#i want him spamming that life alert button for help

[bbydeathclaw]

look, if this isn't the state i've left him in after scurrying out of his office like i didn't just suck his soul right out of him, i don't want it. i need him hunched over and gasping for air while he grips that silly little armrest like his life depends on it. i need him to question everything he's ever known up until this point as he slicks his hair back into place and tries to go about his day like i didn't just give him the nastiest sloppy toppy of all time.

[satorhime]

⁺　 ୨୧ . ᕀ SUGARSTREAM ♡ | ˚｡꒰ gojo satoru x female reader ᨀ ꒱ minors do not interact ᨀ w.c 9.2k˓˓ explicit smut, camgirl!reader, fanboy!gojo, virgin killer!gojo, cherry chasing, sex toys, anal play, candy play [ gojo fucks the reader with a lollipop ], virgin kink, corruption, teasing, cum play, age gap [ gojo is 33 + reader is in 20s ], fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dumbification, praise, orgasm control. ˚｡ SUMMARY ᨀ gojo satoru has a big sweet tooth, an insane amount of money to spend on his favorite camgirl and most importantly, a dick that corrupts innocent girls for life.

gojo satoru has a big sweet tooth.

he can always be seen ordering a frappuccino with five pumps of caramel syrup and extra whipped cream at starbucks, showing up to morning training with an entire platter of chocolate dipped berries, or suckling a tootsie pop with obscenely inappropriate noises during important meetings because the components in sugar stimulates his brain, giving the right amount of rush someone like him needs to keep sane.

his credit card is most swiped at sweet shoppes and random souvenir stands that sell his favorite melon sugar cubes, or the zunda and cream kikufuku he likes so much.

because his appetite for the sweeter things in life is insatiable.

that's why it isn't a surprise he developed a craving for you. he's always had a greedy taste for doe-eyed young women and you happened to be exactly his type. saccharine smile, giggly laugh, and a head full of bubblegum. ijichi kiyotaka's sweet little apprentice who skipped through the halls eating strawberry hi-chews for lunch instead of proper meals, wearing tiny little skirts and rootbeer flavored lip gloss just to torment gojo into wanting to lick it onto his tastebuds.

pure and lovely, you've become his favorite sugar rush.

and with the help of pop culture and social media, he can have a sample before he finally buys the product.

RECENT TWEET FROM @xoyoursweetenerxo: i'll be streaming in 10 mins wearing new lingerie! come take a peek at pixelme.jp/sweetener

that's the alert that begins gojo's unraveling, rolling into his notification center. his heart kicks up an irritating notch when he flips his phone over in his hand and reads your username on the screen. he can feel the curious eyes of his three former students on his back as they trail him down the hall, but he has tunnel vision and cotton ears, their incessant chatter echoing in one ear and out the other.

“gojo-sensei, did you hear anything i just said?” megumi snaps, his annoyed tone barely registering.

“i heard a rumor that he finally has a girlfriend now, that's why he's always so distracted,” nobara gossips into yuuji's ear, the two casting a long, knowing glance at their mentor.

“so it's like that?”

“it's like that.”

“what were you saying?” gojo asks distractedly, lifting one side of his blindfold to unlock his phone, bringing up the twitter app. his main account loads first and he spares a single glance to nanami's weekend vacation update, two for tsukumo straddling her motorbike in hokkaido, and none for aoi ranting about takada's dating rumors at the top of his timeline.

he never hears megumi's reply because he's too busy switching to his private account, an empty lurker with a black photo. eager to click your profile.

tonight's stream invitation is pinned at the top, decorated with pink hearts but he ignores that for now. making sure to hold his phone at an angle his nosy ass kids can't peek at, a long pale finger swipes up to bring the scroll down to a spam of grwm selfies you just posted, a ritual before your streams. you're cute as a button in each one, but it's the last one— on hands and knees, ass pointed to the camera—that makes him groan, the sound covered up by an exaggerated sneeze.

“um, gross!” nobara screeches at him, folding her arms and leaning away. “you sounded like a middle aged dad.”

satoru stops his long stride suddenly, masking his irritation by reaching into his pocket for his wallet, flipping the leather open for a spare credit card. he hands it to kugisaki with a pat on her head, grinning when she slaps his hand down and pockets his card without question.

“you know what? mission’s canceled for tonight!” he cheers, already heading in the opposite direction, shooting finger guns. he's eager to get away from his kids and to his office where he can concentrate on your stream. “go out without me and have fun!”

he waves off their confused looks, disappearing in a flash. attention glued to his phone like a teenaged boy. the sorcerer feels his cock twitch to life in his pants the longer he stares at your picture. you're wearing a skater dress that barely covers your plump ass, giving your twitter followers a tease of soft skin and cute stretch marks on the back of your thighs.

he knows that if he wants to see more, like the devastating visual of your slit spread around your favorite dildo, he'll have to join the stream and tip up.

not many people know about your other life. the angel who brings in sponge cake and iced coffee each morning to gojo, who shyly refuses to meet his stare whenever he walks into the room, unable to stand the intensity of his flirtations, is a camgirl with views high enough to land you in the top rated tab. people tipped you good and in return, you let them control your pleasure.

and gojo satoru is your biggest fan.

he hadn't been stalking when he found out. he'd just been passing by one of the staff rooms with the intention of terrorizing ijichi and found you instead, boldly streaming from your phone, whispering i bought my first vibrator! should i try it at work?

those annoying hot girls in your area, click for more! ads weren't needed because gojo had never made an account so fast.

and if he tuned into your grainy stream from his office, cock shamelessly fisted in his hand as he watched you push your panties to the side, phone camera positioned in an upskirt shot of you struggling to fit the small, vibrating toy inside your tight little cunt? mind your business.

he unlocks the door to his office now, shutting himself in before he clicks the streaming link, letting his phone redirect to the site so he can log in.

username: honoredone89 password: hollowedout28

"is the stream stable? hi, welcome! we'll get started soon."

the sound of your airy, girlish voice rings out from his phone as he falls into a leather lounge chair. you're streaming from your room this evening, dressed in frilly and frothy lingerie and a pair of lacy thigh highs, sitting up on your knees on a bed draped in a white gossamer canopy.

rosy led lights wash out the pretty tone of your skin in a soft pink glow, selling your sweet and innocent image. gojo figures that's why you're so popular— you feed right into their desires to turn out girls like you, drawing them in like worker bees to honey.

“how's my apprenticeship? it's going so good, thank you!” you answer a comment from one of your regulars, waving shyly at the viewers pouring into the virtual room.

“this won't be a long stream since i have to wake up early tomorrow, but...” you prattle on, leaning forward to check the viewer count. gojo's attention is drawn to the plump swell of your breasts in your bralette. god, he wants to run his lips all over the lace so bad; tonguing and biting over your nipples through the flimsy fabric until they're bitten raw. “while we wait for more to join, what did you boys do today-”

“ah, shoot. i almost forgot!” you gasp, twisting around to lean out of the canopy; opening the drawer on the nightstand.

as you rummage around, bent over, you accidentally allow your fans to admire the panties you're wearing. crotchless and lacy, the clips of a garter attached to your stockings. the backshot gives him a perfect peek at the shadowed seam of your pussy too, the little scraps of fabric on the front kissing your clit.

but more importantly, he can see the heart-shaped glass plug buried in the dip of your ass.

oh. well, when did you get that?

his tastebuds water, sweet tooth waking up for cravings. a quick decision made that he will stop holding himself back and get a taste of you, that he will be the end to your innocence.

in2feet chatted: this is boring hurry up and get naked

nakedman chatted: location? i'd fuck your ass so good kitten

it was obviously unintentional because your look of ditzy confusion is too cute when you turn around with the matching dildo, shaped like a sailor moon wand. but it ends up being the perfect way to begin your stream— tips roll in without prompting, chat pinging with comments.

“hehe, what are you guys- o-oh..” your question ends in a small sigh that makes his cock throb in his slacks. the air feels stagnant and warm in his office so he drags his blindfold down, unbuttoning the high collar of his jacket. you settled back on the bed too fast, the glass flare of the plug in your ass shifting, pushing a little deeper, twinging an unfamiliar lurch in your tummy. “t-to be honest, i've never used a plug before so it hurts a bit.”

a young starlet improvising on a mistake, you lift the wand to your lips. pastel pink tongue peeking out to wet the tip as you blink innocently at the cam. "can i put this in the other hole to distract myself from the pain?"

gojo can feel his brain rotting down to the stems.

you settle against the cloudbank of pillows, bringing your laptop a little closer to finish setting up and check the time. “before i start, i want to remind everyone that i'll only take requests from the highest tipper tonight!”

cyberme chatted: whenever you're ready, baby. we're watching!

cyberme and 10 others tipped 20 hearts

tittystan (★ tip) tipped 50 hearts

“you guys are so sweet!” the sound of the tip bell and chat alerts fill the volume of your room, drowning out your voice. lewd requests and thirsty comments begin to chime in, begging for you to remove your bra, show your pussy, play with the plug in your ass.

you have these men wrapped around your little finger, even though their hearts will be cashed out for real coins at the end of the night.

tittystan (★ tip) chatted: play with those pretty tits for us pls

“is this okay?” your impatient thumb rubs over a clothed nipple, shivering at the touch. more tips fumble in and gojo can see you build the confidence you need to push your bralette down, tucking it under the curve of your breasts so they spill right out.

fuck... he can't help but imagine his large digits replacing yours, dragging the calloused pads of his thumbs over your nipples until you cry and his thirsty ass can drink up your tears.

satoru shifts, leaning back in his barcelona chair as he reaches down to press the heel of his palm to the swelling bulge of his cock at the same time you squeeze one of the fleshy globes into your hand, a soft whine whistling past your clenched teeth.

jacker82 (★ tip) tipped 250 hearts and chatted: fuck yourself on the dildo alr!

you nod at the comment, opening your legs a bit only to snap them shut a heartbeat later. “i-i'm sorry, i'm so nervous tonight!” your teeth chew against your bottom lip as encouraging comments ring in your chat, words of praises that urges you to go further.

posessiveness burns green through his veins at the comments from other men, but he knows how to take what he wants and right now, what he wants is your attention only on him.

honoredone89 chatted: don't be nervous. i'm with you.

honoredone89 chatted: go on and open up for me.

gojo doesn't miss the glow of arousal in your eyes as you read his comment, your heart beating faster than it ever has. honoredone89... you missed seeing his comments on your streams. he felt more like a collaborator, unafraid to poke, prod, tease. the way he talks shit at you leaves you soaked and whining each time, wondering who he is; crying into your pillow whenever he'd toss down five hundred to make you cum, then throw down another five to switch up and edge you at the last minute. want me to change my mind, angel? he'd chat out and you could almost taste his smirk.

you would be lying if you said that your little crush on this anonymous person had nothing to do with him reminding you of the white-haired fox you were instantly drawn to at the start of your apprenticeship. honoredone89 could very well be one of those creeps that records cam shows to reupload to shady porn sites or a catfish. after all, his profile picture is the lower half of a (really fucking gorgeous) mirror selfie. but considering that a man like the actual satoru wouldn't return your silly, growing affections, you're fine with cosplaying.

“o-okay, sorry,” you obey him so easily, parting your knees, finally giving your fans a view of your pretty pussy in those crotchless panties. gojo should be ashamed, but he groans at the sight. you sigh as the cool air breezes over feverish skin, cooling the wetness clinging to your folds. it's why your fans love you so much— so wet during streams, no need for lube when your cute little pussy drools out the sweetest nectar no one has had the pleasure of tasting.

“look at you, sweet girl. you got any idea what you do to me?” you've barely shown anything and he feels like losing his fucking mind.

satoru should feel guilty for what he does next, but his conscious is crystal clear. mind blank and too fucking horny to think about propriety, he unbuttons his slacks. fishes his cock out to squeeze at the base, relieving some of the ache. his balls jump desperately as you slide the glass toy between your legs on the screen.

then his phone pings with a notif the moment you press the tip to your clit— a text from megumi dropping down, covering his view of the torturous circles you rub around the swelling nub. a swipe further down and you prod it against your entrance, panting out a low whine that knocks the wind out of gojo's chest, ears ringing.

“p-please let me put it inside!” you cry to the chat, noises so pretty. you'll sound even prettier when you're under him, squirming and pleading for him to fuck you until you live only for the feeling of his cock.

gojo's summer blue eyes scan over the message from megumi, ensuring his kids aren't in danger while he fucks himself off. he chokes off breathy groans so he can hear your moans, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over the tip of his cock. muscles in his stomach twitching in pleasure as he nudges it inside the slit so clear, watery precum dribbles past his fingers to spill down the long length of his cock.

user20180407 chatted: fuck yourself already i'm so hard!

instead of gojo replying to an annoyed megumi complaining about having to go to a pachinko parlor (yuuji's idea, no doubt) with the others, he taps the tip button before he can stop himself.

honoredone89 (★ tip) tipped 1050 hearts

honoredone89 (★ tip)  chatted: just your fingers tonight, sweet girl.

"c-can i put them inside?" is your immediate answer.

honoredone89 (★ tip) chatted: nope, don't think i want you to do that.

the unhappy comments from your other viewers almost gives him more pleasure than the feeling of his palm rubbing out his cock in rough strokes.

“okay, thank you, sir,” you tuck in with a soft smile. he knows you're thanking him for the fat wad of cash in your tip jar, not him snatching away your pleasure, but the sound of the honorific from your lips sends a zip of arousal straight down his spine. the way he fucks into his hand is messy now, dragging his hand up and down his dick. precum coating his fingers white, dripping onto his slacks. “thank you for letting me touch my clit.”

he's your highest tipper and your pleasure is always in the hands of your tip jar. setting the toy aside with the hope he'll let you use it later, you open your legs until your knees touch the sheets, joints in your hips aching. reaching fingers to the opening in your panties. you're so soaked, pretty lace all darkened in spots. you spread your folds, circling your clit with two fingers.

“oooh, o-oh.. it's not enough, please let me-”

“hope y'r this greedy when i feed you my cock, princess, fuck. gonna... give you what you need soon, don't worry,” he promises to the empty air, sweating hard beneath his jacket with his hand tight around his cock. imagining that he's got you right here in his office, fucking up into your pussy as you struggle to bounce on him. on the phone, his speaker rings with your frustrated whines. your thighs tremble as you rub your clit too fast, making it sore.

a few attempt to match his price and tip him out, wanting control over your delicious pleasure; wanting you to use the dildo so they can imagine the little toy is their cocks. but unlike the cheap fucks swarming around your chat, the black metal of his bank card is limitless. there's no one that can stop him from blowing hot cash on an even hotter girl so he does. doubling your tips, tripling it down each time.

the sorcerer has plans that won't be ruined by old men escaping nagging wives and stressful jobs by twisting their dicks to the moans of pretty girls.

at the end of the night, he plans on adding another maraschino cherry to the top of his ice cream sundae.

but that all depends on you.

now when did he close his eyes? on his screen, gojo almost misses it. the prettiest sight.

