#incoming tags may turn long

[ace-angelprincess]

A spoopy-themed commission done last year by @sonocomics

Running of the Bulb has been my favorite Mario Party (series) minigame for its uniqueness of teamwork, yet individual players can still lose. (It's not like Key-pa-Way where everyone either wins OR loses.)

RotB is one of three ghost-minigames in MP (the other two being Pedal Power and Ghost Guess), and the only one that little-Jay (my OC as a kid) could win in; she couldn't comprehend the rules of the other two, so she would always lose.

Desperate to not be lost in the dark, little-Jay runs as fast as her little feet can take her. Don't look back, or else she might trip and break the bulb - or worse, get possessed!

Years later as she grew, Joslyn learns to fight her fears - sometimes literally! She has enough confidence in herself to put up a good battle, not backing down.

Whereas little-Jay was trying to preserve the light, Joslyn IS the light.

As for Big Boo and King Boo, I headcanon them as the same Boo character. (King Boo was Big Boo before he became known as King Boo.)

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from mgavey628318@hotmail.co.uk pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 6

afab!mc x satan

description: NSFW. You are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Satan has a hunch he may know how to fix things.

warnings: breeding kink with talk scents/scenting, pregnancy, afab reader with she/her pronouns, dubcon heavy (all actions depicted are intended to be consensual)

tags: @love-and-lore @violet-turning-violet @ourfinalisation @craftybara

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan ||

Satan felt his phone buzz silently in his pocket. Then again. And again. Annoyed but roused from his book, he swiped up the device to see what was causing such a fuss. After a quick scan of his incoming messages, Satan deposited his DDD back in his pocket, packed up his book bag, and headed off towards home without a word. 

You were calling for him (well, texting) in a panic, desperate for escape before Lucifer returned from the usual business that kept him late at RAD. Satan was, of course, happy to oblige. 

Truth be told, by the time he had come around to fetch you, Satan still didn't have a plan. When you answered the door to welcome him, Belphie’s scent still clung to your skin. That much he didn't mind. The lingering presence of the youngest precluded the company of the eldest, which, combined with the gossip Satan had been dutifully following, proved that Lucifer had not been able to claim you first, after all. 

Or second. 

Or third. 

And that was fucking funny. 

You collapsed against him in the hall, nerves fried, shaking, suddenly feeling in far over your head. You babbled frantically about the day's events while Satan stroked your hair, cooing soft reassurances. Don't worry, you're safe, we'll figure this out together. 

Just trust me. 

As he ushered you along towards his room, the gears in his brain ground tirelessly, turning end over end against a thickly encroaching fog. Escape was unrealistic, doubly-so now that Barbatos had been introduced as a wild card.Who knows how long you really had before the other shoe dropped?

Felis catus, commonly referred to as the domestic housecat, is a small, carnivorous, multidimensional dwelling mammal of the family Falidae. 

A male cat is colloquially referred to as a Tom, a female a Queen. 

He locked the door behind him and placed a few quick protective wards to act as a barrier. It was shoddy workmanship coming from the fourth-born, but it would have to do. Satan wracked his memories, trying to pull what he'd studied to the front of his mind before it had a chance to slip away. 

Queens go into heat approximately every 3 weeks, each cycle lasting anywhere from a few days to two weeks.

You stood towards the center of the room and shifted your weight from foot to foot as your vision adjusted to the darkness, eyes flitting between endless stacks of books and cursed objects, some floating, some stationary, all dimly illuminated by low-burning candles. 

Satan followed closely behind you, slinging his arms around your shoulders and pulling your back against his chest. Confusion was beginning to set in. 

Queens can carry kittens from multiple Toms and will mate with all Toms in her pack during a heat. 

Satan was no expert on humans, but he was pretty sure that part didn't apply to you. 

He bowed his head low next to yours. You shivered when his lips caught your earlobe. 

“I'm going to get you pregnant, okay?” He rasped, at his wit's end. 

No one said you were chosen to represent humans because of your brilliance. 

You were face down before you had a chance to respond. He could have sworn he heard something that sounded a lot like ‘please’ muffled between the sheets. The demon shifted his weight, anchoring you down further to knead your breasts with both hands. He took his time, rolling your nipples between bony fingers and savored the way your yelps faded into whines. 

It made perfect sense, in his opinion. He hooked into your shorts and pulled so hard you heard stitches pop. From your position, you couldn't tell if he had shredded them or simply blown out the elastic waistband, but the result was the same; you were bare. You heard the clinking of what you assumed to be his belt buckle. A few moments and some rustling later, your guess was confirmed by the feeling of him prodding at your slit. 

There was no time for romance, Satan thought a little sadly, spitting into one of his hands. Time was of the essence. He slathered his cock in saliva before entering you in one swift motion. Tears burned your eyes as you were stretched to accommodate him. 

Pain quickly gave way to numbness, which gave way to pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, reduced to nothing but pathetic little ‘uh, uh, uh’s  by your lover. Those hapless noises only served to further fuel his ardor. This was supposed to be a rescue mission, the ragged remains of his conscience chimed, unhelpfully. He squashed it. It was too hard to make sense of anything else beyond your sweat-soaked bodies and the rhythmic clapping of flesh on flesh.

This would work. He would make it work. 

“Take it, take it, take it,” Satan hissed between gritted teeth. His fingers knotted cruelly in your hair, pulling your head back with unintentional force. You gasped for air. His other hand laid palm flat against the small of your back, pinning you to his mattress, steadying your body against his feverish little ruts. 

Your poor, neglected clit throbbed. You wiggled an arm between yourself and the bed, sliding a finger on either side of the sensitive bud, working it in small, gentle circles as best you could. He felt you clench around him and licked a fat stripe up the side of your neck in response. The noise that escaped your throat was absolutely filthy. 

Satan tilted your hips up, angling you just enough to brush up against that sweet spot that had you wailing. Your pussy pulsed and a warm, wet dribble of slick splashed against his thighs. 

“That's it, good girl, good girl,” He groaned into your ear, hips slamming against your ass. He could feel the coil in his stomach straining, ready to bust at any second- and when it did, he bit down on your neck, hard. 

Somewhere within the House of Lamentation, a door slammed. 

[gojos-thot-patrol]

i DEFINITELY want more Frat Boy Sukuna!!! 😍😍😍😍

Oh man, you're twisting my arm so hard here nonnie, what ever will I do?

I guess I'm just going to have to post some headcanons and frame work I have for the up coming part 2 (Of which you can get on the tag list for it: here!) Oh! And if you want a refresher, you can find Seven Minuets in Heaven Here!

Now Presenting...

Some supplemental reading if you will ;)

Ok, lets start with just some basic information on our boy

Hes in the Alpha Beta Omega frat, or the ABO frat. The entire Frat is very quick to point out they’ve been around longer than ABO when you bring it up, minus Ryomen. 

He just tells you he’s an Alpha and asks if you’re trying to be his Omega. It normally gets whatever reaction he wants

He’s majoring in business against his will (Remember this: It will come up) with a minor in he’s really about: History

If taking over his fathers very lucrative business (Again: This will come back up later) fails, he wants to be a history teacher.

