway, and that his previously stated reasons for leaving home (alongside perhaps some other things he's said) were a complete lie all along.

Which, speaking of Hong Lu being a runaway. Here's my silly prediction for what setup they could use for the Intervallo's plot that I've been rotating in my head for a bit now. Imagine, if you will, Hong Lu recognising that the District the bus is heading into is his home District. Imagine the panic that would stir within him. What if, in the middle of the night, Hong Lu does what he's tried once before and attempts to run away again. He disappears from the bus, and similarly to that one mini episode where Heathcliff almost got lost to the Backdoor, Faust is immediately concerned over retrieving him. Especially if being turned to liquid by Sweepers is one of those things Dante might not be able to rewind.

#ask #anon #lu speaketh #limbus company #hong lu #hong lu lcb #intervallo 7.5b #nocturnal sweeping intervallo #canto 7 spoilers

69 notes · View notes

misteria247 · 4 months ago

Text

A bit suggestive you've been warned:

He always had a habit of playing with fire. In his long life, Bill Cipher wasn't one to fade into the background. But rather to join in the chaos and flirt with danger. And when he'd started his humble beginnings in the world of crime and became the world's most greatest thief. Those habits had only grown. The dream demon was currently at a club, waiting for intell on some priceless artifacts. His human disguise helping him blend in and keeping suspicious eyes off of him. It was there that the club, shortly after gaining the information, was disturbed by a familiar face that had Bill cursing.

Chief Inspector Stanford mother fucking Pines. And of course all it took was the old bastard to take one good look at him before his dark brown eyes widened and he was immediately reaching for handcuffs. After that it became a cluster fuck of pushing past bodies and dodging the old man. Bill heard the inspector curse as he was pushed backwards due to the crowd. Unable to slip through as easily as Bill.

'Eat that you worthless meat purse.'

The demon thought, a smirk on his disguised face. Bill continued to make his way through the crowded club, until he finally found the backdoor. With zero hesitation he opened the door and slipped out, leaving the crowd and Stanford Pines behind. He was immediately hit with cold air, the dark skies of the night greeting him. Jumping down the few stone stairs he took off running. Down the deserted streets of Paris, wanting to put as much distance between him and the club as possible. Having already gained what he was seeking. Turning down corners and sticking to the shadows, Bill drew further and further away. Leaving behind the detective that has been on his tail since the very beginning. Feeling a sense of satisfaction Bill began to mentally celebrate his victory until it was cut short by the sounds of footsteps quickly gaining. He barely had a chance to turn his head to look back when he was nearly tackled. The sounds of a handcuff snapping into place on one of his wrists filling the night air.

"Thought you could get away from me Cipher? You should know better than that!"

Stanford said yanking Bill around to face him. Bill shot a smirk, despite feeling irritated with his predicament.

"Can you blame me Sixer? Can't help but dream."

He said slightly flirting earning a scoff from his arresting officer.

"Dream all you want, I really couldn't care less. Now you're coming with me and we'll get you settled into your cell back at the station-"

Stanford said the rest of his talking becoming background noise as the thief observed him. Despite all the years that had passed, it was clear that the detective was still fairly attractive. His once starry eyed look from youth having faded to the serious stern look. It suited him much to Bill's irritation. He hated this man and his stupid face. He hated how he still couldn't help but glance at the inspector, just as he had done all those years ago.

'Back when hatred was something else. Back when IQ would look at him with that soft look in his dark brown eyes.'

He felt his scar glitch a bit behind his disguise. A dull kind of pain. Bill's gaze flickered towards Stanford's lips and he suddenly felt the familiar itch to steal. Without a moment's hesitation he used his free hand to pull the detective towards him and kissed him. Stanford froze stunned, while Bill kissed him, his lips coaxing the other man's to respond.

It didn't take long.

Just like those days in their youth, Stanford Pines was ruthless when he kissed him. His mouth practically staking claim on Bill. The dream demon felt the breath be taken out of him as he kissed back just a fiercely. His heart pounding loudly. Bill hated it. Hated that he still reacted in this way. Hated that Stanford Pines despite everything still owned a piece of him and in return he still owned a part of Stanford.