“c-can i cum, sir?” you simper to your fans, to him. “fuck me. it.. it's right there. please say yes, please please!” circling the pad of your finger under the hood of your clit where you're most sensitive at, you slide a hand up your body to squeeze one of your breasts. a soft gasp pushing out to join the squish of your fingers rubbing through the wet between your thighs.

honoredone89 (★ tip) tipped 2000 hearts!

user20221030 chatted: this rich fuck is so annoying stop hogging!

gojo sounds like a maniac when he tosses his head and howls at the comment, unrestrained laughs choking off into a deep moan when he strokes down and squeezes the base of his cock. fighting off his orgasm for a torturous edge to himself.

honoredone89 (★ tip) chatted: since you can't hold it, go on and show everyone how pretty you are when you cum.

“yu-yes, sir!”

gojo wasn't lying. even the lagging connection to your stream can't dim the beauty you are when you reach your high. it burns a hole into his brain, tearing shivers down his spine as he watches the band snap as soon as you answer his comment. it's real, but you make it pretty, arching off the bed, thrashing, clamping your thighs together as you cum with strained whimpers.

reluctantly, he takes his wet cock and tucks himself away, hissing as the sensitive head presses against the zipper of his slacks.

“did you guys cum too?” you're asking shyly, ready to end your livestream. gojo cleans his hand on his blindfold with a snort at the viewers complimenting your show.

user203020 chatted: u need to block that rich dude. it's unfair. not coming back until u do

cyberme chatted: so hot, kitten. see you next time!

tittystan chatted: don't go babe i didn't get to cum yet :c

sitting up, you wrap your arms around your legs, chin resting atop your knees. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your little orgasm, but you pull the laptop closer with a blissfully tired smile to answer questions, goodnight wishes, and thank your viewers for their support.

“thank you so much! if you have ideas for my next stream, leave a reply on twitter,” you say distractedly, tapping on your laptop.

gojo's phone buzzes with a notification shortly after and he's not surprised that it's a message sent to his account on the cam site.

xoyoursweetenerxo ♡ : hi >< you were my highest tipper!!! do you have any requests for me?

is what the message reads and gojo wears a big smirk as the cards deal a lucky hand just for him. he cradles his phone in both hands as long fingers fly over the keyboard to reply.

no more time wasted after he's blown away hours, weeks, months on the chase for you.

honoredone89: you know what? i think i do!

honoredone89 is typing . . .

honoredone89: open your door for me.

404 error: this livestream has ended!

somehow, that leads to gojo satoru standing in the middle of your room at jujutsu tech.

you'd barely had time to fix your lingerie and clear the smudges of your lipstick before a familiar rap of knuckles was at your door— the same rhythm gojo knocks against your desk each morning to get your attention.

he looks out of place standing in the frills of your pink wonderland, led lights turning pure white hair the color of blush as he glances around at your bishoujo figurines, sanrio plushies, and special edition manga volumes.

“cute,” he comments with an amused smile and points, your cheeks warming as you follow his line of vision to the sailor moon dildo sitting on your sheets, forgotten. “where's the other one?”

“h-how did you know...”

“still inside you, i take it?”

“h-how!” your reaction is adorable, different now that you're in front of him. fiddling with the ribbons of your robe, unable to watch his gemstone blue eyes darken to a deep pit of arousal when you nod.

with the feeling of a hare caught in a trap, you watch as he crosses the tiny space to stand in front of you. crowding you against the kitchenette with his imposing six foot three stature. though you want to shrink away, there is something about him that beckons you closer like the limitless, making you want to stay close to him and soak up more of his attention.

“ah, um- i bought these for you earlier today!” you blurt out to him in a hurried whisper, scrambling to reach for the decorated jar of lollipops you intended to gift to him tomorrow. “there's cream, melon, cotton candy, there's matcha too because i know you like-”

“you scared of me?” he wonders, but he accepts your distraction, plucking a cherry-flavored lollipop for himself, amused.

“no!”

he's very attractive without his blindfold, snowy peaks of hair sitting wild over his forehead. you watch as he unwraps the treat, tasting it for the first time like he's tasting you, his tongue working around it; swirling and licking it obscenely on purpose. waiting for that shift, the shameful press of your thighs even though you just had an orgasm. falling for it, you shyly avert your gaze and gojo fights down a smirk.

“there's no need to be nervous, you know,” he soothes, hooking a finger under your chin. the deep croon of his voice curls down your spine, bubbling hot desire in your tummy. "i'm right here with you."

“i-i'm not nervous!” you say, wanting to reassure him that he is welcome even though a small voice tells you to run.

after all, haven't you heard the rumors about him?

compliment him in any busy ladies room and you'll summon rumors that gojo satoru picks cherries like a farmer. that gojo satoru fucks girls high in his penthouse, only to drop them low when he ushers them to the elevator hours later. that gojo satoru—

i don't believe it, and your naive schoolgirl crush on him bats those thoughts away.

“obviously a camgirl wouldn't be nervous, silly me,” he nods, tone light and teasing. he tilts his head to the side as he reaches for you, thumb easing your silk robe apart. sensual as he pushes it off your shoulder, a shiver rolling down your spine. “did you mean what you said?”

“what do you mean?”

“in your stream,” he hums, skimming up the curve of your neck. fingernails scraping lightly over your pulse, and his cock aches at the strangled sound you make. “when you begged me to touch you, fuck you. did you mean what you said, sweet girl?”

“the tipper... honoredone89...”

“was me, yes,” he points to himself, smiling. it takes a little while for realization to dawn and he thinks you're too sweet. god, after he finishes breaking in your cunt, he wants to protect you from men like him for the rest of his life. only after, though. “expecting someone uglier?”

where you should feel mortification, you feel sticky and full of attraction for the older man in front of you. how many times did you fuck yourself on two fingers while watching couples on cam, imagining gojo was there and pressing your legs to your chest while he fucked the inexperience right out of you? how many times did you wish that snarky regular on your streams was actually him?

“g-gojo?” you call softly, peeking up at him through thick fans of lashes. twiddling your fingers together in a gesture so fucking cute, it makes his stomach churn. “can i ask you something?“

“hmm? go ahead.”

“how many virgins have you fucked?”

“why? you wanna be my one and only?” he teases, a mocking grin set on his lips. “you're really a virgin... too sweet.”

“i didn't say that! i.. it's the reason i started streaming. to learn more! it’s an experiment because i don't know how to make someone else feel good.” you're babbling, the words rushing out too quickly as you fidget and grip the hem of your robe, looking down to avoid his eyes. “will you teach me?”

“if i teach you, don’t think i’ll go easy on you,” his grin is wicked before he reaches down to ruffle your hair, as if you’re a precious little gem to him. “it’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetness. it just means i’ll really have to put my back into it!”

putting his back into it means fucking you absolutely dumb, but you don't need to know that yet.

the way he looks at you is an awakening. with a little burst of confidence, you make your own decision; burying your fingers into the collar of his jacket, bringing him down for your first kiss. it's a little awkward with the stick of lollipop in his mouth and your inexperience, teeth and stiff lips until he takes the lead. his lips feel like clouds and you want them everywhere, want to kiss him forever. sink his soft groans into your skin, keep the taste of candy flavored spit on your tongue for the rest of your days as he licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before; kissing you into dizziness.

“please,” you pull away, eyes begging— he only needs to be told once.

he takes it in stride, smirking around the stick of lollipop. he draws his hand down, fingers sliding under your bralette to toy with the doughy skin of your breast, rolling a nipple between two pads until the bud pebbles under his touch.

then his path switches, traveling lower and you know exactly where his hand is going. heart fluttering wildly, you whine and nervously press closer to him, hiding your face against the front of his jacket.

but you weren't stopping him, you didn't want to. curiosity coaxes your desire for gojo satoru out of its shell. the entire reason you started exploring the world of porn and cam shows, frustration and curiosity. most women your age had bloomed and blossomed. they were experienced while you felt left behind. never been taken on a date, never been kissed, never been fucked.

a clean slate for the taking.

“i wonder why you're so pretty, hm? been torturing me for months, sweet thing,” gojo nudges your feet apart, tongue pushing out the lollipop for one last suck, his lips star candy pink. making you want to kiss him again. “want to taste you instead.”

“you mean...”

“don't worry, i'll take good care of you,” he gently plucks your hands from his jacket, lowering his lithe body to the floor in a fluid motion. he props one of your thighs over his shoulder, shamelessly spreading your pussy open for him.

cheeks heated, the sight of gojo staring between your legs with a ravenous glint in his eye is too much. your hands fly over your eyes, but he's not having it; reaching up to snatch them down. “good girls keep their eyes open, don't they? how will you learn?”

he hasn't even touched you and yet, lust buzzes an ache between your hips that is driving you crazy.

“good girls deserve to know what it looks like, what it feels like to have me right here,” he continues and leans in to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. nips and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet yips. he slides a thumb between your folds, splitting them to play with your clit. you feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before you choke it off.

“g-gojo-”

he builds the anticipation. getting you used to the motion of something familiar before he opens your pussy for business— the sweetest dessert all for him before the main course. “so what do you think? gonna let me taste how sweet this pussy is, angel?”

“what if you don't like the taste?” you hesitate, hand slipping into the milky clouds of his hair. “i-i heard that happens.”

“trying to keep it all to yourself?” he teases, eyes shining as he crooks a smile at you. he indulges you with another feathery kiss to your thigh, his hand on your hip, caressing the skin lightly. “there's no way i won't like the taste of you. not when i have this-”

before you know it, he presses something warm and sticky to your clit, replacing his finger. when you realize just what it is, you whimper loudly.

“oh, oh god. y-you're supposed to use your fingers-”you point out halfheartedly. gojo drags the sugary ball of the lollipop against your clit in tantalizing swirls, smearing the sticky cherry syrup across your pussy and mixing it with your own juices.

“i'll clean up after myself, sweet thing,” he reassures, nose pressed to the soft curls at your mound, breathing in your heady scent before he tips his head forward to taste you. this is his favorite part- the possessive feeling in his chest once a virgin is on his tongue, knowing he's the first one to look up and see heaven above him. to hear your soft whimpers and feel the unsure tremble of your thighs.

“how does it feel? you like it?” he asks, kissing your clit with a gentle suck that tightens the muscles in your tummy. he licks against you with skill, tongue a warm wetness over your clit. the feeling gojo pulls from you is all new, butterflies between your hipbones as your cunt flutters around emptiness.

“i think i like it, sir. i-it's so-” you whine, the honorific a slip up. ashamed to talk filth to a man you're assigned to bring oversweetened coffee to every morning. it's so easy talking to the men behind your camera. they're blank faces that pay for a performance and to be soaked in the right words. in person, in front of the man who brings you alive, your tongue is tied up in the heat he licks into your throbbing pussy.

“sir, huh?” you can feel his grin spread along your lower lips, his chuckle vibrating against your skin. he stiffens his tongue for a harder lick, quick flits that bathes your clit in bubbly spit, burning pleasure into your nerves that drives you to tears.

gojo's fingers press bruises into your squishy thighs, locking you in his strong hold. he trails the syrupy sphere of the sucker down to your drooling little hole, nudging until he slowly works the candy up into your pussy at the same time he sucks your clit back into his mouth.

you choke out a wet sob, your hands pushing at his shoulders. squirming and trembling, plush walls clamping down around the hard ball of the lollipop with a wince as he fucks it in slow, his eyes focused on the way your walls slurps it inside.

nothing could have prepared you for gojo satoru fucking you with a piece of candy.

“bet your fans would love to see this,” he muses, releasing your puffy clit with a shameful pop, a trail of spit and slick connecting you to the sorcerer's chin. “you can barely handle a piece of candy. look at this cute little pussy struggling to take it.”

he can't hide his arousal when you taste this good, smacking and slurping like his last meal on earth is between your legs. you release a frustrated whine when he removes the candy, but he appeases you with his tongue— dragging the pink muscle down to curl it into your pussy, the squishy feeling of it making you squeak and grip the edge of the counter behind you.

gojo mumbles a deep groan, tastes so fucking sweet, curling his tongue in and out of you languidly, your squeaks tapering off into breathy pants. he's running out of patience, your noises shooting straight to his leaking cock, but he's determined not to rush. he wants to savor your first time. savor the sweet taste of sugar combined with the earthy flavor of you.

he has to make it good so you remember him after you inevitably come to your senses and make him leave before he breaks your heart.

his palm moves up and lands on your breast, squeezing too hard but you whine for the twinge of pain, placing your hands over his larger one. you hold him like a lifeline as he makes good on his promise of cleaning you all up— drinking down every little drop of candy coated slick until you run dry, until the wet slide against your folds is because of his spit.

“i-i'm-” the stretch of his tongue is so good, your eyelashes wet as you chase the sensation. second orgasm on the brink with his skilled mouth licking and suckling over sensitive nerves. you could end it there, cum on his tongue and let him tuck you into bed after, but you've had enough of not knowing what it feels like to be manhandled down onto a bed, kissed slow, and fucked open by his cock.

you want it to be him and no one else.

“you close?” he reels back, lapping at the entrance to your heat, a tease that makes you cry out. blues flit up to look at you, gaze soft and patient even though his desperation to be inside you has him fraying at the seams. when you nod at him, pushing your hips forward, begging, he grins. “didn't you already cum tonight? who taught you to be so greedy, hmm?”

“i-i'm s-”

“you think you can hold it for me? no, i know you can. hold it for me baby. don't cum.”

“n-no, don't! wanna cum, please please- wanna cum so bad!” but he's not hearing it. he pinches your clit meanly until the twinge of pain clouds over your orgasm, laughing lightly as you drive your fist into his shoulder in frustration, a hit that doesn't hurt him one bit.

he pats your mound with a smile but before he stands to his full height, he ghosts his sticky lips over your ankle as he sets your foot to the floor, teeth grazing the anklet you're wearing. a tender kiss that has no business making your heart flutter like that when he's so mean.

“i'll make sure of it, but right now i need you to save it for me, pretty princess. i promise it'll be so much better if you cum around my cock.” the sorcerer whispers his filth to your ear, leaving wet kisses along the shell. is it normal for your knees to be so weak? “ain't that what you wanted earlier? want something to fill your pussy up, don't you?”

you're so shivery that you hold onto gojo like your life depends on it. feeling wet and used between your legs already.

somehow, you know that gojo satoru is above what you're able to handle. he's a grown man with years of fucking under his belt and you're an apprentice parading as a camgirl who just had your first kiss. but really, it hardly matters when you want him in too many ways to care anymore.