He often bonds with Nanami over hating their shared major and being annoyed with Gojo and Geto making out in the most inconvenient places.

He sells drugs on the side to supplement his income, but nothing harder than weed because “Weeds not even a drug when you think about it.”

Is known for being the biggest manslut in the manslut frat. But hey, at least he gets tested regularly. 

Ok, so now I want to start with a little bit of his background because it informs a lot about how I characterize him.

He’s Yuji’s older brother by about 4 years. Both of them look almost exactly like their father. The man really said Ctrl C, Ctrl V, Ctrl V. 

Their father left when they were 7 and 3 respectively. Yuji doesn’t remember, but Ryomen very clearly remembers how horrible their father was to their mother. To him, it was a relief when that asshole finally abandoned the family for good.

The family moved in with their Grandpa, who was one of the very old school “I will only tell my kids I love them on my death bed” types. He also died when the boys were only 13 and 9.

Meaning our boy never really had a good role model for how to perform masculinity, and now that he’s an adult he finds himself pretending to be the type of man media told him he was supposed to be. Somewhere between Tyler Durden and Joey Tribbiani. He doesn’t think he’s very good at this performance. 

The moment he turned 16, he started getting piercings to try and look less like his dad. The moment he turned 18 he got his tattoos to really separate himself from his father. Yuji thinks it’s insane, but Ryomen thinks it’s worth it to be able to look in the mirror without wanting to punch it.

His father reached out to him his senior year of high school. He offered to pay for 100% of Sukuna’s college tuition, as long as he majored in business and took over the “family” company once he graduated.

Yea, turns out dear old dads new wife couldn’t conceive, and his smoking had finally caught up with him in the form of lung cancer. Faced with an inevitable death, he was desperate for an heir. 

Ryomen may have despised his father with everything in his being, but he realized how stupid it would be to throw away not only a free education, but also a guaranteed career. So he agreed.

OKAY now that that’s outta the way, let’s get into how he is in a relationship 😈

You are his first real relationship. He’s had “relationships” that lasted officially about 2 weeks at the longest. He’s had a plethora of situationships where he’d make promises he had no intention to keep. But as far as actually, serious, relationships you’re number one. 

And genuinely this new emotion kinda scares the shit out of him. The first time he got love pangs he thought he was having a panic attack, the first time you brushed him off he felt like he shattered. this shit sucks yo, no wonder the Greeks thought it was a mental illness.

He has no idea how to properly love someone, he’s winging this shit: Doing everything entirely based on vibes

In his past “relationships” the moment conflict arose, he would leave. He doesn’t want to do that to you though, so head it is.

I’m not joking, the moment you have an issue he’s taking you to bed to try and distract you. And he’s always shocked when you still want to, ya know, communicate about issues you’re having after the fact. And he’s always even more shocked when you don’t just leave the moment conflict arises. 

Did I mention he has no real concept of how healthy relationships work?

He’s trying though. He’s trying harder to make this work than he’s trying to keep his grades up. 

Often catches himself flirting with other girls without even realizing it, it’s just second nature to him. He’ll always disengage the moment he realizes

Oh he’s jealous. Oh he’s so jealous. He sees you just talking to another guy and he’s spiraling in his head. He’s immediately getting involved and planting hickies on your neck right in front of whoever you’re talking to, because you’re his god damn it.

As such he loves to buy you jewelry. His dad’s got fuck you money, and he plans to spend it all on you. His current favorite thing to see you wear it a dainty, golden chain, with a ruby encrustedfrat b R hanging from it. It looked gorgeous on you, and marked you as undeniably his. 

Suguru has 1000% had to talk him out of getting a tattoo of your name, this man is down so unbelievably bad. He’s never really been in love before, and now that he’s feeling it he’s overwhelmed by it.

This man really thought he was above getting pussy drunk until he hooked up with you. Now he realizes he’s is Not. At. All immune to it, and is actually quite prone to it!

Ultimately, his goal is to marry you after graduation, even though his fraternity brothers are highly against it. Not because they don’t like you, quite the contrary, they love you! But they all know that marrying your first love probably isn’t the move, and that the two of you have a lot of problems to work through. They want him to at least wait a few years before popping the question.

Still, every once in awhile he catches himself looking at rings and day dreaming about the future.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 1

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader, Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Swearing, Period Era Sexism

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first fic in over a year, but I dont know I just wanted to have fun! Also lets be real... i needed these ideas out of my head. Please enjoy, have fun! Have an amazing rest of your day! Hi everyone!!! So this became a multi chapter story! This has been so much fun and I am so excited to see where this story goes! If you are interested in continuing this story, go to my tags and click ‘Interviews for New Beginnings’ there all parts will be together! Eventually I’ll put together a master list for it! Love you guys so much, I’m so glad you guys are having fun!!

You had heard about this job from your cousin Eli. And maybe that should’ve been the first clue that perhaps this may not have been a completely legal or safe or upstanding or above the table or whatever good adjective your parents could come up with position. But you had told Eli that you needed a job! And he did find you one! And your parents should be overjoyed that you will be working in the same “bakery” as a male cousin. It’s not proper for a woman to be working without a family member’s presence… especially where there are other men in the office.

“When you go in there be sure to look strong, but not too strong, emphasize that you’re docile and you want to please him.” Eli had been quizzing you about your skill sets and how you were to behave in the interview the entire walk to “The Bakery”. And while Eli was so sweet and more of a brother than a cousin… you couldn’t keep your irritation at bay.

“Tell me Eli… am I interviewing for the position of personal secretary or personal wh-“

“And don’t be so quick with that mouth of yours! Listen… Mr. Solomons is one of the most important men in Camden. This could be a really big opportunity for you. Being the personal secretary of one of the biggest names in the city can give you a steady income and some real independence! But that means you can’t be so…”

“Myself?” You say with a cocked brow and a bumped hip.

Eli’s eyes lit up as if a child he had been teaching finally understood arithmetic, “yes! Yes exactly! Listen while you’re in front of Mr. Solomons, it’s ‘yes sir’ and no questions asked. Got it?”

You sigh and roll your eyes. It felt like you had had this conversation so many times in different ways. Why did your parents care to educate you so much if you weren’t allowed to use your mind? You had asked your father many times, if God gave you a mouth and brain, why shouldn’t you be allowed to use them? And he was never really able to answer beyond a couple phrases talking about the ‘role of women’. You had just been fired from a doctor’s office due to talking back to an unruly patient. Truthfully, this was your last shot to get real independence. It was either this job… or letting your parents begin the process of finding a husband.

You finally reach the door of the bakery, and Eli turns you toward him to fix your hair and straighten your sweater, “Ok ok. Here we are dearest. Now just follow me, don’t make eye contact with everyone and just… be good.”

You chuckle out a, “Yes mum.”

With a laugh he shoves your arm, and gives his name to the young man standing by the door. With a nod he opens the door and lets you in, quickly following Eli’s steps.

While Eli said you couldn’t make eye contact with anyone he never said you couldn’t look at the bakery. It didn’t take you long to notice that while all the men were wearing aprons… there was a distinct lack of… bread… or anything to do with bread. Soon after this you began to feel that memorable tickle in your nose. Rum you thought to yourself. With a smirk you ran up behind Eli and whispered, “Wow quite the bakery Eli. Does the family know about your little rum house job?”