It was maddening.

It was addictive.

And it was something he could never have again. Not in the way it once was.

Their makeout session was ended by the sound of Stanford's own handcuffs snapping shut. Right around the inspector's own wrist and a nearby steel gate. Stanford blinked owlishy, eyes widening in a mortified realization while Bill smirked. Handcuff keys in hand.

"See you soon Fordsy."

Bill said giving one last shark like smile before taking off again down the dark streets. Stanford stuttered, face red as he struggled with his handcuffs.

"YOU ABSOLUTE LOW LIFE SON OF A-"

The detective snarled earning the familiar laughter of the thief. As he disappeared into the night, both the thief and the inspector thought in bittersweetly.

'His lips are still warm from that kiss.....'

34 notes · View notes

transgenderer · 6 months ago

Text

music is fundamentally mysterious to me. visual beauty feels fundamentally explicable. like…evolution has all sorts of reasons to make the organism feel positively towards visual stimuli. visual stimuli is their main way of forming a world model! obviously hearing HELPS but it's evolutionary function is subtler. the main thing is i guess…threat detection, prey detection, and mate detecting? you dont really form a world model with it. i mean a human does. but if youre like, a cat, or a monkey. i guess theres also social aspects. so those are the aspects: prey, threat, mate, social

when we think about visual things that are really beautiful, what are the typical examples? like, nature, or the human body. both of which have an obvious evolutionary interpretation. and music isnt like this! music does not resemble prey, threat, mate, social. i mean. obviously lots of psychological stuff is mysterious in origin. but the beauty of music is so important, and so inscrutable

maybe the natural comparison is abstract art? i mean, this is a classic observation. ornamentation is typically nonrepresentative. but it RESEMBLES desirable stimlu, just abstractly. its often vegetative, for example. i guess the origin of the aesthetic appeal of abstract ornamentation is strange to. modern asbtract art is yknow, trying to be INTERESTING, its easy to justify the aesthetic appeal there. but traditional ornamentation isnt interesting, conceptually. but its still often beautiful. so...why, whats going on there. i mean i know no one knows. but i think its significant that we don't know

the usual answer is something something simple structure. the human brain likes structure, and relationships. or whatever. but like...come on. theres clearly something else going on. a good melody has a better "structure" than another one. cmon man.

maybe the best explanation is that its just a weird edge case of stimulation, its not a straightforward result of any evolutionary pressure. its like...fuzzing the human brain, in the computer science sense. throw a bunch of weird data at the system, eventually some of it will strike it weird and you can get it to do nonstandard behavior. and a composer is someone who gets a sense of the structure of this "backdoor access", and so can actively craft tools to poke around back there....

but then, is visual art like that? it doesnt FEEL like that, to make visual art. but maybe im just not a good enough artist. maybe composers arent getting a sense of the shape of the keyhole in the backdoor, theyre just learning how to simulate their own response to music. so then their brain can just combinatorially search melodies step by step until it finds one that tickles itself, and it puts that in the music

39 notes · View notes

healerfromhell · 1 year ago

Text

On The Night Nurse

hi dead boy detectives fandom, i’m here to give you the tea on the night nurse because i cannot watch her incredible lore get overlooked any longer. this post was initially a thread on my twitter but i wanted to cross post :3

long post under the cut

DOOM PATROL

we first see this iteration of the night nurse in what ruth described as a “backdoor pilot” in s3e3 of doom patrol. she’s only on screen for 3 minutes but in that time there’s an insane amount of implications in terms of her abilities.

she’s shown to have telekinesis, as well as shifting her appearance into a more “demonic” form, including her mouth seemingly splitting in half. finally, as the doom patrol escapes, she projectile vomits acid onto them which later turns them into living-dead style zombies!

it’s up for debate whether or not this is canon to the dead boys show, HOWEVER, in terms of asa herself we’re not given any reason to believe she isn’t functionally the same, even if this IS an alternate universe.

as such, it is likely that the night nurse possesses these abilities in dbd and we simply haven’t seen them yet. furthermore, she’s already canonically an “eternal, trans-dimensional being”, so while this is a different universe, it could potentially be a single, dimension-hoping night nurse.....