“i want it, want it so bad, please!” you chant, prepared to get on your knees and beg for it while this otherworldly attractive man grins down at you. you feel like sobbing when he listens, circling his arms under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. legs cling to his waist as he walks the few paces it takes to reach your bed, splaying you out amongst the pillows.

“then i'll give it to you, sweet thing. but first, i think you'd be more comfortable in a familiar setting, hmm?”

he wants to film your first time.

it's filthy and you should refuse, but it's also exactly what you daydreamed of. all those nights honoredone89 watched your streams, you wished he was actually there. in front of the camera with you, back to his chest while he stretched you wide on three fingers and claimed you as his for all of your viewers to see.

you're too shy to actually let your fans watch you be fucked by someone else, but you let him hit record on your laptop, the pink camera at the edge of your bed recording a private show for your eyes only, but giving you the illusion of a livestream nonetheless. “don't pay attention to the camera until i tell you to, okay? eyes on me.”

after a small nod from you, he makes quick work of his uniform. unbuttoning his jacket to reveal broad planes of smooth ivory skin. shoving his slacks down, no underwear like you expected so his dick springs out, slapping warmth against your thigh.

it's easy to forget you're being filmed when you’re too busy gaping at him undressing. washboard abs taper off into a carved adonis belt dusted with moonlight hair. and with the eyes of a curious virgin, your gaze peeks down to his cock and it makes your tastebuds water. a perfect balance of long and girthy, the smooth tip blushing pretty and pink.

“can i touch it?” your dewy lashes flutter as you reach forward, wanting to know what the weight feels like in your hand. wanting to brush your fingers over the blue veins, maybe even dip your head down to lap up the pearly precum drooling from the head.

“nuh-uh, but you can feel it,” he sucks his teeth in reprimand, catching your hand and brushing an affectionate kiss across your fingertips. “alright, sweetheart. how do you want it?”

“i-i always imagined i'd be on my stomach,” you whisper, wanting to sink into your covers after voicing such a thing. a combination of your favorite fantasy position and wanting to hide your face from the camera.

“as you wish.”

he obliges, gripping your waist and rolling you over for him, front pressed flat into the pillowy mattress. though your hips are caged in by gojo's strong thighs, you wriggle your legs back and forth, cutely tapping his lower back with your toes.

“i-i hear it's better like this.” you mumble into the pillow under your cheek, just to get rid of the silence in the air.

he only laughs at your small talk, kissing your shoulder with care. “oh, sweet girl. i'll show you how much better it is.”

nerves flutter in your tummy at that, but you trust him more than anything— more than the women who warned you not to harbor a crush on him. he straddles your thighs, reaching into the pocket of his discarded slacks.

you hear the crinkling of a foil packet being ripped, all the air whistling from your lungs in a shaky breath as you twist around, embarrassed; catching him about to roll a condom over his cock. “w-wait-”

“cold feet?”

“no,” god, no. “i- please, you don't have to wear one of those.”

“yeah?” gojo snorts with a growing smile, but he shrugs and tosses the protection aside, caution to the wind and no further questions on it. blood rushes to his head quick now, dizzy as he draws your hips up a little until your ass bumps against his stomach. you're so easy to move, so cute and weak, like feathers under him.

his patience was lost long ago, but he's a team player. he gathers the seat of your ass against his palms, a soft peach that jiggles when he squeezes and kneads to the song of your whines, his eyes hypnotized by the jeweled plug. “you've had this in for so long, princess.” he draws a long finger down the line of your ass, tugging at the plug gently to see your hole spread. the remnants of the lube you used makes it an easy slide as he pulls it out. tossing it to the sheets.

he coos when you squirm away from him with a soft cry, hurts satoru, and he fucking loves the sound of his given name on your tongue. his thumb rubs over the puckered entrance to soothe the soreness. it would be so easy to sink his finger in, cock up next, but he'll save that for another night. “sorry, princess, i know. i'm just making room. i don't think you're ready to take both yet.. let me make it up to you.”

gojo keeps your cheeks spread, slotting his cock in the tight space between your plump thighs. he pushes the thick cockhead through your sopping folds. you can feel the milky pearls of precum smearing along your thighs and cunt with his thrusts, a wet slide right against your heat but it's not enough. “p-please-”

“f-fuck, sweetheart. how are you gonna fit me inside you? look at this.”

he's mean for teasing a virgin so much, but he can't help himself. he glances up at the recording laptop; the cam feed showing him your face pressed into the pillows, writhing all over your pretty sheets. fuck, you look so good. he's used to breaking in the starstruck beauties who flock to him, but he plays favorites now— fearing that once he truly has you, you’ll never let go of his heart, his cock.

“i don't- oh god- i don't know, but i want to try, sir,”you breathe out through your whines, the honorific only baiting him into getting your way, a true performer. “p-please let me try!”

“such a good girl, even when your fans aren't watching. if you want it, take it then. put it in for me,” he almost pleads, wanting to see that you want this just as much and you fucking do. too teased out to feel the jitters fluttering in your heart. you reach behind you, hand fumbling to wrap around his girth. skin feverish after hearing his heavy intake of breath— oh, you did that to him. satoru ducks his head to grip your chin and kiss all over your face, heated presses of his lips reserved for a lover. a distraction for you both as you guide his cockhead to nudge at the entrance of your pretty virgin cunt—

your eyes mist over, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes; losing focus after his hips sink forward. hiding your face in the sheets again, you muffle the depraved whimpers you hiccup out as gojo's cock forces your walls to spread open just for him. white heat slicking your body with sweat as you squirm under him on the bed. he's so fucking long, and he chuckles when you slide a hand down to your stomach to make sure you can't feel him there, too. he feeds you his cock slow so you feel every inch of him, bullying a spot to sit right up against your womb.

“t-too big- oh m’ god, it's too big satoru!”

“you cryin' f' me, baby?” oh, he is aching. no room in the little space your pussy gives him. he struggles to breathe, hair sticking to his forehead as he fights for his composure. he wants to treat you tenderly, break you in the right way, but you're a hot brand around his cock, sucking him in so good it drives him wild.

“s-satoru-”

“you feel that? much better than your toys, isn't it?” he kneels, pinning one hand over your back to keep you in place. “you can take it, cutie. just ease up for me a little, i've got you.”

you try to relax, eyes shut and sheets bitten into your mouth. you've never felt anything like it— the intrusion of his cock builds a pressure that none of your toys could've prepared you for. an overwhelmingly tight fit, you feel too full, in over your head. pussy staining his cock with frothy slick as he draws his hips back for an experimental thrust, an emptiness that makes you whine loudly for him to fill you up again.

“talk to me, tell me how it feels, angel.”

“o-oh- i don't... i don't know-” you gasp, leaning up on your elbows, a sensual dip in your back, the way you've seen the girls on the nsfw accounts you follow pose. the webcam films your fucked out expression and you're too cock hungry to care about it now, watching it shamelessly on the screen of your laptop.

“can't talk?” gojo taunts, digging his nails into the skin of your ass as he levels his weight into his hips and fucks forward. heavy, deep snaps that furrows your brow cutely, determined as you try your best to take him like you imagine the experienced women who are used to the oppressive force of his cock do.

“want me to slow down?” he asks softly, a little worried. after all, it wouldn't be the first time his dick knocked someone out. but you shake your head rapidly and he cackles, pairing that insane sound with deeper thrusts, sharp hipbones rutting against the back of your ass as he bottoms out again— too deep.

“wan' see your face, please 'toru, please,” you blubber into the sheets, but his keen hearing picks it up anyway. stopping is the hardest thing ever, but he pulls out; pushes you onto your back with a hiss.

“can't believe you wanna watch me break in this cute little pussy. what changed?” he goads, but he doesn't wait for your answer. “you know what to do.”

shyly, you wriggle down the bed until your hips are flush against his, reaching between the sweaty shadow of your bodies to handle his damp cock again. the stretch is no easier to take the second time, but you know what it feels like. pining for the slight twinge, the hot burn as he spreads sweet fire through your nerves. the weight of his cock fucking your pussy open in slow, teasing thrusts that leaves you whining.

“don't go easy on me-”

satoru listens instantaneously, pounding you roughly as he nips and marks your sweaty skin as his, little love bites along your neck you'll have to cover in the morning. something he never does, but call him attached to you now. “that's all you needed, ain't it? you don't want those sick fucks watching you. just wanted me to make a mess of this pretty pussy.”

“y-yes!” you cry against his shoulder and he buries his nose against the pulse point at your neck, inhaling sweet gulps of sex and perfume. a grunt kicks out of his chest as he leaves you, leaning back on his heels to fuck harder, your fingers flying to his forearms as he grips your waist, tugging you forward onto his cock to meet his thrusts.

you become a victim to his skilled fucking, to the harsh slap of his hips that a virgin has no business taking. thighs trembling up a storm, desperately trying to close as his cockhead drags along your gummy walls on the quick pull out, fucking your nerves to a red glow.

“you're so good for me, best girl. so good. keep these legs nice and spread for me so i can fuck this pussy the way she deserves.”

neither of you pay attention to the blinking red light of your webcam, too lost in the throes of good fucking. satoru can't keep his eyes off of you as you wriggle desperately underneath him. you're a mess; lips swollen and slicked with spit from your lolling tongue, hair splayed out all over your sanrio pillows while you stare up at him through teary, lidded eyes with the most fucked out look of adoration for the man pounding you, he almost feels guilty.

“s'toru.. satoru- w-will i get to cum again? it feels so- but i can't-”

he loses his final thread of sanity at your little pants and whines of his name. “some girls need it right here, d... don't they, sweet girl?” he says, stuttering when your pussy clenches him in on a good stroke. slick squelches out of you, staining your favorite sheets in a gooey puddle. it's how he knows his cock is fucking you at the right angle, brushed up against that precious spot nestled along your walls. your back arches high off the sheets when he hits it, but a big palm at your belly presses you down, refusing to let you run.

“it feels better right here, too,” he tells you, his hand shifting down. drawing sticky shapes of his initials under the hood of your sore, puffy clit— and you've touched yourself enough times to know what the feeling means. the pooling of sweet heat in your belly, the giddy waves of dopamine swirling in your nerves as a man throws you into your peak for the first time. “feel it yet? yeah you do. cum for me like a good fucking girl, make a mess of my cock like it's yours, pretty girl. give it to me.”

you're sobbing for him, clinging to him as if he can protect you from the force of your own orgasm. tears welling up in your big eyes as the knot in your tummy bursts so suddenly and you cum, walls fluttering around satoru's cock so tight it pains him to thrust through it. no thought in your pretty mind except the relentless pressure he fucks out of your body. overstimulation sets in too quick and you push at his stomach frantically as your juices splash onto the sheets, wetting all over his hand and bathing down the white trail of hair on his stomach. “i-it's too much, wait-”

“fucking.. fuck, princess- let me go or ‘m gonna cum inside you.. you're sucking me in so tight. f-fuck!” he is only seconds behind you, remembering at the last minute to draw back on his heels and pull his cock out of your weeping pussy. you're still shaking in the aftermath of the best orgasm you've ever had but he’s pinching your puffy lips between his pointer and thumb. it only takes a few rubs of his cock through your swollen folds before he whines low in his throat, grunting and tossing his head back as he spills thick ropes of opaque cum all over your pretty crotchless panties and ruined pussy.

“o-oh.. there's so much of it-” you marvel and when he opens his eyes again on the come down, hips kicking weakly now, he sees you reaching down to run your fingers through the cum he left between your thighs, pinching his sticky seed between your fingers curiously.

you're going to be the fucking death of him.

“yeah, that happens,” he chuckles with no breath in his lungs, no energy to tease you about it. he is too dignified to collapse on the bed with a softening dick, in need of a long ass nap, so he leans forward and pets the roots of your hair softly. “you need anything? besides a bath and your diary to give me raving reviews, of course.”

“i...” you start, sitting up and reaching for the closest thing that can cover you besides the stained sheets of your bed: gojo's uniform jacket. you drape it around your front, looking away to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. “can you stay until i fall asleep? you can leave after but.. i don't..”

don't be greedy, is what he would usually tell a woman asking him to sleepover after he's snatched her innocence up and fucked her into a limp. but with you, the sinking feeling in his chest, the months of pocketing your hidden smiles and shy flirtations to think about during his darkest hours, tells him only one thing: he wouldn't have left even if you asked him to.

“i'm not going anywhere.”

gojo experiences a first tonight, too. for the first time ever, he doesn't run.

instead, he stays. cleans you up with a warm towel and eases you into clean underwear, though you insist on wearing his jacket as pajamas. he even helps you change your soaked sheets ( with insufferable comments asking if he can keep them. ) you don't know what it means when a man stays after being your first, but your heart feels too warm and a little bit in lo—

“what's that sound?”

you're about to tuck into bed, ready to snuggle in safe and sound with gojo watching over you when his voice speaks up. now that your post-orgasmic haze has cleared a little, you hear it too. the quiet chime of the tip and chat bells ringing wildly from your still open laptop.

the camera at the end of your bed blinking lipstick red from its perch on the tripod.

like.boobs.97 chatted: that bastard is so lucky.

“oh... oh, no!” you squeal, scrambling to shut the laptop down, face burning with mortification. you should have checked, you should have checked. you have to help satoru with his emails in the morning, why did you trust him to click the right button?

you've been streaming to your viewers on the cam site the entire time.

“whoops,” is all gojo says, carefree and flippant as ever as he moves to stretch out across your bed like an oversized unbothered cat, drawing you against his body.

“so, you gonna introduce me as your new boyfriend or what?”

stream viewers: @atsumeii ┊ @bbyatsumu ┊@yuujispinkhair ┊@danibby

[glitteredrry]

first and last time

wc: 900+ 

summary: harry’s first time going live on instagram...

warning; none

Today was Saturday.

Usually, your lives were so hectic. Between having constant business meetings, rehearsals for Harry, or just managing your own business it felt good to have a day off to just do nothing. The house was quiet today. Harry was somewhere in the front fixing something while you were in your room picking up a new habit, crocheting. 

At the moment, you were so tied up with trying to learn something new you didn’t really know what your husband was up to. Harry was a private man. He valued his privacy, so, why does he have the certain urge to go live right now? He was always one to want to be able to surprise fans. He’s never gone live before but in his mind, it would be no harm. Maybe he would get to chat for a little with many people who mean the world to him, then go on about his day. 

Harry made his choice. He is going to press the button.

The only thing was Harry wasn’t very active on Instagram so unbeknownst to him he was about to struggle. He didn’t tell you or any of his team what he was about to do. 

Dressed in a plain shirt that many fans have seen before, and a small clip-on his head he pressed the button. 