His face was pale, and he was clearly in no mood to joke. With a huff you returned to your previous pace, and you see that the office is just ahead.

Suddenly you feel the flush in your neck, and begin to steel yourself. You had of course heard about Mr. Alfred Solomons. The King of Camden. The Brave War Captain turned Ruthless Gangster. Eli was not kidding when he said that Mr. Solomons was one of the most important people in the city. He ruled the community. This was not the time and place for your mouth to act up. This was the time to behave and play it safe.

Eli rapped the door of the private office gently, and was met with a gruff, "What now!?"

Eli with a shaking hand opened the door, "Mr. Solomons? It's me Eli I..."

"What the fuck do you want eh? Come on now yeah you interrupt me and just stand there acting like you've been struck dumb by God. Come on!!"

Eli kept stammering, basically useless, so you stepped up, "Mr. Solomons, I'm Eli's cousin. I'm here for the secretary position."

Mr. Solomons eyebrows furrowed, looking you up and down. You couldn't help but feel like a child in front of his stare. Fiery, discerning, and just plain terrifying. "You said you're here for what?"

"The secretary position. My cousin said you were in need of a secretary."

Mr. Solomons looked at Eli and looked at you, "And you think you're qualified for a secretary position?"

The heat in your chest started to grow. And you could feel your temper begging to be let out. But you had to make a good impression. You needed this job. You needed to be sweet and to behave.

You nodded, "Yes sir, I can assure you I am I-"

"I'm sorry treacle but this simply will not do." Mr. Solomons cut you off. "What I am doing here right? I'm running a legitimate business. I am running something very difficult that little girls like you simply could not deal with yeah? Now run along and go do whatever young girls do yeah?"

"Mr. Solomons I-"

"Treacle now you're making me a little frustrated right, I said run along now."

You could feel the heat rising and rising, and Eli tugging at your sleeve, "Mr. Solomons if you will just listen-"

Mr. Solomons rose from his desk, "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE I SAID LEAVE."

"I AM YOUR NEW SECRETARY DAMNIT."

The room went silent. The entire bakery went silent. And from the corner of your eye you can see different men pausing, waiting to see what would happen next.

Alfred Solomons, for the first time in his life, was left speechless. The last woman who had yelled at him was his mother. Usually, women run and hide from him upon the first interaction. Men have wet themselves from his bellowing. Yet... this little woman is standing here, screaming at him, demanding to be heard. He did not know what to do, he could only stare at her.

You tried to be good. You really did try! But it was too late now. Mr. Solomons was just staring at you, and you had a point to make.

"Mr. Solomons, I am the most capable secretary that you will ever have walk through these doors. I am fluent in Russian, Yiddish, Hebrew, and French. Not only can I read and write, I was the best in my class in maths. I am a damn good baker, though clearly you do not need my services there. I am incredibly punctual and polite and am able to talk to anyone. And to top it all off, I make a very good cup of tea. Now I put on my best dress and shoes and I walked 45 minutes to get to your ridiculous office and I will be damned if I will leave here without a job! Do I have your attention now sir?"

While you were speaking Alfred Solomons had slowly lowered himself into his seat, with a smile on his face. He was stroking his beard, considering your fiery eyes, and the shape of your lips while you yelled at him. He began to laugh to himself, "Come sit down treacle. Eli, get the fuck out, stand by the door."

You turned to look at your cousin, but he had already closed the door behind him. You walked to the desk where Mr. Solomons was sitting, and took a seat directly in front of him. Where he had been leaning back in his chair, he was now leaning forward on the desk, resting on his elbows on top of a thick layer of papers. His eyes twinkled, and a handsome smirk played on his lips. Your rage was still simmering, and it was hating you for staring at those eyes.

"You can read and write?"

"Yes."

"How fast can you type?"

"80 words per minute."

"You're good at math?"

"You want to put a slate in front of me and have me recite a King's speech as well Mr. Solomons?"

He barked out a laugh, "Fuck me. You've got a sharp tongue on you don't you?"

"I have language why not use it."

"Fucking hell...alright listen here you little viper. I want you here every morning at 8 o'clock. Ready to work. You will have many a late night in this job. You will be my personal secretary, which means when I say "come here", I better see you before I finish that sentence. You'll need to write letters for me as well as manage my meetings alright? You will be my shadow. Any questions?"

"What is my salary?"

He paused, staring at you, seemingly trying to see how low you would take, "4 pounds a week."

"6"

"Good Lord what do you need 6 pounds a week for? 4 and a half and thats generous."

"Mr. Solomons I'm not stupid I know what you do. You need me. You want to become a respectable businessman you need someone like me to make sure your affairs are in order. I know you are working with many different people, and you need my abilities. I am the best you will ever have. 5 and a half."

Alfred keeps stroking his beard...wondering how the hell Eli could be related to someone so strong... and how much it was going to cost to keep you, "5 pounds a week. And I will give you a Hanukkah bonus."

"...And Rosh Hoshannah off."

"Done."

You stood to shake his hand, firmly, though he kept smirking as he shook yours. "Alright my little viper, I will see you tomorrow. Bring ink and a notebook. We start at 8."

"Thank you Mr. Solomons. You won't regret this!"

"Alfie. You will call me Alfie from now on."

The way he said it while staring into your eyes brought a heat to your cheeks, and you prayed that he couldn't see any change in your demeanor. "Alfie." You whispered as you nodded and walked away.

He couldn't help but linger there in that moment, watching you walk away, speaking animatedly with Eli. Never had he ever felt so... struck by a woman before. He had women before of course, but no woman had captivated him the way you just did. He needed you. He needed you with him, in any way that you allowed him to have you near. Maybe this was a mistake, but he highly doubted it. How could a mistake be so beautiful?

"OLLIE!" He yelled, "WE NEED A DESK AND CHAIR NOW!"

[weaselbeaselpants]

Legit Bad-take/Bad-Faith Helluvaverse critics you should not trust if you see them

Interpersonal squabbles within the critical tag are irrelevant, sorry. This here is a genuine warning against users you should keep your distance from in regards to any VivziePop drama-discourse because their names may come up and you should know what it is that crossed the line.

Starlatte/Starvader/HonestHazbinCritiques/OhGodDude and Woomycritiques/RaySquid - Serial harasser(s). Long story incoming. Starlatte was/is a Vivcritical who got involved in the fandom back in 2019/2020 when she was a minor and didn't tell anyone. Her blog on tumblr was HonestHazbinCritiques where she made some good points but also managed to find/be a part of everyone else's takes in the critical community. Her relationship with several criticalblogs turned sour when she started lashing out, talking over people, being accused of faking her age, and doing stuff like arguing with irl sexworkers abt how they should feel about Angel Dust. Whatever her age actually was at the time, she was also sending her own rewrite scripts and fanwritten episodes to Spindlehorse in order to 'fix' Hazbin. In 2021 Star returned to Tumblr under the name "Oh-God-Dude" w/o disclosing to new people who she was while also starting shit. When said new ppl found out her past and got mad at her, she proceeded to block-backtalk every one of them.