COMIC HISTORY

here’s where we get into the good stuff. it’s pretty much agreed upon that the night nurse is an adaptation of the comic character “nightmare nurse”, also known as asa the healer. she’s a demon of an unknown age and she’s absolutely delicious as a character.

asa first appears in the phantom stranger, but she’s most notably present in justice league dark. during this it’s explicitly stated that john constantine is her ex-boyfriend and that she’s sapphic! let's go through some of the most important connections we get from these comics.

Constantine

we see her make several references to her history with constantine, but she’s also pretty loud about how her priorities are, first and foremost, her job, as you can see here, which i think ties in nicely to her pendanticism in dbd — all she wants to do is her job.

Zatanna

here are a few panels in which she hits on zatanna, then kisses her, then says she’s a much better kisser than constantine. girl kisser asa you’ll always be famous.

by the way, that creature with the red eyes? yeah, that's asa. that's her demon form that she appears in after enduring the blackmare curse with constantine.

Alice Winter

it is revealed that asa used to work as a nursemaid for a sickly woman named alice, but eventually she decided to possess alice instead. this is the body we see her in throughout her comic appearances.

however, it turns out asa is the only thing keeping alice alive. when this becomes evident, alice invites asa back into her body for good.

Other Appearances

asa is also seen a few times in other comic runs, i’m just gonna add some of my favourites here.

Suicide Squad

i love her character design here and i think her ability to remove trauma like a cancerous growth is a nice tease at how she can literally go into charles’ head and watch his trauma in dbd

The Phantom Stranger

this is from issue 8 of the phantom stranger and there’s several reasons i love it. firstly, LOOK AT HER.

second, let’s go queer demon who enjoys threesomes! you’re an icon, asa. third, apollo and panacea. oh, apollo and panacea. we’re about to get tinfoil hat-y for this last bit.

FINAL THOUGHTS

so you might’ve noticed, up until this point asa’s mentioned having sworn an oath, but that panel has her outright stating she was actually FORCED into it by the gods. we also get a hint at this in jld, though they don’t explicitly name apollo and panacea.

“asa” quite literally means “healer”. her given name; every time somebody addresses her, they are calling for a healer. that cannot be coincidental. it makes me wonder if she even HAD a name before this oath was forced upon her, or if she was just… a creature. a monster.

perhaps the gods saw fit to name her asa as a means of throwing salt in the wound. not only have they branded her, even her name is a reminder of her new purpose. it gives a lot of weight to the numerous occasions on which she says that she is, no matter what, a healer.

because regardless of where she is, what skin she wears, no matter what… she has that oath, and her name is healer. there’s no escaping that for her. it’s the fundamental core of who she is.

and as a final, final thought i would like to draw attention to this casting because hooooooly shit. perfect.

anyway if anyone cares to see any more of my never-ending thoughts about asa you can find all my head canons on the carrd i have for my rp portrayal or my ao3 where i will no doubt be posting writings about her :3

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives agency #night nurse #the night nurse #nightmare nurse #asa the healer #dc comics #the sandman #the sandman universe #netflix dead boy detectives #mine #𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖉 by 𝖑𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖍 // my writing #dead boys #asa

56 notes · View notes

runawrites-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Undercover Ch. 8 (Connor x Reader)

Summary: Someone breaks into you and Connor's home, leaving you two to fight for your lives. (Female Reader) Warnings: Chapter 8/10. No Y/N. Petnames (Love, Sweetheart). Break-Ins. Attacks. Fighting. Violence. Injuries. Blood. Reader gets Stabbed (Hand, Shoulder). Connor gets Injured (Biocomponent Ripped Out). Detective Reader. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62247359/chapters/159245413#workskin Previous Chapter

“Are you alright?”