Checking for connection.

You’re live. 

Now usually, you would have gotten the notification but today you sat your phone across the room and were strictly on your laptop on youtube trying to follow a tutorial. If you would have gotten the notification you would have ran out there to help your husband. 

Harry had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Within 30 seconds he had 60 thousand people in there spamming him with different comments that his eyes couldn’t keep up. 

“HARRY?!?!?”

“THIS CAN'T BE REAL”

“ADD ME”

“He looks so confused poor guy.”

“Shit, can you all hear me?” He looked at his phone with a furrowed brow trying to read the comments. No one was answering him just going on about how adorable he looked and questions about where was his wife.

“Hello?” For some reason Harry expected a voice to answer him through the phone. His views only skyrocketed from there he was near 700 thousand people. Comments were flooding in by the second as he tried to read them. All he was seeing was “add me.” His initial thought was maybe he had to add people to his live so they could see him. Little did he know, he was about to add a lucky fan who would have bragging rights for life.

He squinted his eyes as he watched his screen split in two. He immediately got confused until he heard a loud scream that had his eyes widening in shock. Now, when he looked at the comments it said ‘they’re so lucky omg’ which had him confused. 

“Hi?” Harry said unsurely which caused another scream to come from his phone. That’s when you were alerted. ‘Maybe Harry is watching a scary movie’ you thought. You continued your hobby until you heard him call for you. 

“Doll, can you come here please.” You dropped your sweater that really wasn’t a sweater and traveled to the front. As Harry waited for you to come, the man was still in complete distress. He was asking fans to help but everything was moving so fast between trying to read comments, calm down the screaming fan, and end the live he was in shambles. When you walked in the front you see your husband sitting on the couch, screaming coming from his phone and a focused look matching the pout on his face. 

“Harry, what did you do?” You already had a clue and you were trying to stop laughter from escaping you until he answered. 

“I went live, it’s a mess. People keep telling me I broke Instagram. Help me, honey.” You covered your mouth as you walked over to him, he handed you the phone with relief. You went live about once a month to catch up with fans so you were a pro at this. As soon as fans saw your face, a flood of comments came in. 

“Finally, Y/N is here, please help grandpa out.”

“Y/N saves the day.”

“I think Harry nearly just died Y/N.” 

You immediately tried to calm the screaming fan down.

“Hi love, calm yourself. I know this is exciting. Go get some water we love you.” You stopped the fan from screaming and talked to them a little bit. Now that you were in control of the live Harry calmed down a bit and joined your side. You hung up on the fan hoping that they would recover from this. You navigated the live and saw that Harry was still a bit stressed. So, promised fans you would get him to answer 10 questions then you would have to go. 

Harry felt more at ease with you by his side. Wrapping up the final question fans spammed the chat with I love you and goodbyes. When you pressed the end live button Harry let out a sigh of relief. 

“What would I do without you?” You laughed at him pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You know that your fans are going to use this against you for the rest of your life. They called you grandpa.” You watched Harry as he shook his head while blowing out a breath. 

“That was embarrassing. I didn’t expect that to happen.” He wraps his arm around you bringing you into his side relaxing against the couch. 

“So, how would you rate your first time going live?”

“Let’s just say that will be the first and last time.” 

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 1 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fic

Here is chapter one of my new fanfic!

Title: Succession

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OCs

Rating: PG-13 for language and intense scenes (for now, this is a slow burn, but it will get very hot and spicy in later chapters)

Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova that you didn’t know existed has died and you are his sole beneficiary.  You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The music blasted from the car speakers as you drove down the main road towards the highway.  You had your phone plugged into your car stereo, your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle.  Despite the A/C being on full blast, beads of sweat formed at your brow and rolled down your temple.  You adjusted the vents on either side of you, making sure the cold air directly hit your body.  The song that was playing had you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, your head bopping to the beat.

The fridge at home was close to empty and it was beyond time for you to go grocery shopping.  The grocery list was secure in your purse and you were determined to stick to the items on the list and not make any frivolous purchases.  Money was tight and you only had so much money left before payday next week.

The song shut off suddenly followed by your ringtone.  Looking at the screen of your phone, UNKNOWN stared back at you. Probably a spam call, you thought to yourself, reaching to press the red Ignore button.  Unfortunately, your finger slid at the last minute and mistakenly tapped the Accept button. You watched as the call came through and the seconds ticked off.  FUCK!

“Hello?” you greeted with a hint of exasperation in your voice.

“Hello, am I speaking with Miss Y/N?” a heavily accented male voice responded.

“Yeah, this is she,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  You tried your best to avoid these calls, ignoring them and letting them go straight to voicemail.  Very rarely was it followed with an actual message, which was more than fine with you.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Ron M. Dathermi.  I am a lawyer residing in Chisinau, Moldova in Eastern Europe…”

You raised your eyebrows at that.  Moldova?  Who the hell was calling you from Moldova?  Chalking it up to a scam, you were about to interrupt the man when he continued.

“...I wish I was calling under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.  Your great uncle, Serghei Popa, has passed away from a short illness and has named you his sole beneficiary…”

You couldn’t help the amused huff that came out of your mouth.  This must be some very elaborate scam.

“Umm...sorry, but I think you have the wrong person.  I don’t have family from Moldova and I have never heard of this man in my whole life.” You were about to hit the End button when Mr. Dathermi continued.

“Am I speaking with Y/N, born on (your birthday) to (your father and mother’s full names) and the granddaughter of (your grandfather and grandmother on both sides of your family)?”

Your eyes widened at that.  “Yeah, that’s me…” you answered.

“I know this may sound unusual, but Mr. Popa was the brother of your grandmother on your mother’s side.  He was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by a Moldovan family.  He did not have a spouse and had no children, and according to the genealogy report I have before me, your grandmother and your mother are both deceased.  Your mother was an only child, yes?  It appears to me that you are the last of his living relatives.”

You pulled off the road and into an empty parking lot.  The information you were being given was a lot to handle.  You didn’t have that large of a family.  You were an only child and raised by your parents and both sets of grandparents.  Both of your grandfathers had died before you turned 10.  Both grandmothers died within 5 years of each other and your father and mother died of illnesses, cancer and pneumonia respectively, in the last year.  Grief was a feeling that you knew better than anyone.  You kept to yourself mostly and you didn’t have any close friends or a significant other.

“Listen,” you began, “you are correct about all of your information, but how do I know this is not some kind of scam?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat and the sound of shuffling papers met your ears.  “I can imagine that this information is sudden and unusual.  What I will do is send a copy of his will and a copy of the genealogy papers to your address.  I encourage you to take this to your lawyer and have them look over the information.  The reason I am calling is because I need you to fly to Moldova, sign these papers, and accept the monetary inheritance that he has left you.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked down at your phone.  Fly to Moldova?  Is this true?  The only thing you knew about the country was that a foreign exchange student from high school was born and raised in Moldova.  That about sums up your knowledge of the country. This seemed incredibly asinine and ridiculous.  But the word that settled in your train of thought was “inheritance.” What inheritance?

“Mr...what was your name again?” you asked.

“Mr. Dathermi, but you can call me Ron,” the lawyer responded.

“Ron...umm, how much monetary inheritance are we talking about?”

More shuffling of papers was on the other side of the phone, Ron clicking his tongue as he looked through the information.  “He has left you 53,806,746 Moldovan Leu...which translates to $3,000,000 in American currency.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?!” you exclaimed before clamping your lips shut.  You heard Ron chuckle.  “I’m sorry, pardon my language. It’s just...wow...this sounds insane…”

“I can imagine it does,” Ron replied, “which is why I want to mail this information to you and have your attorney take a look at it so you know this is a legitimate will and testament.  If you would like, I can mail the information straight to your attorney if you are still leery.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” you said, shaking your head.  Your mind was whirling.  None of this sounded remotely true.  You felt as if you were dreaming.  This felt like something that only happened in books and fairy tales...a girl who had nothing and nobody suddenly inheriting millions of dollars from an unknown distant relative.  What are the odds of something like this happening in real life?  You gave Ron Dathermi your home address.

“Thank you very much, Miss Y/N.  I will send this as soon as possible.  I’ll also include my business card so your attorney can contact me and we can iron out the details.  Thank you very much, Y/N...I’ll be in touch.”

You thanked him as well and ended the call.  All alone in your car in the empty parking lot, you let out an excited squeal and started hopping up and down.

*

You adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across your shoulder as you heard the overhead speaker call for the boarding of your flight.  Taking a deep breath, you got in line, extended your ticket to the airport employee, and walked down the tarmac and into the plane.

Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.  Your hands gripped your bag tightly as the flight attendant looked at your boarding pass and pointed down the aisle to where you were to be seated.  You had never flown before and your nerves were on alert.  Scenes from Final Destination flashed in your head as you walked down the aisle towards your seat.  Taking a deep breath and willing your body to relax, you located your seat next to the window and sat down, plopping your bag onto your lap.  

The small window was close to the wing of the plane and looking beyond that was a long expanse of grass that met a vast forest.  You were thankful that you had the window seat and your headphones so you could tune everything out and relax in your own little world.

Once the papers from Mr. Dathermi arrived a week prior, you immediately called the attorney that helped you with the probate and will from your parents’ deaths several months back.  He was more than happy to help, knowing that you were all alone in the world after your parents had passed.  Two days later, he called to inform you that all of the paperwork was, in fact, legitimate and that Mr. Serghei Popa was the brother of your grandmother.  He showed you the adoption papers, confirming that your great uncle had been put up for adoption and the family that took him in had relocated to Moldova when he was two years old.  He had remained in the country until his death.  Your attorney contacted Mr. Dathermi, who in turn secured a round trip plane ticket in order for you to come to Moldova to finalize the paperwork and collect the inheritance.

At the thought of the money you were about to acquire, another surge of excitement flowed through you.  Your parents hadn’t left you much after their death and you worked at a dead-end job that had no room for advancement and no possibility for raises.  All of these recent events sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

“This is your captain speaking,” the voice sounded from the speaker above your head, “we will be departing in the next ten minutes.  Please make sure your seatbelts are secured, your tray tables are up, and all electronics are off until we are at the appropriate cruising altitude.  I will inform everyone as soon as the coast is clear.  Thank you for flying with us and enjoy the ride.”

You fastened your seatbelt and laid your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be nervous…” a voice sounded next to you.  You opened your eyes and looked over to see an older gentleman with wide rimmed glasses and a nice smile.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, returning his smile.

“It’s pretty obvious,” he chuckled, “my name is Bruce Williams.  I’m the air marshal on board this flight.” You told him your name and shook his hand. “Just relax,” he assured, “we’ll be flying for the next 10 hours.  There are lots of movies and tv shows to watch on the screen in front of you, or you can listen to your music and read a book if you brought one.”

You patted your messenger bag.  “Yeah, I have a few books to choose from.  Thanks,” you smiled.

Within minutes, the plane had backed away from the tarmac, turned towards the long expanse of runway, and increased speed before leaving the ground and soaring up into the clouds.

*

The steady hum of the plane’s engines provided a relaxed soundtrack as you slept.  It was close to early morning, according to the clock on the tv screen, but your watch was still on your regular time zone.  It read early afternoon and that threw you through a loop.  You had heard that jet lag could be a bitch and you wondered how bad yours would be once you landed.  Bruce had passed you a pillow and blanket once you were ready to sleep and he assured you that your bag and belongings would be safe while you slept.

You were so thankful to be seated next to him.  Not only was he the air marshal, but he was a really cool person as well.  You two talked about movies and actually watched a couple of them on the tv screen in front of you.  Bruce was kind and nice to talk to.  The crinkle of crow’s feet around his eyes, his laugh, and his hair color mixed with hints of gray reminded you of your father...maybe that’s why you liked him so much.

You shifted in your seat and let out a soft yawn.  Stretching your arms above your head and arching your back, you wondered how much longer it would be until you touched down in Moldova.

“You weren’t asleep that long,” Bruce murmured.  You looked over to see a book in his hand and his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then go back to sleep,” you replied, standing from your seat.  Bruce stood up and allowed you out into the aisle.  You made your way to the bathroom towards the back of the plane.  The cabin was dark with little lights dotting either side of the aisle on the floor. Soft lights were shining here and there from people reading, watching the tv screen, or messing with their phones while most of the passengers were asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you did your business, flushed the toilet, and began washing your hands.  The mirror in front of you showed a tired and weary version of yourself.  Some of your eye makeup was smudged.  You told yourself once  you returned back to your seat, you’d retrieve the makeup remover wipes in your bag and do away with the dirt and oil.

Just then the plane hit an air pocket and dropped several feet, throwing  you forward towards the sink and mirror.  You let out a shriek as the plane quieted and went still.  “God dammit,” you muttered, putting your hand over your heart, “that scared the shit out of me!”

Once out of the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and walked back to your seat.  You tapped Bruce on the shoulder and he moved aside.

You lifted the window shade and looked outside.  Natural light from the start of the day began to show.  The plane was amongst the clouds so it was fairly cloudy and hard to see.

“How much farther do we have?” you asked Bruce.  He shifted the book to his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch.  “We should be there in three hours.  I think we are flying over Romania right now…”

You nodded your head and thanked him, turning back to the window.  The clouds gave way momentarily and provided the opportunity to see the ground below.  Tall, snowy mountains came into view.  You smiled and marveled at their beauty, wondering what mountain range this was.  You cursed yourself for forgetting the basics from your World Geography class in high school.  Hell, all you knew about Romania was that it was the setting for Dracula and the real life territory that was once owned by Elizabeth Bathory, who allegedly killed upwards of 650 maidens and bathed in their blood.  You shook your head and smiled to yourself.  You really did enjoy some morbid and fucked up stories.

Your train of thought stopped short when a large and spacious castle came into view.  Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.  It looked like something out of a Disney movie or from ancient castles that still sat throughout Europe.  The place looked like it stood on several acres of land and who knows how many square feet.  What a gorgeous and breathtaking place it was.  You wondered just what was inside a monstrosity like that and who was lucky enough to inhabit such a place.  Maybe there were castles in Moldova that you could explore and visit while you’re conducting your business.

The castle fell out of view and not far from it stood what looked like a village.  You were too high up to see any people or any traces of lights or torches.  You took everything in with total awe and appreciation.  It looked like a small and sleepy storybook town.

A sudden movement close to the village caught your attention.  You squinted your eyes and tried to look closer, pressing your forehead to the window.  What the fuck is that, you wondered.  It looked like a black tree, naked of leaves or any type of growth...and it was moving.  It looked to be swaying in the breeze, but the size of it looked way too sturdy for any kind of gust to move it with such fluidity.  As you focused on the tree, it appeared to be growing...getting closer to the plane.  Was the plane descending?  Were you getting closer to Moldova?