Woomycritiques (twitter handle: Raysquid) is a critical blogger who stans Star and calls everyone else in the critical community an obsessed stalker while lashing out herself. She accused others of racism (unfounded), her friends of predation just for being proship (not the 'cest and underage is good'-kind, the "I like some problematic stuff in fic-context"-kind), and heckled Dirgentlemen over how much they should hate Helluva, and more.

Regardless of if you believe Woomy and Star are the same person, which ppl do, they are both -by now- adult persons who have been asked to stop and DIDN'T, which is why people don't trust them. Star and Woom were asked to tone it down, stop making accusations and even asked by many criticals to leave and stop talking about Helluvaverse as she/they seem to have nothing good to say about it. To put that into perspective, cuz I know some HH/HB fans are gonna be reading this: the people who've self-styled themselves antis and criticals begged this person to leave cuz she had nothing nice to say and was being a nuisance. I know the stans think that's all of us anyway, so let that sink in.

LincarRox aka ToyTaker - Creep. Nasty jealous stalker freak who got kicked out of Helluvaverse servers and Aminos for saying nasty shit like how he "wants to put a baby" in Viv. No really. He took his shit and grievances to BadWebComics wiki under the name TheToyTaker while also seemingly trying to get work at Spindlehorse in order to have access to Viv directly and to 'fix' her show. He did so by faking his animation portfolio. BWW did eventually catch on and kick him out but yeah....bad. May or may not still be going under his old pseudonyms, but regardless if you see someone talking weirdly sexually abt Viv while saying they were "let go" both by SH and BWW, get out now. That's probably him.

Animation Call-Out - Bigoted shitlord. Twitter user who rags on Vivz' controversies w other people but also hates gays and BIPOCs. Admitted to submitting one of the anonymous reviews against Spindlehorse "for fun" amidst legitimate ex-employees. All of the reviews, even the ones that seem the most validating/believable should be taken with a grain of salt I believe especially since they are coming to us anonymously, but when a racist person admits to def being one of those fake reviews for "Lolz" sake, that's def when shit's hit the fan.

DoodleToons - Also bigoted creeperlooser. Altright white kid who hates BIPOC existing in anything and admits to hating Viv's stuff for their LGBTisms and 'demons'. Yes, there legit are bad-faith critics who are homophobic. Just because Viv and her crew have a way of saying that's EVERY critic of her work doesn't mean there aren't shitty people out there.

[forest-reblogs]

Trigger Warning: mentions suicide

For those of you who aren't in the right frame of mind to read this, I will be giving a summary at the end of this part.

-------------------------------------------------------

Batman: Explain.

Red Robin: So I found him standing at the edge of a roof a couple of weeks ago and thought he was going to jump. I wasn't busy at the moment, so I decided to talk to him and convince him not to jump. But he heard me and was surprised and fell off, and I wasn't able to catch him in time. I didn't find a pulse, but then he spoke to me. I thought he was a Talon but after spying on him and talking to him, I have concluded that he is a regular civilian who just happens to be a ghost.

Batman: You should have told me. Talon activity is on the rise.

Batman: I'm benching you for two weeks.

Red Robin: That's not fair!

Batman: Those are the consequences for not sharing important information. *turns to Danny* I have some questions to ask you.

Danny: Yeah no Imma take a rain check on that.

Danny: *grabs Red Robin, turns intangible and invisible and escapes*

Batman: Red Robin!

Oracle: I'll go through the cameras and try to find them.

Batman: Everyone, I want you to be on the lookout for this man. He has kidnapped Red Robin, is a meta and may be working for the Court of Owls. It is as of yet unclear whether or not he is a Talon.

-------------------------------------------------------

Summary: Tim explains to Batman what's been happening for the past few weeks, and is benched for two weeks for not sharing relevant information. Batman then attempts to interrogate Danny, who kidnaps Tim and runs away. Batman informs the other Bats about this and basically Danny now has an army of Bats gunning for him.

Parts 1-6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Masterlist

Since the tag list is getting pretty long, I will stop tagging people starting from the next update. However, don't worry! For those of you who haven't noticed, I always use a very specific tag for this fic. It is called 'tim's talon diaries' and all you have to do is follow it to get updates. I will also be creating a masterlist for this fic, so all you have to do is click the notification bell in the notes for that post and you will receive notifications whenever I update it.

[Tag List Under The Cut]

@mur-ururu @heirxofxtime @kisatamao @gin2212 @robinmedea @meira-3919 @idfk-man10 @dannyphantomphan @aveInfear @amercurio @i-always-say-yea @thegatorsgoose @bianca-hooks123 @lady-time-lord- @sjrose1216 @akikkobara @pheonixdemonqueen @oddessy @rosecinnamonbun @observethevoid @awkwardmaiden @thenerdycupcake @bun-fish @ambiguouslyominous @smilingfox22-blog @andsatisfactionbroughtmeback @seraphinedemort @yodeler12 @liandrin @basementloser @onlyhereforthechaos @terzatheunderscorerima @kittenline @numbuh-7-knd @joseph557 @chaos-n-kindness @vythika96 @starlightcat04 @thatonegirl10 @plz-excuse-my-inner-gay @mynameisdoofthelizardandamlesbi @greenmuffinofdoom @mj-arts-n-stuff @stargirl1331 @my-nameis-apollo-kid-number7 @gender-theif @oterion @derpxp @lyra689 @bruh-incoming @ramdonmess @m0re-pan-than-peter @yjfk @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @omgnectarina @sailor-goddess @blackrabbitt3t @rangerhorsetug @countessdragon @why-must-i-be-like-this @markus209 @spoopyspoony @edgyboi10000 @cat-in-a-fedora @space-dreams-world @mossy-bonez @anonymousf28 @v-inari @joyfulcollectordreamland @littlecameron @treepainting @adorablechaos @idkmrpianoman @amyheart19 @we-ezer @everest-nightshade @succ-my-coke @itsnekocanada3 @fandomwanderer @pyscoaces21 @kjoboo91 @nappinginhwll @redhoneysugarorange @asrielstars @undead-essence @willakk @love-has-no-labels @catostrofiqu @teeth-taste-nice @michikoy-yuki @09shell-sea09 @56thingsinaname @aph-mable

[dikansong]

Baby blue

⭐⭐Story summary ⭐⭐

The day he walked into your pastry shop marked a new beginning for you, the blossoming of a beautiful friendship. But you should have known, humans are good at hiding their dark sides.

⭐Tags: Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Name-Calling, Smut, Kissing, Rough Sex Overstimulation, Gojo Satoru is His Own Warning, Size Kink, No Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating(?) Friends With Benefits, Mild Blood/injury, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat!! Not Beta Read Gojo Satoru is unhinged this fic is dark, No use of y/n Female Reader Non-Curse AU, curses don't exist here Gojo is super rich, you are a programmer, S&M

⭐I wrote this is one evening. Word count: 7.1k

⭐Minors please please please, do not interact

⭐Cross posted on AO3 under the same name @DikanSong

**

How did you two meet? You liked to think it was pure luck. Your shift had just ended and you were packing your things, ready to return home and take a long hot bath after so many hours of hard work. Maybe treat yourself to a snack and some home movies. After all the next day was your day off, it wasn't like you had much to do anyway. Just as you were about to leave, your colleague and closest friend at work, Hibiki, rushed in with urgency in his voice. He asked if you could cover for him, his sister suddenly collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. Being the only family she has, he had to be by her side. You didn't think much to it, instantly agreeing to cover for him. You told yourself that he would do same for you anyway.