You didn’t answer immediately, too focused on listening to see if you’d hear anything else after being woken up by a loud noise. After your call with Hank, during which it had been decided that in the morning Ashley and Dave would be taken in for questioning and that their blood and Thirium would be compared to the samples found on the two crime scenes, you and Connor had not continued your conversation from before and instead headed to bed.

“Did you hear something?”

After a few more seconds of silence, you looked down at Connor who was still lying next to you but with his upper body supported by his elbows, his eyes focused on you. Since you didn’t hear anything else, not even the hint of footsteps or other movement around the house, you reasoned that it might have simply been a noise from outside. Gently, you pushed Connor down onto his back again before settling your head on his chest where it had rested before you’d woken up.

“A loud noise woke me up but I didn’t hear anything else, so maybe it came from outside.”

In the darkness you saw Connor’s LED blink yellow as he looked down at you, his arms coming up to hold you once again. “What did it sound like?”

“It was a loud bang, like a car door slamming shut.” You explained, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “But I sat here for five minutes and I heard nothing else, no footsteps, no creaks, no movement. And I have good ears.”

For a second Connor seemed unsure but then he nodded his head and his arms tightened around you. Your hand came up to gently card over his shoulder, down his arm and back up again, repeating the pattern until you felt him relaxed against you. He released a soft breath as his LED circled back to blue, closing his eyes again, and you cuddled a little closer to him as you kept up your ministrations.

The two of you had almost fallen asleep again when from downstairs there came the unmistakable noise of glass breaking downstairs followed by the sound of a door slamming open. As you scrambled off Connor, getting onto your knees on the bed as he got to his feet, situating himself between you and the door.

“That came from inside. It sounded like it came from the kitchen.”

Fear overtook you but you forced yourself to get up, approaching Connor but keeping your eyes on the door to the bedroom. “They’re not even trying to be quiet anymore. They’re getting careless.”

“Careless means desperate.”

“Desperate means dangerous.”

“I have already wirelessly contacted Nines and he says someone will be here in approximately twenty-six minutes. We have to see who the person downstairs is in case they leave when the police arrive.” Connor said before taking a step toward the door and holding up a hand when you began to move, making you stop. “Stay behind me.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him you wouldn’t let him endanger himself like that but you knew there was no time to be wasted on arguing so you reluctantly agreed. The two of you moved into the hallway and peered down the staircase into the darkness of the ground floor, listening for any noise. Then the sound of slow, quiet footsteps could be heard and Connor brought a hand up, indicating for you to stay still.

“There’s only one set of footsteps and they are moving toward the backdoor.”

“They must be letting their accomplice inside.” You said quietly, taking a deep breath. “If they are opening the backdoor, then we have a chance to overpower them.”

“Let’s move.”

The two of you quickly made your way downstairs and once on the ground floor, you rounded the bottom of the stairs to get to the backdoor, approaching the figure standing there with their back to you. But when you saw that there was no one outside the door you stopped in your tracks, unease creeping up your spine as you wondered why the figure was standing there if they weren’t letting anyone inside. Connor had also stopped but before either of you could do anything, someone grabbed you by the shoulder and pulled you backwards.

Then a searing pain began, radiating from your shoulder up your neck and down your left arm, making you scream out. As you glanced down you saw that your attacker had stabbed you, plunging a knife into your shoulder from behind you. Connor’s head whipped around and he spurred into motion to help you. But the second he turned away from the backdoor the figure standing there began moving toward him.

“Connor, watch out!”

You tried to get to him but it only made the knife dig deeper into your flesh, making you shout in pain and in horror you realised that you were effectively pinned to your attacker. But Connor had heard your call and he turned back to the figure, managing to dodge their attempt to hit him and grabbing onto their arm in one swift motion, causing the hood that was covering their face to fall.

“Ashley?”

The android didn’t answer him and quickly pulled out a gun, aiming it at his head and making him raise his hands in an appeasing gesture, trying to diffuse the situation. Ashley’s eyes were filled with tears and her hands shook as she trained the gun on his head.