One of the branches of the tree slowly drifted to the ground before extending long and rigid, slinging itself up into the air like a bullwhip, hitting the wing of the plane.  The plane suddenly tilted as the slithering limb wrapped around the wing and broke it off.  You let out a loud scream as the plane turned on its side, Bruce falling against you, squishing you to the wall.  “WHAT THE FUCK??” Bruce screamed as yelps, shrieks, and screams echoed in the cabin of the plane.  Dozens of people were knocked from their seats, flight attendants falling into the aisle and rolling towards the cockpit.  The plane shook and quaked as it dropped several feet in a matter of seconds.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” you screamed, grabbing hold of Bruce’s arm.  The air masks dropped from overhead and Bruce grabbed yours, making quick work of putting it over your face.  “HOLD ON TO IT! HOLD IT OVER YOUR MOUTH, Y/N!!” he commanded, reaching for his own mask.

“THE WING OF THE PLANE HAS BEEN DAMAGED!” the pilot yelled from over the speakers, “WE ARE LOSING ALTITUDE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!”  People screamed and panicked, holding on to whatever it was they could.  Panic surged through your body as your fingers dug into Bruce’s arm.  The plane shook as it fell.  Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were seconds from impact.  You looked out the window one last time before the ground came into view and everything went black.

*

He leaned over the body on the metal table in the lab of his factory.  He fastened the bolts with a wrench and tested the strength of the metal against the rotting flesh.  A soft horn sounded in the distance along with the various turns of chains and clangs of steel against steel.  He wiped the sweat off his brow and walked to his desk, looking over the blueprints and sketches he had devised the previous day.

Despite the different array of sounds, nothing could mask the loud crash that sounded off in the distance.  He lifted his head, silently trying to figure out what the fuck made that noise.  Leaving the body laying on the table, he exited his lab and made his way down the stairs and to the factory doors.  

With a grunt, he slid the doors aside and looked off into the distance.  Black smoke billowed from an area that looked to be close to the village.  Other than the crows squawking and flapping their wings in retreat, everything was dead quiet.  He looked off to the right just in time to see the long, spindly limbs of mold retreating back towards the earth.  Karl Heisenberg’s face tightened in a disgusted grimace.

“Mother Miranda...what have you done?”

[anonymous0writer]

Dial Tones II JJ Maybank

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Warnings: Alcohol use. Some bad self image. All characters have been made 18+ and for this, I imagined them in college and living on their own.

Requested: Yes!

“Omg I would love it if you wrote for the obx cast! You are such a talented writer! And you are definitely not annoying anyone with the spamming. You are filling the void during this quarantine ❤️ could I also request a songfic for JJ x reader based off 3 AM by Halsey?”

A/N: I love Halsey, and these songfics are giving me life. Ugh, I love writing based off songs sm. Also, anon, you are an angel! <3

This is really sad, like super sad I was like shit, girl you need help when writing, and the reader has kinda a lot of issues, but I was going off the lyrics. 

Song lyrics look like this

Darling, I just left the bar And I've misplaced all my credit cards My self preservation and all of my reservations Are sitting and contemplatin' what to do with me, do with me

You stumble, blinded by the alcohol surging in your veins. Your hands dart out, catching your fall as you lean against the brick wall of the bar. The rough building material scratches at your hands. You take a deep breath, smiling like a fool due the one thing and one thing only. The heavy intake of sharp alcohol. Tomorrow you’d be in a world of hurt, but your brain was too muddled and everything seemed too light for you to worry about it.

At the back of your mind hung the memories and words you tried to push away so desperately. The words that made you tip the shot back a little farther. There was nothing in particular, but every relationship, every emotion hinged onto them were enough to make you want to pass out drunk. 

A sob rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, your vision going blurry. The shapes of cars speeding past and the silhouettes of people blur, the edges bleeding like water to ink.

The pads of your fingers scrape against the brick, making them go raw as you stumble along the wall, fighting the sobs and the storm of feelings catching up to you. This was the exact thing you tried to hold back, but the laughs turned into cries so easily it was hard to tell which one was which.

Think I took it way too far And I'm stumbling drunk, getting in a car

You fumbled for the keys to your car, tears burning at the back of your eyes. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wince as the car’s light flashes and cut into the fog of your brain, searing through your thoughts. You took it too far this time. Drunk too much, drowned your storm of thoughts and feelings in the deeper pit. You had fallen off the edge too many times and here you were, fumbling to get the car door open just to sit in it and cry. 

Of course you took it too far. Isn’t that what you always did? 

My insecurities are hurting me Someone, please come and flirt with me I really need a mirror that'll come along and tell me that I'm fine

You glared, eyebrows slanting over your eyes. Nasty thoughts relating to your body or personality attacked, burning your skin as they hit. They were like mosquitoes, nasty and just there to feed. And of course, you could only stop a few until you gave up, waking up the next morning with the aftermath marring your skin. 

The mirror stared back at you, your twin glittering in the light. The girl was glaring back, equally mad about the way you looked. About the way your hips curved in the dress, and the way your stomach popped out, dress doing nothing to smooth over it.

You closed your eyes, feet curling into the carpet as you twisted around, refusing to continue searching for imperfections. You just needed to get to the club, see your friends and find a half drunk man to flirt with to forget the girl in the mirror. 

I do it every time I keep on hanging on the line Ignoring every warning sign Come on and make me feel alright again

“No, don’t do it,” Kiara shook her head, watching you with saddened eyes as your phone was clutched in your hand. His familiar name and face was waiting to be summoned as your finger hovered over the call button. 

Your jaw flickered as you debated. The few shots in your system said hell yes, the broken part of yourself asked to hear his words in a small voice as the sober you screamed not to. It wasn’t smart, that was sure, but you couldn't help the need to hear the gruffness of his voice when he woke up, or the softness of his voice when he was tired, or the smirk in his words as he eyed you. You felt the need to hear his voice and picture him as he talked to you, only for him to hang up too soon and a hollow feeling pooling in the cavity of your chest. 

You didn’t even process it as your finger pressed on the screen and the call was dialing, waiting on the edge of your seat to see if he’d even pick up. 

You ignored Kiara’s cry of protest and Sarah’s huff of pity. You didn’t want to see the look on their faces as he hung up and left you worse than before. You didn’t want to feel the way Sarah slid her arm over your shoulders and pulled you close. You didn’t want to hear the soft words from Kie’s mouth, telling you to move on and find another one. Because if you found someone else, they’d just do what every other man did. Love and leave. Love and leave. It was a vicious circle, but it was easier to fall back into the routine of drunk calling him instead of having your hope rise as you found another. So you ignored the warning signs. 

You snapped back as the dial tone rang into your ear, stark and buzzing. He let it run through.

'Cause it's 3am And I'm calling everybody that I know And here we go again While I'm running through the numbers in my phone

You were seated in your bed, hair messy and clothes in disarray from the constant tossing and turning as your brain wouldn’t turn off. So you restored into what you always did. Call. Phone in front of you, screen glaring its ugly light to illuminate your face. Hands shaking as they reached for the next number. Which you paid attention to. You’d always call, still in your thoughts or exhausted when you ran through the list of numbers. But you were always alert when your finger passed over his number. 

Your eyes stared so hard at the ten digits they swum across the screen. You blinked, eyelashes brushing against your pale cheeks. Your fingers reached for the call button, hands trembling like they always did this late. 

The pad of your finger touched the number. Your room swelled with the ring of the dial tone, and you held your breath. Hoping.

I need it digital 'Cause, baby, when it's physical I end up alone, end up alone

“Hello?” His voice broke through the calm of your room, making your eyes dart to the screen. He had picked up.

 “Hi,” Your voice rose and broke, the quiver of your hands seeping into your voice. 

“Y/N.” 

His voice sounded tired and disappointed. He wasn’t happy to see you calling- not like the way your heart rose when it showed he picked up. Your face fell, heart crashing into your stomach, the remainder of your barely intact heart falling to pieces, joining the graveyard of the others. You swallowed, emotions bubbling in you so fast it made you dizzy. 

“I’m sorry,” You words were whispered, barely carrying through the phone meeting his ear. “I’m so sorry.” 

By now you didn’t even know what you were apologizing for. Forcing him away? Calling him repeatedly? When you were drunk? When you were plagued with your own mind? For begin so easy to break? For giving him a broken heart? For not being able to love yourself no matter what anyone thought? For letting your thoughts kill you slowly? For scaring him off? No matter what it was, you were sorry.

“Stop.” He begged, and your glassy eyes snapped to the phone. Your trembling hands clenched the sheets. “Please stop. Don’t do this again.” 

Another ‘sorry’ escaped your lips. 

“Stop crying, Y/N. Pick yourself up. Move on. Take care of yourself and get help.” The familiar soothe of his words easing your mind and heart. Your thoughts dropped, recoiling away into the corners of your mind. Your lips parted but no words came spilling. 

“You need to help yourself. You have to stop throwing yourself into relationships when you’re so broken. Y/N, please.” 

Your eyes fluttered closed and you took in his words, letting them soak into your skin, soothing the burns of your destructive thoughts, holding up the broken parts of your heart and making you warm. The power of his voice was enough to allow you to sleep. But his voice faded and he hung up. The call ended, leaving you laying on your back, blankets surrounding you in a halo, eyes staring at your ceiling blankly. Breathes pulling and exiting your chest, making a soft hum in the dead quiet of your darkened room. 

Loving someone in the real light. Physically, mentally- that was hard. Digitally was easier, allowing you to have some distance. Phone calls and texts allowed you to not throw your shit on them. No matter what you did. No matter the calls or the hugs- you always ended up in your room, breathing shallow and wall the only thing entertaining. You always ended up alone.

Every night I wanna live in color through a white-blue screen I got a technicolor vision going vivid in my white-blue jeans I know it's complicated 'cause everyone that I've dated Says they hate it 'cause they don't know what to do with me, do with me

Nights were the best and worst. Early nights, where you danced your feet sore, sang your throat raw and drank your brain fuzzy. But late nights were the opposite. Staring the ceiling until your eyes unfocused, listening to the stuffy silence, the dial tone ringing in your ears along with the countless calls not taken.

But tonight was a good night. Kie and Sarah were with you, laughter and fun in higher doses than the alcohol. You three were crammed into the dance floor, the music so loud it was practically pulsing through the floor, making the vibrations shiver in your bones. 

The lights of the club were alive and bright, the colors flashing and moving to the beat of the music, casting shadows and lights across your skin. Red and blue and then purple danced across your body, chased by the slashes of orange and the dots of yellow. 

You loved living like this, the beat of the music in your bones, the colors of the lights flashing across your skin in wild patterns. When you danced with your best friends, laughter loud and smiles true bright. 

But you usually weren’t like this. You liked the calm of the take out sitting on your balcony and staring at the city. You were complicated and what you liked changed all the time. You would want to stay out all night for a second, and the next you’d want to curl up in bed and watch movies. Your mind flipped and switched constantly, confusing the boys in your life. You were complicated. And they hated it. Hated the way you changed your mind and were so broken. And they made sure you knew it. They didn’t know what to do with your changing mind and dark thoughts and broken heart. So they did what the last one did. Left.

I need it digital 'Cause baby when it's physical I end up alone

You smiled softly, your tears drying and the edges of your mouth tilting up. You sniffle and listen to the video over, hands easing in their constant shaking. You closed your eyes, listening to the hum of his laugh and the crinkle of his eyes as he grinned. You opened your eyes again, watching the clip with a bittersweet taste on your tongue.

The camera flipped and dropped as his arms encircled your waist, pulling you into his lap as you giggled. 

“JJ!” Your voice was high and bursting with joy. His face was lost into the crook of your neck, and when he looked up, his eyes found the camera. 

Your breath shortened at the light hitting his eyes and lighting up the cerulean color. His eyes were beautiful. 

The boy reached forward, “Are you taping me, baby?” You giggled and tried to wiggle out of his grip. 

You jumped up, and the boy pouted. “Where you goin’, pretty girl?”

“I have your gift!” You grinned, and the camera showed off JJ, his hair somewhat tamed and his lips tugging into a grin. 

The camera flashed as you quickly got the small, gray box. You shoved the small gift into his hands and urged him to open it. 

“Open it, J!” You urged, the camera still focused on him and his anticipated reaction. You held your breath as his quick hands worked on the ribbon. It came undone, falling to the floor as the boy eased the box open. 

In it lay a shark tooth necklace, carefully coiled. JJ’s grin widens, splitting across his face and you clap your hands, the camera shaking. 

“Do you like it?” You ask as his fingers undo the tight coil and play with the beads. His eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

“Of course. I love it.” He grins and loops the necklace around his neck. 

You close your eyes as the video continues, loud laughter and admiration from the blue eyed boy playing loudly. You soak in the loud laughter of a happier time. You wonder briefly if he still wears the necklace, or if he even still has it. You’d given it to him after he admitted how ‘badass a shark tooth would look’ around his neck. 

You open your eyes, a small tear trickling from your eye and making a small river down the plain of your cheek. Your eyes find the video, where it stops on JJ’s face, grin wide and teeth flashing, eyes lit by the sunlight and a new necklace worn proudly around his throat.

You stare at it, marveling over that time. 

He really was everything.

[lynneshobbydomain]

Vengeance Chapter Five

(I hope no one minds the early update, but due to a paper that I have to get done on Saturday, I thought it was best to post this now as I won’t have time to write until Sunday. As always thank you @sinfulwonders for your beta-reading and thank you sunflower_8 (do you even have a tumblr, where are you?) for helping me as well. You two are so lovely and I’m so grateful. Thank you thank you. Thank you for reading, for reblogging, and for liking my chapters as well. You’re all so kind.)

Rated: NSFW (Danganronpa I’m sorry)

Summary:  Amateur Detective Shuichi Saihara knew that searching for the “Usual 16” wasn’t going to get him anywhere. The disappearances weren’t being tracked in any news outlet, and very few families even tried to come forward to ask for help, let alone to report them missing. Yet, Shuichi can’t shake off the feeling that there’s a reason behind the disappearances, and he’s close to the answer.He just didn’t realize that the answer was going to hit close to home, in more ways than one.

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You can read this below the cut or at AO3

“That’s a face."

Shuichi startled as he looked over to see Kokichi peering at him from underneath the hat. His expression was mischievous and teasing, but the violets of his eyes spoke volumes of worry and concern. He didn’t hear Kokichi approach the school’s gate. He supposed he was a little out of it. Staking out places and trying not to get caught, added to the excitement that they won a tournament, he was starting to feel socially drained. He was surprised he didn’t fall asleep during class. He knew that the circles under his eyes were going to make Kokichi force him into another “skip class for a day” situation if he didn’t find a way to get sleep tonight. “I’m sorry.” Shuichi murmured as he tugged his hat down. “It’s been...it’s been a week.”