The evening was turning out to be a slow one. You worked at a sweets and baked goods store. It wasn't exactly your dream job (you already had that,) but you were making a steady income from it. It was a nice side hustle, you got to meet with people and work on your social skills anyway. And sometimes it was fun. Your heart would always belong to coding and programming.

You positioned yourself at your post, putting on your best charismatic smile. You tried not to think too much about staying out so late, but anything for a friend right? When the doorbell rang throughout the quiet air, you straightened your back

"Good evening." You greeted with cheer. "May I take your order?" Your words died in your throat the moment you saw him.

He was tall. So tall he had to bend to enter the shop. He was dressed in a white shirt and black pants, expensive looking dress shoes in his feet. He walked towards the counter and smiled brightly. His smile was utterly stunning and his white hair gave him an ethereal appearance. You however couldn't see his eyes as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

He was so handsome.

Clearing your throat, you pulled yourself from your thoughts. The man leaned over the counter.

"Good evening," He replied your greeting. "Are you new here? I haven't seen you around."

Oh, he must be a regular customer then. "No sir, I'm not new." You replied curtly. "May I take your order?"

He proceeded to order quite a large batch of sweets. He paid and tipped very generously. The exchange didn't take long, he left but not without dropping a casual 'see you later'. You reminded yourself to ask Hibiki about him.

You didn't think much about him, since you probably won't see him again. When you asked Hibiki abouut him your colleague replied that he was a regular and that was all. Your life seemingly went back to normal. But three weeks later he showed up again, this time on your shift. The both of you talked while you put his order together. Mindless small talk, weather and news. You had to calm your racing heart a lot. It was awfully easy for you to slip up and mess up when in the presence of a stunning person. Especially one as stunning as him.

From that day on, he would visit almost everyday, buy sweets and talk. You slowly found yourself looking forward to work just for a chance to see him and chat about what ever came up. You never asked for him name and he never asked for yours. It was frankly refreshing. And you liked it. This went on for two weeks. Till one day he asked if you were free after work. Shocked, you had said yes. He gave you his card. Gojo Satoru, that was his name. Call me when you're ready, he had said.

And so you found yourself putting extra time into your make up and outfit. You'd stop and scold yourself. It wasn't even a date, you told yourself. You were just hanging out. That was it. Still you didn't stop going over your hair and making sure it was perfect. He picked you up and drove to a decent restaurant.

Gojo Satoru was bored. As the heir of a very successful multi billion dollar line of companies, his life was set forever. He was bored with everything and constantly seeking out new forms of entertainment. On that fateful evening when he walked into his regular sweets store and met you rather than the kid he was accustomed to, he found the change interesting. As the days went by and your conversations bloomed, he found that he enjoyed them. You were easy going but professional at the same. He honestly had no intention of roping you into his life but…he was bored. And so he asked you out.

So for that evening he treated you like a princess. The both of you talked over the most delicious curry you'd ever tasted. He asked questions about you, surface questions, nothing too serious. When the night was over, you admitted to having a great time.

"Maybe we should do this again?" He suggested, half expecting you to refuse, half expecting you to say yes.

You thought for a while, "that'd be fun."

And fun it was.

It was the blossoming of a beautiful friendship. The two of you became friends after that. And for a while, Gojo's boredom was satiated. You would got to the movies, hang out, sometimes you'd invite him over to your place and you'd play video games or watch a movie or something. It was really nice. You felt really flattered that a man as beautiful as him was friends with you.

Maybe that realization was what kicked it off.

After a year of this, you were invited to a friend's birthday party. What you hadn't expected was for Gojo to be there too. Your friend, Shouko, who was also invited asked how you knew Gojo. Shouko and you had basically no secrets from each other. Having being born in the same hospital on the same day and growing up together you knew each other so well. People often joked that you two were twins.

"He's my friend." You replied while sipping on champagne. The expensive bubbles ticked your tongue and made you feel relaxed.

Shouko's dark brown eyes narrowed. "Just friends?" She asked.

"Yea.." You replied. "You don't actually think I have a chance with him, do you?"

Shouko shook her head, a playful smile tugging on her red lips. "Just saying…just saying. But seriously though, I'd stay away from Gojo Satoru if I were you."

You didn't have time to ponder on her words as the celebrant dragged you off for a photo session. You hardly saw Shouko after that, assuming she'd left. After a few more glasses of champagne you started to feel tipsy and thought it best to get some air outside. You met Gojo outside. He was leaning against the wall, staring at the night sky.

"Hi," You greeted. He turned to you and smiled. You wished you could see his eyes. Those damn sunglasses. "Wanna go home?"

"You're drunk." He remarked casually, a small smile on his lips.

"Nope. Just a lil bit tipsy." You joined him on the wall. "Would you like to watch movies with me?"

"My place or yours?" At that moment it didn't cross your mind that you hadn't actually been to his place.

"Mine" You replied. "Hope you're not drunk?"

He smiled. "One of us has to be sober, don't you think?"

You giggled. He drove you to your place. You invited him in. After a cold shower and light dinner, you both settled down on your couch to watch a Disney classic. You blamed it on the alcohol. He blamed it on bad decisions. You kissed him. He returned your kiss. Soon hands were roaming each others bodies, clothes were flung off and you woke up alone with a burning between your legs and a tray of painkillers on your bedside table.

You went back to work, your mind in a hazy state. You remembered very well what had happened, and you remembered it was you who started everything. You felt kind of bad, for reasons you couldn't place. You didn't expect him to show up as usual, but to your greatest surprise he did. And he didn't bring up the previous night, neither did you. But after that something changed. The way you saw Gojo began to change as well.

Had you caught feelings? Was that even possible?

You couldn't deny it, he was insanely attractive. He could get any woman he wanted to jump in his lap. And he was incredible in bed too. You found yourself wanting more of him.

The next time you both were alone, you couldn't keep to yourself. This time you were free from the influence of alcohol. He was incredibly gentle with you taking his time to give you pleasure. When you wanted to return the favour he declined, telling you that this was about you. You felt wanted. It was a new feeling. When the night was over you asked him what you were. He hesitated.

Gojo was excellent at reading people. And as a result of that he knew exactly how to act around certain types of people. He knew what to say. And when it came to you, you were a wide open book. There were no secrets. He knew the type of woman you were. He knew you needed constant validation and affection. He had truly hoped you'd grow bored and leave. But to his surprise you stuck around. He saw it in your eyes as he rutted his hips into yours. The hazed look, the lovesick gaze. He knew you were in love with him. A stupid foolish thing for you to do.

"I can't do relationships." He said at last. "I can't give you that. Love and romance. If that's what you want, you should better go." He expected, really expected you to accept this and just leave.

Your heart broke, you weren't going to lie. "Oh,"

"But if you want, if it suits you, we can continue doing this." He offered. You were a modest girl, he knew that. You should refuse. You should walk away. But you didn't. Your eyes shone and you nodded. And he hated you for that. Why were you giving him the green light? We're you that fucking dumb? Couldn't you see what was going on?