“Don’t fucking move!”

Your breathing came out ragged as you dared to peer up at your attacker, seeing that it was Dave who was holding you to his chest, keeping a tight grip on the knife in your shoulder. When he spoke up his frame moved and you hissed as the knife did with it.

“I knew you two were liars.” He said quietly, his voice shaking with emotion. “You showed so much interest in the attacks, you were so quick to get to the crime scenes and I always knew I’d seen Connor somewhere before. Do you remember me, Connor?”

“Dave, would you please let her go?” Connor asked gently but sternly, making use of his negotiator skills. “She is injured and if you move the knife you might cause damage to the surrounding ligaments in her shoulder.”

“Answer the question, Connor!” Dave snapped, making you hiss in pain as the knife moved. “I worked as a security guard in numerous locations and I worked in the Stratford Tower. I was on duty the day you came to investigate the break-in there. You are a RK800 model, originally designed to hunt down deviants. I knew I remembered you from somewhere!”

“You are correct about that, Dave.” Connor said calmly, trying not to agitate the man. “I used to investigate deviants but now I am one myself and work for the police. They are already on their way, Dave. If you tell them the truth--“

“No!” Ashley snapped suddenly, getting closer to Connor and almost pressing the gun to his temple. “You want us to tell the truth when you’ve lied to us all these weeks? You’re not a married couple, you’re undercover cops! Was it all a lie? Did you ever fucking care for either of us?”

“We did.” You ground out, making Ashley glance at you for a second. “And we understand how dire your situation is.”

Ashley glanced at the ground for a second and Connor took that split second of inattendence to grab the gun, directing it at the ceiling just as the trigger was pulled. Then he turned around with Ashley and slammed her into the wall, using his body to pin her to it as he wrestled the gun away from her, sending it flying across the living room until it collided with the fireplace.

Dave screamed her name and you noticed his grip on the knife faltering, spurring you into action. You used your elbow to deal a hard blow to the man’s chest before ducking out from under his arms, trying to make a run for the gun. But Dave was a security guard and he was as trained in combat as you were, so he reacted immediately and used his leg to kick yours out from underneath your body, sending you flying to the ground where you just so managed to break your fall with your uninjured arm.

“You fucking liar!” He hissed as he grabbed your ankle to pull you back toward him as you tried to kick him. “We’re just trying to save Ashely! Why won’t you let us save Ashley?”

You got a hard kick in against his temple with the heel of your foot, disorienting him enough to let you go and you stumbled to your feet. “Save her how?”

“We’ve found out that given its new state-of-the-art technology the RK800’s biocomponents are compatible with any other model, except for the YK500 models.”

“You want to save Ashley by dissembling Connor?”

“Why do you fucking care? He’s not your fucking husband anyway!”

As Dave got up and you once more attempted to get to the gun Ashley had managed to get free and was now trying to get the upper hand again but Connor wasn’t letting her, dodging her attacks with ease. That was until Dave got a grab at you and managed to pin you to the floor, making Connor turn to you in concern which allowed Ashley to overpower him. In a fraction of a second, she grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall, making Connor stumble and fall to his knees as disorientation overtook him, Thirium trickling down from where his chassis had been cracked open.

You screamed his name as Connor tried to get Ashley back under control while also trying not to lose his balance again. Dave pinned you down as you attempted to get back up and though you knew it was a bad idea, though you knew that it might cause significantly more blood loss, you did the only thing you could think of and grabbed the handle of the knife still stuck in your shoulder before yanking it out. Then you flipped your hand and buried the knife inside his leg making him stumble off you and clutch himself. When he tried to get up and get at you again, he fell to the ground in pain where he hit his head and passed out mere seconds later.

“Dave!”

Ashely’s outburst made you look up and she immediately let off Connor to come to her partner’s aide, falling to her knees beside him and fretting over his injuries before she turned to you in anger. Before you could get away from her she had a grip on your ankle and due to her being an android she easily managed to pull you back toward her where she grabbed you by the back of the neck, making you look at her.