Kokichi flicked the hat’s brim up a little. “Looks like you’re about to get turned into a ghost or a corpse at this rate.” The joke was a little off, but Shuichi didn’t blame him for it. “I thought we agreed that sleeping was a good thing, Shuichi-chan. Good dreams! Do I need to break into your house again?” They started walking away from the school and headed down towards the street.

“You’re going to break into the house no matter what I say. I’m surprised you haven’t lately.” Shuichi paused and he looked at Kokichi, who suddenly started biting his thumb. “Are...are Deuce and Trick okay?” They were the ones everyone was most concerned about, considering their home life. It wouldn’t surprise Shuichi at all if Kokichi was trying to stay out with them to prevent them from going home, or at the very least trying to find ways to shelter them.

“They’re fine.” Kokichi replied, waving off the concern expertly. “We’re just trying to think about the place of attack. The hospital was a hit. Did you see the newspapers?! They still haven’t figured us out yet!”

“I did. My uncle nearly had an aneurysm over the phone when he called me.” Shuichi smiled lightly. “He knew immediately that it was you. Deuce-kun needs to change his signature.”

“Ugh, of course he’d give us away.” Kokichi groaned as he rolled his eyes. He brought his arms up over his head and leaned into the casual posture. “But you know, maybe we should keep the signature. You know, just in case someone else wants to try their hand at mystery solving. It isn’t fun if the Saihara’s are always on the case.”

“Oh believe me, we have our rivals.” Shuichi accepted the teasing. “I just don’t think we care too much.”

“You wouldn’t, which is either a testament to how good you are or how uncaring you are. I on the other hand adore my rivals.” Kokichi let his arms down and he immediately grabbed onto Shuichi’s arm, holding him close to him. “After all if that’s how I met you then maybe someone in my group will fall for their own rival. Then our group can get bigger. We could rule all of Japan. With you by my side. What do you say?”

“You’re insane and I love you.” Shuichi offered.

“Boring.”

“I love you or that you’re insane?” Shuichi raised an eyebrow.

“The love you part, duh. I already know Shuichi-chan loves me. He loves me so much, he did all that dirty work for me without too much of a hassle. He did ask too many questions though.” The grip on his arm only tightened, and Shuichi knew that Kokichi was lying. Well, he was lying about thinking the “love” part was boring. He was pretty certain everything else he was saying was true.

As they walked, Shuichi noticed a black car turning a corner and his eyebrow lifted slightly. Remembering the conversation that he had with Aki the other night made him concerned. Considering that he didn’t see whether or not they had a plate on them or not, he decided to give the benefit of the doubt for now. Kokichi cleared his throat and he realized that he must have spaced again.

“I’m coming home with you.” Kokichi proclaimed.

“Ah, what?” Shuichi blinked.

“I’m coming home with you. You’re acting weird and I don’t think you’d get on the right train without me.” Kokichi carefully dislodged himself from his arm and slipped his hand down into Shuichi’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “You’d be all discombobulated if you got off at the wrong station.”

“Are you sure you’re talking about me and not about Shuffle-chan?”

“She’d like the adventure too much and she’d call us if she got really, really lost. Shuichi-chan isn’t all that bright. You’d try to solve the mystery before you called us to tell us you got lost.” Kokichi pouted. “And leave me and Aki-chan to worry.”

“You’d worry. I think Aki-chan would just laugh at you for being scared.”

“Waah!” Kokichi let him go as he burst into tears. “You’re so mean to me! I’m just worried about you and you’re laughing at me!”

“Ah, I’m sorry Kokichi-kun. I’m sorry!” Shuichi’s neck turned hot as he could feel the gaze of the crowd lingering on them. He wanted to hide and he wanted Kokichi to stop making a scene. “Please stop crying, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m glad you’re worried about me. Honest.”

“Nishishi.” Kokichi’s tears immediately dried as though he hadn’t been crying in the first place. Shuichi still was trying to figure out how he could do that on command. Not even his mother could cry on demand, which was saying something considering she was a talented actress of her time.

Shuichi wanted off of that train of thought as fast as he possibly could. “You really are acting out of it. Did a certain someone try to contact you?”

“Ah no, I think that hasn’t happened in some time.” Shuichi shook his head. “Just a lot of thoughts. I’m sorry.”

“Well. No need to fret anymore. I’ll make all those worries and thoughts disappear when we get home.” Kokichi clung onto his arm again. “It’s the least you can do for making me cry, and maybe if you got some sleep.”

Shuichi sighed loudly.

                                                           X

Aki wasn’t home yet. Shuichi had put that thought away as he was busy trying to keep Kokichi from doing anything too insane. That meant being subjected to game after game, and trying to keep up with any riddles that the D.I.C.E. leader could find either on the internet or something that he made up on the spot. Right now, they had just finished building a blanket fort and both of them were snuggling, practically lying on top of each other.

“Hmm, it’s almost eight. Should we order takeout?” Kokichi mused. “I haven’t heard the door open, and Aki-chan isn’t back yet I don’t think.”

“Eight?” Shuichi glanced over sleepily to see that Kokichi was holding his phone in his hand, staring at the home screen. “Can you send her a message asking if she went to your hide out or something? See if she wants something or if she’s eating with friends.”

Kokichi nodded and Shuichi listened to the obnoxious beeping sounds of the buttons being pressed. He knew that Kokichi could change that in his settings, but for whatever reason, Kokichi wanted the most annoying thing he could find. He was just grateful that it was no longer the duck sounds.

Of course that theory went out the window as the phone blasted a horn sound through its speakers. Shuichi startled, staring at the phone and then back up to Kokichi. Kokichi nonchalantly flicked his thumb against the screen. He could hear his own phone going off in his school bag, but Shuichi felt too comfortable to move away from Kokichi or the fort that they had built. The bluish light tinted Kokichi's face and casted a shadow of concern and worry on his eyes.

“Kokichi-kun?” Shuichi watched as Kokichi moved so that he was sitting up right, legs immediately crossed as he leaned forward, his phone practically pressed up against his face. The concern only turned Shuichi’s blood cold and he quickly scrambled out of the fort to go to his backpack, ripping it open to dive for his phone that was somewhere deep in the abyss. He hated that his backpack could consume anything that was small. He was certain that he had a good assortment of blue and purple pens somewhere down there at the bottom, but he couldn’t find them, nor did he ever put in the effort of actually turning his back upside down.

He felt the vibration before he could feel his phone. He snatched towards the phone’s  direction and yanked it out, ignoring the many papers that flew out with it. He saw that there were several notifications on his screen from the D.I.C.E chat, but also Discord was surprisingly blowing up too around the same time. There was also an email that he received. He only glanced at Danganronpa, before deciding to ignore it for now. It was probably spam or some type of advertisement, and he wasn’t about to get into that when he was too concerned about why Kokcihi was suddenly on alert.

Shuichi quickly got on to the D.I.C.E’s chat and saw with a sinking heart why Kokichi had turned so pale.

[ Widow: Masashi-kun and Touru-kun are the hospital, so there’s no one at the hideout. If Saihara-san really did come by to visit us, she would have probably left as soon as she saw the lights were off. ]

[ March: Do I need to be down there. ]

[ Widow: No. We have it under control. We’re getting them out of that house. ]

[ Solo: Ouma-kun is more than welcome to stay here. I know Saihara-kun will undoubtedly want him at his place too. I’m concerned about Saihara-san. That’s abnormal. Wouldn’t she be home? ]

[ March: Shuichi-chan’s worried. He’s also reading this chat. ]

[ Matador: I’m sorry to hear about Masashi-kun and Touru-kun. If we need to be there, we can be there. I just have to find a way to let Aki-chan know that we’re there. I’m worried. She would have responded to the chat by now. ]

[ Shuffle: (,,꒪꒫꒪,,) But I thought Chi-chan was home. ]

[ March: Explain. ]

[ Shuffle: (ó﹏ò｡) Aki-chan didn’t walk with me to school today. ]

Both Kokichi and Shuichi looked up at each other at the same time. Shuichi felt his heart drop into his stomach. It was nearing twelve hours then. He knew that the first few hours would’ve been critical if someone was going to be saved. Reporting it now would be a shot in the dark, but at least a chance.

Shuichi let Kokichi handle the D.I.C.E chat. Meanwhile he sent a text to his uncle, his thumbs hitting the wrong keys as his hands shook. He didn’t realize the screen was getting blurry until he felt something warm drip down his cheeks. She told him. Just a few nights ago, she told him that she was worried. She told him that she was afraid that there was someone following her.

Shuichi hadn’t done a thing. He should have encouraged her to report it. He should have told her that she needed to call their guardian. She could have been saved. Aki could have been saved. If he just had…

[ Uncle: Breathe, kid, I already texted Keiko. I’m going to swing by the police department and file a report. Best to do it and be wrong, than to be right and never have a chance. Chances are, Aki forgot to tell us that she had somewhere to be. ]

Shuichi really hoped that was the case, but he wasn’t sure about that. Trying to distract himself, he decided to go back towards the D.I.C.E chat, and saw that Kokichi already ordered them to stay where they were, and to take care of Deuce and Trick. Shuichi didn’t have any energy to feel angry for them. He really hated that the system had let them down like it had, and he really hoped that they were okay. He really hoped that his Uncle was right and that Aki was okay. That she just was late. That she did just forget.

He also knew that if she had been, Aki would’ve texted. He also knew that if she was anywhere near her phone, that entire conversation would have had her concern in it too. She probably would have echoed the same offer Shuichi gave full heartedly about needing to be there, if they had to be there.

“Shuichi-chan?” Kokichi said quietly and Shuichi looked up to see that Kokichi had crawled out of the blanket fort and was sitting next to him. His hand was hovering between them, as though he wasn't sure if he could grab onto Shuichi or not. Shuichi bowed his head and Kokichi immediately opened his arms towards him, dragging him to lean against his body.

“What happened to Masashi-kun and Touru-kun? Did anyone specify?” The lump burned at his throat as he attempted to speak around it. His stomach was twisted into so many knots, Shuichi wasn’t sure how to start untangling them. He could feel Kokichi tremble underneath him, or maybe it was just him shaking like a leaf and unable to get a hold of himself.

“To put it mildly, parents suck.” Kokichi answered as he flicked his thumb against the screen.

Shuichi nodded, understanding. He tried to think about what they needed to do. What could they do? There was absolutely nothing either one of them could do. Kokichi could go to the hospital. Kokichi was their leader, but Shuichi also knew that trying to tell Kokichi to leave while he was like this wasn't going to happen. Kokichi knew how to be stubborn.

“What about Aki-chan?” Kokichi decided to press softly. “What did we decide to do?”

It shouldn’t warm his heart to hear Kokichi refer to himself as family, but Shuichi needed the support. “Uncle Koji’s coming home. Aunt Keiko’s already been informed. We’re…” He swallowed thickly, feeling a renewed burning in his eyes as tears threatened to spill. “We’re reporting her missing.”

Kokichi nodded solemnly as he pulled away from him and started brushing away at his tears. “We’ll find her.” He said after a moment. “She’s one of us. She’s easy to find.”

“Yeah?”

“Pfft, you really doubt me don’t you?” Kokichi’s voice raised a little. He held his finger out, pointing at Shuichi. “Did you forget that we’re a team of ten thousand strong?!”

“N-no.” There were only eleven members. “Then why don’t I ever see them at the meetings?”

“How the hell am I going to stuff that many people in our house? Jeez, Shuichi-chan, it’s called Discord. You should know it by now.” Kokichi huffed and Shuichi faintly laughed. “Honestly the audacity you have to doubt your own boyfriend, let alone your own leader .”

“Sorry.” Shuichi quickly bowed his head, and he could feel Kokichi shift. “So. You think that she’ll be found?”

“No doubt about it. So come on Shuichi, let’s go back into the fort yeah? I’m sure Koji-chan and Keiko-chan will prefer it if you didn’t worry over stupid things.” Kokichi gently took Shuichi’s hand. “Besides, what can you do right now? All we have is people telling us that she’s gone. Nothing to say where. Nothing to say who. Until we get that information, what can we start doing? It’s the city, not the wilderness.”

Shuichi couldn’t deny that Kokichi was right. There really was no way to figure out where she was at the time. He felt his phone buzz next to him and he reached for it automatically. Another email from Danganronpa.

Frowning, he decided to open the email app. He could mark it a spam so that he could focus on more important things. Just as he reached the inbox, he saw the complete subject box. The first email that was sent had the subject line of: Thank you for your tribute and your impending participation. Which felt as ominous as it sounded. The second email had the line of: Are you ready for a game of thrills, chills and kills?

“What’s wrong?” Kokichi asked and Shuichi angled his phone towards his boyfriend’s direction. “Um...what?”

“That’s my impression too. I don’t…”

Kokichi yanked the phone out of Shuichi’s hand. “If I reply to the spam email, do you think I’ll be as famous as that English comedian back in the U.K?”

“No? They’re probably going to think that you’re doing this to be like him to begin with.” Shuichi wouldn’t mind it if Kokichi tried to send a prank back at them. Maybe if he did that, he’d be left alone.

“Thank you for your tribute and participation,” Kokichi suddenly read aloud, causing Shuichi to look at him. “As you know, this game only happens once a year and with the best choices that were picked from judges. We had over thirty auditions this year, and it was hard to narrow down the choices to just sixteen.” He paused and Shuichi felt all color drain from his face. Sixteen. Kokichi glanced at him before continuing. “We hope that you will continue to participate in the game as you have done in the previous years. If this is your first time getting this email, congratulations on being a part of the Danganronpa family. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“What.” Shuichi replied, staring at him like he just grew another head.

Kokichi quickly deleted that email and went to the next one. “Dear Danganronpa Fanatics. Welcome back to the fifty-second game! The rules have changed slightly due to audiences wishing to take more of a role in our games. We are so excited to share what we have in store for you. As you are aware, we have opened our doors to allow family members who are close to the contestants to have a special invite so that they can watch and participate too. Isn’t that exciting? Bear in mind that the audience and the family members are going to be anonymous, meaning that you will not know who is who during this time to make the voting fair. Yes, that’s right! Voting time! You will not be voting during the class trials unfortunately, as that is for the contestants to deal with. Instead, you will be voting anywhere from favorite colors to motive videos.”

“Motive videos?” Shuichi asked weakly. “Game? What do they mean by class trials?!”

“I don’t know.” Kokichi bit his thumb as he stared at the email. “It goes on to talk about that the voting is majority rules, and that you can only influence the game so much. You may get a chance to do a video talking directly to the contestant, but you have to be aware that the motive videos may be switched among the players, so you may want to choose words carefully. Jeez, for a spam email, they sure decided to go the dark route, didn’t they?”