"Of course…" You whispered shyly.

That was when all hell went loose.

You don't know exactly what changed but something did. It became clear to you your feelings for him. You were in love with him. You didn't know if he knew though, you hadn't told him. Gojo began to take you on expensive dates. When he came over he would bring gifts. Expensive fruit, jewelry, clothes, desserts, random stuff, whatever he saw fit. You would shyly accept those gifts. When he was not on trips you would bake him something, you knew he had a sweet tooth. And when he was away on trips he would call and check up on you regularly. It was like a relationship, except you still knew nothing about him and he wouldn't make you his girlfriend. But you couldn't deny how good it felt being spoiled like this. It only made your feelings for him grow.

You began to notice a change in his behaviors. He was a very busy man, you knew that much. But the times he was available he became possessive. You noticed how his expression would change when he saw you with a guy. You found it a bit too intense for someone who insisted on a "no strings attached attachment". But you ignored it. Of course you would ignore it, because you were so in love with him and wanted him to stay with you.

"You should stop going to work." He said after a very steamy night at his place that left your breathless and sore followed by the sweetest aftercare ever. The both of you laid in his bed, not talking. You were enjoying the silence, because it frankly hurt your throat to talk. Your back was turned to him, he held you close to him tight his thumb rubbed circles into your hip through your pajamas.

"I…I have to p-pay bills." You gasped, feeling very exhausted. You just wanted to sleep, and maybe take some painkillers. Your throat hurt so much.

"I can take care of you, you know that." His voice had a edge and his arm around you tightened.

You heart sank. You didn't like the sound of that at all. You knew he was rich alright, filthy rich and he could take care of you. But to drop your work? That hurt just to think about it. Out of the question.

You turned to face Gojo. He was staring intently at you. His brilliant blue eyes unreadable. You blinked to remind yourself why you turned. It was awfully easy to get lost staring at his jewel-like eyes.

"Why?" You asked, your heart racing. Was this the moment he was going to ask you to be his official girlfriend? You doubted it. But still it didn't hurt to dream. Then you added bitterly, "It's not like we're dating."

His jaw clenched. Often times you would pipe up the topic of dating to him and he would quickly shut it down. It was conflicting how he didn't want to date you but continued to act like you two were dating.

"Because I said so." He replied calmly, the edge in his voice gone.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his bright blue eyes locked onto yours. The gesture was too affectionate for your liking, the eye contact too intense. He just stared at you, as if he was reading your mind. Held spellbound by his eyes, you could do nothing but blink. His lips formed a small soft smile. He raised his hand, his fingertips massaged your earlobe. And for a while his eyes flashed with lust.

You turned away from him, focusing your gaze on a beautiful painting ahead of you. His hand moved to your hair, caressing your scalp softly. You became aware of the feeling of the silk pajamas you wore. Maybe he chose the softest silk so your bruises would suffer less. Gojo was talking, but you weren't listening to him. You wondered how much the painting on the wall cost, if he would get mad should you destroy it.

From then on things got worse for you. Everything. You'd come home one day to find him already at your place. And in a bad mood.

"Where have you been?" He asked straight without a greeting.

"Well hello," You mumbled. You were beyond exhausted. And you weren't expecting to see him. How did he even have the key to your house? You didn't recall ever giving it to him.

"I asked you a question." His voice was clipped, annoyed.

"I went on a date." You replied casually. "Actually it's ready late and I have work tomorrow so…"

"A date?" He was quick on his feet, his body blocking you and stopping you from moving. You backed up and stared at him. His eyes were angry. So beautiful and so angry. You chest hurt. How dare he?! He kept you around as an option but didn't allow you to have other options.

"Yes." You replied quietly. "I went on a date." You'd barely finished before his hand gripped your neck cutting off your air flow. Caught off guard, you yelped and dropped your bags, trying to pry him off you. It was difficult. He didn't even budge.

He said your name, his voice calm. He backed you up into the nearest wall. His hold on your neck didn't let up. "You're mine. Don't you ever forget that. That being said, I don't want you with another man. Okay?"

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to kick him. You wanted to tell him you hated him and that it was over. You wondered what was holding you back.

But you knew the answer.

You loved Gojo. And you wanted to make him happy. You wanted to make him love you back. And you thought that if you stuck around long enough that would happen, he would fall in love with you. So that was why you nodded, slowly and defeated. The smile that graced his face was nothing short of malicious. It was a sharp contrast to his angelic features. His hand left your neck and you took in an exaggerated amount of breath. He patted your head like one would an obedient dog.

"That's my girl…"

Yes. What a good girl you were for him. That night he was rough with you. He ignored your pleas and your cries, bending your body past your limits. He pushed your face into the sheets so your cries were muffled. His nails dug into your skin leaving cuts. You couldn't help but feel that he was punishing you, being rough with you to drive a point home. It hurt. But at the same time he knew the buttons to push. He knew how to make you feel good. When the pain was distracting from the pleasure you tried to focus on, he would switch and become gentler. The switch was maddening and you couldn't tell which was worse - the pain or the pleasure. When he was done, he handled you like glass, cleaning you up and drawing a bath. When he left you to soak in the bath, you cried.

"What is it?" His voice on the other side of the door asked with a sigh.

You glared at the door. "I'm okay!"

"If you're okay then why are you crying?" Gojo asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

So many things rushed to your mind at once. So many words you wanted to say. You bit them down. When you took too long to answer you heard his footsteps recede. You only cried even more.

Gojo treated you worse after that. He did things without your consent. For instance he changed your entire wardrobe, claiming your old clothes were too "drab". He made your boss fire you and when you got another job he just did the same thing. You just knew he had people watching you. In all these you know you should've ran. But you didn't. Because if you left him, how could you make him love you?

He would show up without prior information at your place and his hands would be all over you. Sometimes he'd take you to his place but nothing would change.

At first he would talk to you, ask about your day, but then he got bored of it and just went straight to taking off your clothes. You tried to get him to stay after, to talk or watch movies like our used to. But he wouldn't listen to you. He'd come, fuck you and leave. He gave you more expensive gifts, like some sort of apology for nearly breaking your body Everytime. You began to detest those gifts because for each one you had a scar or mark on your body for it from Gojo's rough handling of your body. He would tell you how much be cared for you, and how much he didn't want anyone to lay their filthy hands on you. How no man deserved you but him. He would tell you how everything he did he did for you.

He never once told you that he loved you.

You would cry yourself to sleep. And still hold on to the hope that he'd love you. How naive and stupid you were. To him you were just a meat sack with fuckable holes. You were just an option, not the option. It hurt and your heart broke everytime. You didn't know how much longer you could take it. How much longer your body could take his manhandling. You missed the old days. When things were much more simpler. When the two of you did mundane things and actually enjoyed each other's company. When the joy of seeing him was true.