“I’m going to shut down! I need new biocomponents and I will get them!” She sounded so desperate and afraid that despite her actions you still felt a pang of pity for her as you watched tears begin to stream down her face. “I want to live!”

She grabbed the knife and pulled it from Dave’s leg, raising it above her head to gain momentum and pinning your hand to the ground. Connor called out your name and stumbled to his legs to help you but before he could Ashley rammed the knife through your hand, just between two of the metacarpals there, and into the wooden floor beneath her, the strength she had at her disposal as an android effectively pinning you to the floor as you screamed in pain.

“Let her go!”

You heard Connor’s voice, static lacing it and you knew he must have suffered internal damage while fighting Ashley. She turned to him upon hearing his voice, anger and desperation on her face as tears ran down her cheeks.

“I don’t want to die, Connor! I want to live and I deserve to live!”

“You do but-- but you don’t get to harm other people to achieve that.” His voice sounded pressed, so full of pain that you felt nothing short of absolute terror rise in you as it betrayed how much damage Ashley had done. “Ashley, let us help you.”

“You lied to me and now you want to help?”

“Ashley, there is no way to win this. Your systems-- they are failing you and I am built to be stronger than you. There is no-- no way to overpower me.”

“You’re injured. I damaged your auditory units and your balance is off.”

“I know but I cannot let you hurt her.”

“You two aren’t even a real fucking couple, so why do you care?”

“I love her.”

She stilled for a second, breathing deeply as she held her chest in pain and then she shook her head before attacking Connor once more, desperation outweighting any other emotion. Your vision was blurring from pain and blood loss and you couldn’t quite make out what was happening as they fought. But everything came into focus again when Connor screamed in pain and collapsed to his knees, Ashley standing over him and holding his Thirium pump in her hand.

Behind her Connor tried to grab for it, tried to reach it but he collapsed onto the ground next to her, breathing heavily and his voice coming out static as he pleaded for her not to harm you. His eyes flickered back to you, desperation and terror clear in them but your vision wasn’t blurry anymore and you felt clearer in the head than before.

Adrenaline was a powerful thing and while androids could withstand a lot, the human body was resilient and the human spirit even more so. Gathering the last of your strength, you grabbed the knife and yanked it from your hand, freeing yourself. Ashley was too occupied trying to replace her Thirium pump to notice you staggering to your feet, breathing heavily as you stumbled over to the fireplace where you quickly grabbed the gun.

Another shot rang through the house and Ashley fell to the ground, blue blood pooling underneath her as it oozed from the wound in her stomach, her LED flickering off and Connor’s Thirium pump clattering to the floor. You fell to your knees, the pain making you delirious and your vision blurring but even still you crawled to where the biocomponent lay and grabbed it before continuing on to Connor.

He could barely move anymore but his hands grasped for yours as you pulled his upper body into your lap. Blood was oozing from your injured hand but you still brought it to his face to try and soothe him as you pushed the Thirium pump back into place.

“I love you, too.” You whispered out, tears running down your cheeks. “Please, please stay with me. I love you so much.”

Connor surged up, gasping for air and eyes locking with yours before drifting down to the wounds you had sustained. Immediately he tried to get to his feet in an attempt to help you but he collapsed back onto the ground, not able to keep his balance with the loss of Thirium and the damage to his auditory units. Still, he pushed himself upright on the floor and then brought up both of his hands, interlacing his fingers and pressing the heel of his right one down on the wound to stop the bleeding, using the other one to apply pressure. Pain surged through you and you cried out but Connor shushed you gently.

“I know it hurts but I have to stop the bleeding.” He said gently as you sagged against his chest, weakly using your uninjured hand to apply pressure to the injured one. “I got you. You’ll be fine and I won’t leave your side until-- until you’re well again.”

“You look-- You look like you’re about to-- to pass out, Connor.”

He shook his head but then blinked rapidly, the movement making his vision blur but the approaching sirens reassured him that help was on the way. “I will stay with you, still. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

23 notes · View notes