“I no longer think that’s spam.” But what else could it be? Shuichi never heard of Danganronpa before. He doubted that his cousin would have even known about it either. They didn’t go around looking for things like that, at least he didn’t think she would. Then again, missing people always had secrets. He glanced at the wall that his computer desk was pushed up against. The very same wall that he could hear her guitar. Missing people always had secrets that even the closest relatives didn’t know about.

He never thought that there would be a day he would have to investigate his own cousin. He never thought that he would have to dig out her secrets. He looked at the phone that was resting in Kokichi’s hand, seeing the words that were printed on the screen. He doubted about the auditions. He doubted that there was such a thing.

Takahashi said it best, didn’t he? That if he was going to kidnap, he would scout out his potential targets. That was what those black cars were for.

“The Usual Sixteen.” Shuichi murmured quietly.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking about trying to use a case to distract you. I’m right here.” Kokichi pouted, but the mood didn’t match. He was trying, and Shuichi appreciated it.

“No, that’s wrong.” Shuichi shook his head. “I was thinking...Danganronpa specifically mentioned that sixteen were selected out of the thirty that they scouted.”

“Yes…” Kokichi agreed slowly. “You think that…”

“The Usual Sixteen were in Danganronpa. But why? If it’s a game, shouldn’t they have returned home?” Shuichi pursed his lips together. “That’s what bothers me about it.”

“There’s a link in the email.” Kokichi glanced down at the email. “We could...turn it on...confirm our suspicions.”

“...I think I’d like my uncle to take a look at it first.” Shuichi determined. “I’d rather have him know that I got these emails and see what his professional opinion is. Chances are, we may not have a choice but to hand over my phone as evidence, because of the links that are on it. They may be able to trace something.”

“If that’s what you want, beloved. I won’t stop you.” Kokichi sighed as he handed the phone back to Shuichi. “But can you send me those emails to my phone regardless?”

“Why?” Shuichi’s brows furrowed.

“I want Solo-kun to see if he can’t trace it.”

“I mean…” He trailed off. The police were sometimes too slow and if Aki was a part of it, then they needed to know now before something happened. “I guess.”

“Cool! Thank you babe!”

“Oh god please no.”

“Baby~”

“No.”

“Bambino.”

“Kokichi-kun, no.”

[rhymeswithlion]

Writing Exercise #2 - DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON

[WP] It's 3AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."

--------

The phone alarm blared at full volume, jarring Michael out of a deep sleep. He opens his telephone to a large alert window that reads, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." He sees his own puzzled expression reflected on it. The phone buzzed maddeningly as it is flooded by text messages by numbers he's never seen before. He begins to think of how so many people could have gotten his number. He turned on the light and got out of bed.

Michael was, by all means, an introvert. He tended to leave his abode as infrequently as he could afford. Work and basic needs like groceries and hygiene were of the few things to drag him from his habitat. He had friends whom he saw semi-regularly (at least, to him it seemed that way. His friends would have consider their meetings closer to seasonal). Michael could count them on two hands. Could he have shared his phone number online? Was it from all the free trials of subscriptions that he used? Had someone hacked him?

The phone vibrated for minutes. He felt ambushed by continued stream of notifications once it fell the to the ground from his desk. He broke from thought and reached for it, still buzzing. He hadn't even read the messages; He was too concerned with figuring out what this could possibly be.

Michael pressed a button and the device comes to life. He still saw the alert about the moon. He couldn’t dismiss it, either. Odd. The phone continued showing notifications. Michael couldn’t shake the bad feeling that rushed over him. He searched for news online. The internet, his main source of information about the world outside of his bedroom, yielded no helpful results. It was supposedly a normal morning. Another round of notification alerts appeared before the phone settled down for a few minutes, somehow leaving him Michael more unsettled.

"258 New Messages" was next on his home screen. 258 spam messages or advertisements sent to him in the middle of the night was the best case scenario in his mind. He opened his messages and nearly dropped the phone in shock. He lost his breathe. His face paled, to a shade some might consider undiscovered. Unread messages from different unlabeled contacts took up most of his screen. Everyone read the same: "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."

Michael staggered from the shock and sat down to collect himself. He didn't understand. Worriedly, he checked the concealment of his own windows. He returned to his desk, leaving his phone aside, and searched about the moon with his computer. He saw pages of images and new stories about the moon, but nothing about not looking at it. The only helpful information he found was a blog post discussing lunar phases, myth, and legends. The blogger, whose other posts included conspiracy theories that ranged from "believable" to "this reads like bad fanfiction", cited the full moon tonight as their inspiration for the article. Michael, mentally grasping for straws, continued to read in hopes of finding some rational explanation about the moon that night. Of course, seeking reasonable explanations on a website discussing the high likelihood of reptiles running the world may not have been the most reliable source.

One part in particular caught Michael's eyes: "There are unexplainable increases in emergency room visits, accidents, crime rates, and spiritual practices around the time of the full moon. The latin word "Luna" is the root for the word "Lunatic", driven by a belief that abnormal behavior was most common during the full moon. Could this be when the world is most open to supernatural phenomena? Studies have shown no statistic background but there is a lot of data on the topic. Maybe this one will be special." He looked down from his computer screen back to his phone as it buzzed with new life. More unknown numbers. More messages. The panic hit him like he had just learned he was burning. He physically recoiled and jumped from his chair.

Michael began trying to rationalize the situation, "Maybe it's a big prank. There's nothing online about it! I should text my friends about it! No, that's dumb. Who would respond at 3 AM? They're all asleep, I'm sure. I should talk to the neighbors. I'll get dressed and talk to the neighbors."

Michael's apartment building is one of those that seems bigger on the inside. From the outside it looked like a modest, single story, three bedroom home. Surprisingly, there are 12 studio apartments. It was mostly surrounded by taller buildings but he could always see the sky from his window if he stood close. He always felt that some natural light would be better than none.

He was familiar enough with his proximate neighbors, if only because they expectedly saw each other when departing or returning. He didn’t even know their names. Well, he didn’t remember them. He had heard them on several occasions but managed to get by all the same. Michael dressed with clothes he wore that day, since they were the closest to him and he believed nobody would care about that kind of stuff at 3 AM. Just before opening the door, he remembered a window in the hall to the right.

"It doesn't have a shade or curtain, but I don't want to risk looking at the moon by accident. It doesn't hurt to be too careful, right?"

He exited his bedroom with a flattened cardboard box he'd used to move in several months earlier. It was large enough to cover a portion of the wall and the hall window and reached to his right to place it. The difficult part of his plan was placing it while looking away. He backpedaled towards the window with his head turned until he felt the makeshift barrier contact the wall. He leaned it on the wall and went back to retrieve a suitcase large enough to hold it in place. Michael turned back towards his across-the-hall neighbor and knocks on the door. As he knocked, he realized the door had been left open. He knocked again and took a step inside.

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

No response.

"It's me, Michael...I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. Are you getting any of these weird phone alerts?"

The silence worsened his anxiety and paranoia. He stepped forward to look around, careful of his angle towards any open spaces and potential windows. The room was empty. There were no signs of disturbance, yet no one was there. The open window was the only detail to catch his eye. Thankfully, he was safe from direct view of the moon. He left the apartment and returned to the hallway. Michael looked left to see his barricade and felt some reassurance under the pressure. He stepped towards his next door neighbor's door. Once again, he knocked and the door crept open. Michael cautiously moved inside and briefly surveyed the area. Aside from the contents of the room, the details were the same: no signs of disturbance, no tenant, and an open window. He closed the door and decided to check the rest of the apartments. Every room on his floor was empty. Every tenant was missing. Every door was unlocked. Everyone’s windows were open. Michael took great care to avoided any views outside neighbors' windows and made sure to close every door behind him.

He couldn’t suppress himself anymore. Michael yelled at the top of his lungs, hoping to dispel some of the fear consuming him. He checked his phone again. New alerts were all the same: A warnings about the moon and ceaseless texts about the beautiful night. He walked back down the hallway to his bedroom and loudly slammed the door behind him. He tried to lock the door but can't seem to stop his hands from shaking. After struggling for some time, Michael sat back down at his desk. He decided to call everyone he knows. He knew there was something terribly wrong and needed to hear a familiar voice. Michael opened his contacts list and hurriedly called each person.

"This number is not accepting calls at this time. Please try again later", a pre-recorded message repeats several times before he hung up the phone. He tried again with the next name on his list to no avail. Another attempt, another failure. Michael worked through his entire social circle of friends, family, and co-workers before collapsing to the floor, physically and mentally exhausted. He spoke loudly to himself, perhaps in an attempt to give himself some kind of company,

“What the hell is going on? Where is everyone? This must be real. Is this real life? Am I really awake? Am I alive or dead?”

A moment passed before something clicked, or perhaps snapped, in his mind. There were so many unknown variables. What was going on? Could someone else have managed to avoid the night sky, by accident or intentionally? Were there any other people experiencing the same dread? What was the government doing? Was there still a government? Was anyone in contact with anyone? Will anything change when the sun comes out?

Michael resolved himself, in only for the moment. He decided to return to his studio to check television, radio, and the internet to see any notice about this grave and present emergency. He planned to take a sleeping pill and set several alarms to wake him up for daytime, so that he could go outside and find someone else, anyone else.

His phone buzzed while his computer notified him of new emails. He tripped on the pile of unfinished books that had accumulated near his bed. His hand moved swiftly to move the mouse and see what his inbox had to offer. At this point, he felt anything would be a comfort. He had been proven wrong. 100 new emails from new senders that all read, “It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”

He firmly shut the door behind him and locked it, as though there was any sign of activity in his entire building. He roused his computer from its sleep and refreshed his news feed on Google, Facebook, and other media outlets. Nothing was different. Nothing had changed since he had looked. This was the digital age, he thought. If something this big was going on, someone would have posted something. There was no evidence of any new developments in the world. The only solace he found was on the television and radio, which he felt was a bit ironic but almost certainly wasn't.

A message displayed on his television screen through the local emergency broadcast system and the radio played a text-to-speech of the same notice: “DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.” He turned off his television, computer, and radio. He found his sleeping pills, dropping some to the floor because of a steady tremble through his hands and body. He took one, drank some water, and closed his eyes. He fell asleep, but he couldn't tellhow long it took. He just knew it felt like a lifetime.

Michael's alarms went off in metered intervals. 9:00 AM, 9:05 AM, 9:10 AM, and so forth. He swung his legs to the side of his bed and stood up too quickly, falling back down as the blood had rushed to his head. Sleep had helped to clear his head. He thought it was probably a dream. Things would go back as they used to be because he was just having a bad dream. Seeking brief comfort, he opened his computer and turned on his TV and radio. The contents were the same as before he had forced himself to bed. It was like the world had stopped. No news - no celebrity gossip, sports analysis, political stirrings, weather, Reddit, Facebook.

Michael briefly felt confident in thinking that maybe nothing at all happened in the world today. He could barely grasp his immediate surrounding circumstances, let alone an world events. He turned to his curtained window before he was overcome with a sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He rushed to his light switch and turned off his ceiling lamp to confirm his suspicions. He was right. There was no natural light. Where was the sun? He turned his light back on just so he could feel some kind of radiant warmth on his skin.

The only certainty in Michael's mind was that he was still alive. He must still be alive. He pinched himself to see, because he learned from someone that feeling a pinch meant you were not dreaming. He began searching for food, then decided that tending to basic needs would help him to better process the situation. His eyes shot to the small pantry in his kitchen and he approached. Grief and hunger worsened the realization that he had nothing edible in his whole apartment. Could he borrow some food from neighbors? Would they even care? Would they ever even notice? Would they ever be back? Guilt and determination collided in his mind before he walked into each of his neighbors’ apartments.

After some time scavenging the building, he assembled the haul on his countertop: a collection of three half-eaten bags of tortilla chips, eight ounces of two-day old guacamole, five cans of soup, four packages of instant ramen, two eggs, and a frozen pizza. Conservatively, he felt this would last him just under a week. Michael took a shower to wash the dirt, sweat, and stress from him. He planned to eat two meals a day and continue until the sun came up. Once the sun came up, he would try to find help.

His daily to-do list on the refrigerator nagged him. He always needed structure. It helped organize his thoughts and kept him focused. He designed a daily routine for himself until the situation changed. He used one hand to write and one to shovel guacamole and chips into his mouth. The schedule read, “Wake up. Check for sun. Eat. Check internet, TV, etc. Read. Shower. Eat. Go to bed.” He felt more in control in this moment, proudly shoveling the last bit of guacamole into his mouth. He grabbed the closest book-in-progress to him, of which there were many, and read for as long as he could. He plugged his phone in once he began dozing off, checked his alarms, took a couple of sleeping pills, and fell into the covers of his bed.

Michael woke up the next day with a stronger sense of purpose and control of his situation. He looked to his list. He knew the first step of his day. He approached his window and saw`the same as yesterday. He sighed and walked to retrieve the frozen pizza but a lack of appetite changed his mind. Nothing new on the internet. No new messages. He picked up a different book nearby him and began reading until his sight blurred. He marked the page, dropped the book, and walked to his shower. Michael solemnly walked to his bed and took more pills than usual. He stared at his window before drifting off.

His alarms rang. He woke up. He saw a familiar lack of light outside. He turned on his oven for a moment and inserted the frozen pizza. No changes online. Michael removed the pizza and ate it like an oversized taco. He tried to read but kept losing his place on the same few pages. He left the book on the ground to take a shower. He ate what was left of his pizza and a bowl of instant ramen. He took some pills. He thought to himself, because he felt talking out loud made no difference to him at this point,

“Am I dead? Is this Hell? Is anyone else out there?”

This cycle repeated for five or six more days. Michael couldn't really tell because the food lasted longer than expected, as stressful situations often ruin appetites and his concept of time wavered as he increased his dose of sleeping medication. On what he felt was the sixth day, something new happened.

He woke up and saw the sun was still not yet out. He accepted this a new reality, as though the sun had never existed. He said softly to himself,

“It's always been night time. It's always dark. The moon is always there. I would assume so, but I haven't even looked outside in maybe a week. Is there anything left? I wish I could talk to someone I know. Hell, anyone.”

The phone buzzed to life for the first time in days. It woke again, then slept. And once more. Michael furiously tapped the locked screen to see three messages from names he recognized. He was eager to see if they were alright, or holed up, or if they had any idea what was happening. In the moment he saw his three unread replies, he felt his heart drop into his stomach like a ten ton weight and it knocked him to the ground.