Gojo on the other hand knew he was an asshole for treating you the way he was. He knew you didn't deserve it. He couldn't imagine another man treating you the way he was treating you. He wanted to let you go, yet at the same time he couldn't bear the thought of another man touching you. He hated to admit it, but you were fun. You were lonely, easy to manipulate and control. Even though you pretended to be bold he knew your resistance withered everytime he pressed for what he wanted. And damn did he know how to press. He knew something was wrong with him. But he also didn't care. The sick pleasure he got from seeing your face contorted in pain was satisfying. Your pleas and whines he found cute. Something about the way you took everything he gave you, the way you'd stare at him as he rutted his hips into you, the emotion in your eyes, the silent hope…it was an elixir he could never get enough of. You were so eager, so pliant, so demure. He wanted to ruin you.

All because of the sick love you had for him.

Who could love someone like him? He was disgusted. With you or himself he didn't know. He wanted you to fight back. He wanted you to hit him. He wanted you to yell at him. To do something other than cry in the bathroom and into your pillow. He wanted you to call him out, to get up and leave. Call it quits. But he knew very well that he wouldn't let you leave. He's too selfish for that. It's too much fun. You're too much fun. It's sick and it's abnormal, but he doesn't care.

So he continues to play with his toy, breaking it each time to see how much it can take before it falls apart. It's a sick game, but he enjoys it. Seeing you helpless, hearing you beg, being a good girl while he pushes your body into positions he knows you can't handle. Watching fear stirring in your eyes. Fear and that sick love.

Maybe something was wrong with you too. Maybe you were as messed up as he was.

You stared at your laptop absentmindedly. You were trying to work on a freelance project. But you couldn't focus at all. You felt miserable. You felt depressed, drained. Gojo was on a business trip, he didn't specify when he'd be back, he never did. You shut your laptop and walked to your fridge. There was nothing interesting there. With a heavy sigh you ran your hands through your hair. You had the urge to get drunk. Very drunk and wasted. You wanted to forget about Gojo, even for a night. With this energy you showered and got ready. You wore a racy dress that drew attention to your figure. You were proud of your body, Gojo seemed to worship it anyway. It felt like your greatest weapon. Natural makeup and dainty heels. You drove to a fancy but really good club.

The loud music was overpowering. Not really in the mood to dance, you headed over to the bar to get a drink. You thought the bartender looked really familiar. Long dark hair, ear hoops, a devilishly handsome face.

He called you name, as if confused or unsure if it truly was you.

You almost squinted. But then it but you. He was Geto Suguru, and you knew him from your uni days. Your face broke into a bright smile.

"Suguru!" You screamed above the music. "Gods, I've missed you!"

Suguru smiled coyly. "It's certainly been a while, my dear. Although I have to point out you're not one for places like this."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I want to get drunk! Can you do that for me?" You didn't stop to think how you'd have to drive home. You weren't thinking at all.

He raised his brows questionably but didn't ask "Of course." He poured you a drink and you drowned it in three gulps.

You tried to make small talk. It had been a long time since you had last seen each other. And in that time he hadn't changed that much. He was still handsome as ever, and still chose to wear all black. Not that you were complaining, it always looked good on him. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, or maybe it was the club atmosphere but you clenched your thighs the longer Suguru talked. You watched his lips move, utterly mesmerized.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" You suddenly blurted. He looked taken aback then laughed.

"No, I don't. Is anything the matter?"

You sighed. "Just some stress."

He gave you a glass of water. You scowled at him darkly. He flashed a charming smile. "Boy problem?"

You rolled your eyes. But you didn't touch the water. You didn't come her to drink water. "Duh.."

"Little wonder you're here. Do you want to talk or…" He didn't finish his sentence but you got the drift.

At first you wanted to decline. But then you recalled the countless times you'd seen Gojo with women. The countless lipstick stains, he always complained about lipstick stains, made you wear lip tints, but still managed to get some. It's not even like you were dating. If he wasn't exclusive to you what made him think you should be to him?

"You won't feel bad?" You asked Suguru.

"Nope." He replied with a wink. "I'd be happy to help out an old friend."

You knew you were making a bad mistake. You had the nagging fear that Gojo would know. But those fears were put in the back of your mind. For one night, for one fucking night, you didn't want to think about him. No. Not as Suguru's lips were on yours. Not as he locked the door to the toilet stall you found yourself in. Not as his hands explored your body at a relaxed pace. Not while he looked at you like you were the most exquisite woman to walk the earth.

"You're beautiful," He whispered in your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. He undid the zipper of the your dress, careful not to rip it. He kissed your bare skin. There was something about how he explored your body. He seemed relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. He was very vocal, praising and worshipping your body. Gojo hardly spoke to you during sex, unless he was trying to drive a point home and he did so using such derogatory words that you couldn't believe came from his beautiful mouth. You frowned when you found your thoughts drifting to him. You didn't want to think about him at all.

Suguru's skillful fingers finding your slick core drew you from your thoughts. A loud moan left your mouth as he pumped his fingers slowly while rubbing your clit with his thumb. He was being so gentle as though you'd break if he applied force, which you probably would. Backing you up against the wall, one hand in your folds, the other peeling your gown off your body. You felt him pause and opened your eyes. He was staring at the bruises and marks that littered your skin, his expression unreadable.

"Hey…"

You bit your lip. "Suguru please," You held onto him tightly. "Please just fuck me." Your face was bright red. But you meant every word you said. He leaned in and kissed your lips softly while resuming the motion of his fingers inside you. It wasn't long before you came hard, twitching and biting your lip so hard it bled.

"I don't think we should do this."

You were still calming down from your high. You stared at Suguru, his gaze moved to your bare body, but there was nothing sexual about it. He was angry. You suddenly wanted to cry. You immediately detached yourself from him and hastily fixed your clothes.

"M-maybe you're right." You said with a half chuckle. What were you thinking? If Gojo learns of this there was no telling what he would do. "I'm sorry…I…"

Suguru pulled you into a hug. "I understand. And as much as I want to know the bastard that did this to you, I can tell you're scared about something."

You returned the hug, your body trembling. "Thank you." He gave you his card.

"Call me if you need help. And I mean it."

You nodded. Without any more words you left. You headed straight outside. Tears stung your eyes. Hurt and scared tears. Gojo will be so mad, that was all you thought about. You couldn't find your car. Utterly confused, you stared at the empty spot you had parked it. Your heart began to sink.

"Yo!"

You knew that voice too well. You didn't recognize the car that pulled up in front of you but you recognized the driver.

"Satoru…"

You could feel his eyes sweep over your appearance even through his dark shades. You felt it on your face, his eyes taking in your teary eyes and revealing clothes. His jaw clenched. From what you could see he was wearing a suit. He'd probably just gotten back. He got out of the car and held open the door for you.

"I've arranged for your car to be sent home. Let's go, you'll catch a cold dressed like that." He said. His voice was calm. Too calm. You obeyed. He got into the car and started driving.

"How was your trip?" You asked, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.

"It was cancelled." He replied simply and said nothing else.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I..I didn't mean to I just needed to get some stress off my chest and I…."

"You're sorry for what?" He cut you off, glancing at you briefly.

You hung your head. A tear breached your lashes. Your shoulders trembled. "I…I was with a man."

There was no sound in the car. It had become deadly quiet. Then a very low 'oh' From Gojo. You knew you'd fucked up.