Michael, stunned, saw more messages arrive from his friends, family, and more. Old classmates, ex-girlfriends, coworkers. Within moments, he saw a new message from every contact in his phone. His heart raced. His breath was unsteady. He couldn't think straight. The room spun and felt increasingly small as Michael felt the world he knew had left him behind. He dropped his phone as though his muscles went limp, and promptly fell in a similar fashion. Michael became overwhelmed with questions, the same he'd been asking himself all this time. Was he awake? Was he asleep? Was this real? Is this Hell? Why did he have to be alone? He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

He felt a mental snap similar to the first day of this event and it instantly drew him to three conclusions, among all other possibilities he’d considered. He was either dreaming, stuck in some sort of time loop, or everyone else had looked at the moon and he was the only human left on the planet. Michael believed at this point that nothing he had tried would work and that he needed to take a radically different approach. That was the only way he would know, he thought.

As his decision solidified in his mind, he sat down at his desk and woke up his computer to open a blank text document. He felt, at least, that if he wrote what he could remember from however long this had been happening, that he’d be able to leave something behind if someone found it. He couldn’t stand being alone anymore. He didn’t care about food, water, or hygiene. He just didn’t want to be alone.

He began writing as much as he could from the very beginning up until the last day, or night as it was. He couldn’t tell time anymore, and he knew the sun would not come up, so he didn’t keep track of how long he sat there. Eventually, he got to where he last was. He felt he had done his best. He saved the document, unlocked his computer, and set the display to stay on indefinitely. He felt nothing else left to try. He had to know. He had to see if the night was indeed beautiful.

I’m going to look now.

Signed,

Michael

[ecotone99]

[MS] A Packet of Sugar

He stepped up to the counter, but before he could speak the barista held up a cup in front of him “large cold brew coffee, extra ice with half and half?” said the barista as she smiled and handed him his drink. She held it in such a way that it was impossible to grab without touching her hand. Her skin was soft, cold, and wet from the condensation. Her fingernails were glistening with a deep red polish. His attention lingered during the transfer. It took him a moment to recognize how long he had been holding the cup, and inadvertently her hand. His face began to radiate heat as blood rushed to his cheeks.

“Oh wow, good memory,” said Trevon. “Thank you much, but I must admit, it’s not all that hard remembering your order. You’re here every other day,” she said with a smirk and a slight southern accent. Before he left he fumbled with the change in his pocket, stuffed a one dollar bill into the tip jar and left three on the counter for the coffee.

He turned back towards his usual table that stood in the far corner of the dimly lit cafe. His footsteps occasionally clicked against the brown concrete floor that was precariously yet evenly littered with old victorian rugs. He sat down in his favorite floral patterned chair, the colors were dull and muted with age.

He pulled himself up to the small table in front of him and thought about the feeling of her hand and how small it seemed in comparison to his own. He looked at her, doing his best to appear as if he wasn’t staring. She bounced back and forth behind the counter crafting various drinks. Her long brown hair that swung freely as she worked. Trevon rested his head into his hand, his eyes held captive by her movement, her every step was light but confident, like she was dancing to the rhythm of the cafe. Amidst his moment of admiration she began helping another customer, a clean cut businessman in a slim, gray and blue suite. She smiled at him “Nice jacket. Is that new?”. “Just picked it up from the tailor this week.” said the business man as he squared his shoulders and straightened his back. “Well, you picked a nice color”. She handed him his black coffee. He placed a twenty dollar bill on the counter, winked at her and left to a nearby table. Trevon’s attention then shifted to the tip jar nearly overflowing with cash, and the whirlwind of infatuation quickly became a flush of embarrassment. “She’s good at her job, and I bet she remembers everyone’s order as long as they have a wallet and change to spare.” he thought as he shook his head and opened his laptop.

He loudly clanked his password into the keyboard “trevon12345”. Immediately he was met with a pop up notification “Welcome back to Night Owl Coffee! Would you like to continue to the Internet?”

He scrambled to find the cursor and clicked “accept” without hesitation. He opened his word document, retrieved his textbook from his backpack and started typing. He sipped periodically at his coffee, and when he reached the halfway mark of the cup, he noticed that the barista had replaced the “o” in his name with a heart. His cheeks ran warm again, but he was more cautious with his wandering emotions this time around. “Maybe she does like me? Does she put hearts on everyone’s cup?... Probably. I bet every guy who walks through these doors is convinced she’s in love with them.”

He trudged through his essay which was due that evening. He fought the desire to gaze in her direction, not wanting to give into an unwarranted obsession. His thoughts were interrupted when his computer beeped with a notification for a new email. The subject line said “Make $10,000 today!”; he sighed as he archived it along with the rest of his spam mail and continued with his work. A few moments later a box popped up in the middle of his screen, except this time it wasn’t an email, it was a system notification “Make $10,000 today!”. There was a button underneath labeled “instructions”. Trevon’s eyes widened. He anxiously whispered “Crap crap crap crap” as he punched the close button repeatedly, but as each box closed an identical one was born in its place. Trevon dropped his face into his hands and groaned as he recognized that his years of using public access wifi had finally caught up with him.

The barista cleaning the table to his left noticed him mumbling substitute profanities under his breath. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I think I just ruined my new laptop”, he stared blankly at the screen, the spam notification still resting in the center. “Awe, what's wrong with it?” she asked as she walked over to his chair. Trevon was confused, he thought her kindness was just a ploy for loose change, but this seemed like genuine concern. “I think it’s a virus of sorts. I’m locked out everything and this spam message keeps popping up.” She leaned over him to get a closer look at the screen. Trevon moved back in his seat to make way. Her soft hair swung back and forth, inches in front of his face. A scent of coconut and coffee beans gently fell in front of him. Her neck was long, smooth and nestled comfortably in her flowing auburn hair, locks of which were now resting on his arms. It was soft, and appeared to him to be as healthy as hair could get. He lost himself in thought as she fiddled with his laptop, “Does she get this close to everyone?... “Nothing seems wrong to me.” said the barista, interrupting Trevon’s inner dialogue. It took him a moment to usher his psyche back to reality. A few seconds of silence passed as he stared at her, trying to process what she said. “hmm... what? It’s working?” he asked with a puzzled expression. “Yup, just fine.” she said. “Well I guess you’re my lucky charm.” he smiled at her with a bit more confidence. “Glad to help” she grinned and started walking away. Trevon opened his mouth to say something but stuttered as he tried to form his words “wait… uhh, could I get your name? I see you a few times a week and for some reason I’ve never asked and you guys don’t wear name tags.“ “Of course! My name is Kristen.” “Well it’s nice to meet you Kristen.” He nodded. “And it’s nice to meet you Trevon” She winked and then glanced back at the counter to see if she had a customer waiting. Seeing no one there she extended her hand out to Trevon “Let me see your phone.” His cheeks began to radiate heat again as he riffled through his pocket for his phone. He dropped it in her palm and watched nervously as she swiped and typed. She set it on the table and turned back towards the register. Trevon picked it up and noticed that she had added her number to his contacts.

Hiding his excitement, he settled into his chair and started typing “Hey, this is Trevo…” Before he could finish typing, the screen went black and an alert sprawled across the display “10,000 dollars is nothing to scoff at Trevon. Receive your payment today.” He dropped the phone to the table, and soon his head followed. “my contacts, my credit cards, my social, my photos…” he said with his face pressed against the table. His throat ran dry, his palms became sweaty and his foot tapped incessantly. He envisioned an overweight middle aged man stuffed into an office chair in a dark basement, drinking soda out of a jug, chuckling at his computer screen as he sold all of his information on the dark web. Trevon’s phone buzzed in his hand against the table. He lifted his head high enough to read it. “Sit up, you wouldn’t want Kristin to see you sulking.”. Trevon’s face went blank as he rose. His eyes darted across the room in every direction searching for the stalker. He felt sweat accumulating on his forehead. “Don’t bother looking for us, we aren’t there. We aren’t anywhere. Are you ready to communicate now?” typed the stalker. He left it sitting there until it buzzed again. He wondered whether or not he had a choice and figured whatever damage they could do was already out of his hands, so he responded “yes…” “$10,000. Check your bank account.” Responded the stalker. Trevon opened his banking app “balance $10,374.23”. His phone jolted to life once more, the new message read “That belongs to you, provided you do exactly as we instruct over the next 20 minutes” “okay” Trevon typed with hesitant fingers.

“There is a paper packet of sugar taped underneath the tray of sweeteners in the north west corner of the cafe. Retrieve it and pour it’s contents into the coffee belonging to the man in the gray and blue suit behind you. Ensure that he consumes it”. Trevon surveyed the coffee shop, behind him sat the businessman, and in the corner directly across from him stood a table, with cream, sweeteners and coffee stirs. On it sat a tray with small brown paper packets of sugar. “What’s actually in the sugar packet?” asked Trevon. A moment later a response appeared “As far as you are concerned, it is only sugar. And we want to assure you that no one will have any record of your actions, this particular cafe has failed to repair their security system for 2 months now.” Trevon was still shaking from the fact that his information was compromised, he took a breath and a moment to think “Who is he and why do these people want to poison him?” He looked at his bank account with an open mouth. It felt good to see so many digits, like the sight of a full tank of gas. He shook his head as he ran through the steps laid out by the stalker. “No one’s life is worth ten grand, let alone my sanity” he said to himself as he typed “I can’t”. He tapped his fingers on the table as he waited for a response. A message bubble appeared from the stalker. He sank heavily into his seat as he anticipated blackmail, he expected to see a hacked photo from his phone, his bank account in the red, a threat of complete social destruction… but the message read “So sorry to hear that. We will immediately remove all traces of this conversation and return both your computer and phone to proper working order, but before that, perhaps you could check your account once more? Trevon’s breath left his lungs as he read the number “$100,374.23”. He looked up, away from his phone and out the window. He sat perfectly still as he contemplated the impact of such an amount of money. “That could pay off all of my debt, I could buy a new car, I could rent my own apartment.” As he gazed at the rain soaked streets outside of the coffee shop, he transported himself to the center of his dreams. He thought “If I had that money, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything…”. He looked back at Kristin, who was leaning against the back counter scrolling through her phone waiting for a new customer. “I’d give her a two-hundred dollar tip if I had that money,” he said to himself. At that moment he heard the businessman behind him “Dammit Karen! you tell the distributor that we had an agreement, and if they fail to keep up their end of the deal we’ll make sure they never sell in this country again!”. Trevon snapped out of his daydreams and applied as much logic as he could muster to fight off the allure of these fantasies. He wondered if he’d ever be able to rest again after he poured the contents of that packet into the businessman's cup. He stood up and paced back forth in front of the table. He grabbed his phone and typed “I’m sorry but I can’t do this.”.

He held his phone with a loose grip and a blank stare. A text bubble appeared on the screen... “$1,000,000 Trevon.” Another bubble appeared... “You have 5 minutes.”. His eyes widened and stopped breathing as his mind began to overflow with possibilities, the once whispering fantasies now screamed in his ears. “Kristin, she’d never have to work again.. If she came with me. I could buy a house in the mountains. We could live off the interest. And as far as I’m concerned it’s only sugar.. Anyone at this point could accidentally pour it into their coffee.. Kristin could find it and mix it in with the rest of the packages. For all I know I could be saving someone's life. An innocent person's life.” Trevon sat and watched the businessman scroll through his phone and send messages. “I already know he’s a jerk. Who talks to his assistant that way?” His phone buzzed again, the stalker had sent a new message “He will be receiving a phone call in approximately 30 seconds, he will step outside. That will be your only window of opportunity, do it and the money is yours. No strings attached.”. He frantically stood up out of his chair, accidentally knocking it over and drawing the attention of the entire shop. He motioned “sorry” to Kristin, who smiled at him and asked if he was alright. “Yeah yeah.. I’m.. I’m fine.” He chuckled from across the room, “just a bit too much caffeine.”. He stepped over to the table with the sweeteners, looked to his left and right, and then lifted up one end of the tray, slipping his other hand underneath to grab the taped packet. After feeling around for a few seconds he felt the small paper package and slowly peeled off the tape. As soon as he felt it pull free, he clenched it in his fist and turned around. As he turned, he collided with Kristin who had come to wipe down the table. His fist pushed firmly into her chest and he dropped the packet. “Oh! I am so sorry! Oh my gosh… I swear I didn’t see you there!” His hands were shaking vigorously as he quickly picked it up off of the floor. Kristin stood with a shocked look on her face “Don’t worry about it Trevon. Honestly it’s fine... are you okay though?” she asked with concern. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just a little stressed about my essay that’s due today.” he said. “Well you seem like a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll do fine” she said as she touched his arm and slipped beside him. Trevon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He heard a ringing. The businessman stood up and answered his phone “hey honey... no I’ve got a second” said the businessman as he stepped out the door.

Trevon approached the table as he spoke to himself “Even bad men can love their families… It doesn't mean they're any less bad. Even Hitler loved his dogs, but I’d kill him a heartbeat and I’d be doing the world a favor.”. Each step he took shook his whole body, sweat began to build up on his brow and his jaw tensed so tight that it began to cramp. With unstable hands he popped off the lid, carefully ripped open the packet and poured it into the coffee. As the clear sugar-like crystals hit the hot coffee, they immediately dissolved. He now knew that it certainly wasn’t sugar. He once again surveyed the shop, and to his comfort, no one had noticed a thing. Everyone's faces were buried in their phones and laptops with headphones blasting in their ears. He clicked the lid back into place, sat down and waited for a message to appear on his phone. The businessman opened the door “I’ll see you tonight... Yes yes, I’ve already picked up the playset she was asking for... Babe don’t worry, I’ll be there… yeah, I told Karen she could go home early since I won’t be there... Love you too sweetheart, bye.”. The man sat down, straightened his tie and grabbed the cup. Trevons eyes were locked onto his every move. “What did I just do….” he whispered to himself behind clasped fists. The man brought the cup to his face. He visibly sniffed the drink, and furrowed his brow. He popped the lid off and pursed his lips as he peered into the cup. “Shit…” he whispered and raised his hand in the air “Hey darling” he called Kristin “I’m sorry, but I forgot to ask for a dark roast, this definitely looks and smells like a light roast to me. Could I ask you to change that out? If it makes a difference, I haven’t touched this one”. Kristin hopped around the corner “Of course, don’t even worry about it!”. She grabbed the cup from his hand “I actually haven’t had any coffee yet, so I’ll just keep this one for myself.” said Kristin as she hurried back to the register. “Well that works out great.” said the man with a smile. Trevon felt his blood freeze in his veins, having lost all sensation. Kristin slowly lifted the coffee to her lips. She sipped it once, and once more. She looked at the lid and then stared at Trevon as a palpable expression of concern swept across her face. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she fell backwards behind the bar. Her skull audibally slammed against the tile floor. Trevon looked down, tears began to blur his vision. His bank account app still open on his phone, it read “$374.24”. The shop erupted with the sound of screaming customers.

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