He drove to his place. He hadn't said a word to you. You mind was whirling with the possibilities of what he could do to you. He ushered you into the white penthouse and locked the door behind him. He took off his jacket and tie. Without glancing at you he walked over to his bar and poured himself a drink.

"Satoru I…"

"Why are you so selfish?" He asked. He hadn't shouted but his tone made you flinch. His eyes were on the drink in his hand, or so you guessed. "what haven't I done for you? Am I not enough for you?"

You bit your lip. "It's not that."

"Humour me." He sat on one of the couches, stretching his long legs in front of him. You felt his gaze move to you. You remained where you stood, trying not to feel small.

"I," You struggled for words. You searched for his eyes through his dark shades but couldn't find them. "I want to be loved. I want to feel wanted for who I am and not just my body.."

"And you thought a fucking one night stand would give you that?" He scoffed. "You're more dumb than I thought." You can't really say his words hurt you, your heart ached enough already.

"You're the one being selfish here!" You suddenly screamed. "You want me all to yourself but you wouldn't even date me! You're free to do as you please, sleep with as many women as you want but I'm not! How am I selfish?!"

"Is that what this about?" He sighed in a bored manner. He took off his sunglasses, bright blue eyes now dark and muddled with something you couldn't name. "I told you at the start of this, didn't I? I told you that I cannot give you romance. Did I not give you a chance to walk away?"

Tears filled your eyes. This was beyond cruel. "That's…"

"But you didn't, you chose to stay. And now you're acting out. You're overreacting dear. Look at what you've done to yourself."

His words cut like a knife. You could feel yourself trembling under his gaze. "Satoru…."

"I have been good to you. But that's not good enough is it? You want some sappy dude to lie to you." He chuckled to himself. "Love? Love is a curse, y/n. It's something people came up with to hide what they actually want. Did I ever hide what I wanted? Did I ever lie to you? Why do you have to be so selfish?"

"Please….Satoru….stop.. "

His eyes flashed. A sadistic smile formed on his face. "You're so fucking ungrateful. You know that right?"

This was not fair. He was turning the tables on you. You hadn't done anything! It was he who was wrong! Why wouldn't he just listen to you?!

"That's not true!" You cried. "Just stop! Stop it! Please…"

He didn't. If anything your tears spurred him on. Ah, you should've known. He loved seeing you suffer.

"I get it now. You thought you could change me. Damn, you're really that dumb?" He scoffed while staring at you like you were a stupid child. His eyes were filled with disgust and anger and hatred it made you feel sick. "I thought you were a smart girl."

You wiped your eyes. Something inside you hardened. "I'm leaving. It's over." You turned to leave, your hands pulled into tight fists.

He rose to his feet in an instant and grabbed your arms, spinning your body to face him. "No. You're not going anywhere. Is that clear? You had you cahbce to leave, you didn't take it."

"I hate you!" You screamed at him. You were sure new bruises would decorate your arm with how hard he was holding, and how his grip tightened each time you struggled. "Let me go!"

He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to the couch. He flung you carelessly but before you could escape he grabbed the back of your neck and pushed your face into the couch. You felt a sharp pain radiate from your nose to your head.

"Maybe if I fuck you senseless you won't have enough brains to think of looking at another man." You heard him say behind you, his tone full of vitriol.

You tried to scream, to beg for mercy but your face in the couch muffled your voice. You couldn't breathe. His grip on your neck was hard. Your nose was probably bleeding by now with the force he slammed your face into the couch with. Your head was pounding so badly. And the tears didn't stop. He pushed your gown up so it bunched at your hips. In a smooth motion he tore your underwear off, the straps digging into your skin and making you whine with pain.

Gojo chuckled, spreading your lips his middle finger swiping your slit. "You're already wet. I guess I don't need to prep you then."

You began trashing violently, trying to scream, to beg him to prep you first. He responded to your struggle by slapping your ass so hard all breath was knocked out of your lungs.

"Behave." His voice was dark.

You sobbed into the expensive leather couch. Your ass throbbed where he had hit you. It hurt so bad. He raised your head, forcing your body into a painful arch. You tried to get as much air into your lungs, trying to ignore the warm blood that trickled down your nose.

"Satoru please…." you cried, hating how miserable you sounded. "Please I'm sorry! Don't do this .. please…. I'll be… I'll be good I swear!"

You barely heard him undoing his belt by how much noise you made sobbing. He filled you up without any prior warning. He was huge and you were unprepared. Even though you were wet it took a lot of preparation to take his size. A scream ripped through your throat. You tried to form a coherent sentence but all you could form were gabbled words. Still you tried. You screamed for him to take it out, to be gentle. He either didn't understand you or just ignored you. He began thrusting into you at a bruising pace. Each time he hit your cervix it felt uncomfortable. You tried your best to imagine yourself somewhere else. Somewhere happy. But each harsh snap of his hips brought you back to your cruel reality.

"You feel good you know?" He grabbed your hair and raised your head whispering in your ear. "My own personal cock sleeve. So fucking perfect."

"Please!" You cried. "Please stop! It hurts! Please!"

He shushed you. "You deserve it. Take it like the fucking slut you are." He let your head drop, his hand moving to your hips, holding you perfectly in place as he bruised your insides. His other hand moved to your neck and squeezed, cutting off your air flow. Black dots were appearing on your vision. You desperately wished he'd just let you pass out. But he didn't. He lets up when you're about to faint, leaving you gasping and choking.

It hurt.

Your insides burned with the stretch he forced upon you. Your head pounded. Your throat was dry and painful from how much you'd screamed. It hurt. It hurt so much. You weeped into the couch, your skin starting to feel hot. You didn't want to feel good from this but that was near impossible. Gojo knew your body too well. And he was hitting the right spot inside you that made you see stars.

He would rub your pearl at a pace that contradicted that of his hips, so slow and gentle it was difficult to not feel good. At a point you couldn't tell if your cries were cries of pain or pleasure. Even when it became clear to him that you'd climaxed, he didn't stop. He continued to play your body like an instrument, lengthening the pleasure and setting your nerves on fire. When it began to feel really good he would grip your neck painfully hard. His nails would dig harder into your skin, he would hit you. The pain would make you cry even more but still you'd tighten around him.

"I knew something was wrong with you" he said, his body folded above yours, soft lips close to your ear. "You like this, don't you?"

"N…no…I…"

"Stop lying." It was so unfair how level his voice remained even though he was slamming you down on him. "I can feel how hard you're clenching around me. You're one crazy slut, you know that right? You're really sick in the head if you enjoy it this much. You're practically dripping right now."

He'd drive his point home by hitting your ass so hard your body lunged forward. Pitiful cries fell from your lips, fresh tears joining the dried ones on your cheeks.

"I knew it. You're just as fucked up. Tell me, did you think he could fuck you like this? Answer me!" He gripped your chin and turned your head so you met his gaze. You could barely recognize him with how crazed he looked.

"PL…please…" You didn't even know what you were begging for. Tears clouded your eyes.

He drove his hips harder into yours. You cried out, trying to crawl away from him and give your battered body a break. He let up his grip, giving you false hope that he was done with you, only to pull you back to meet his brutal thrusts.

"That's right. No one can make you feel this good." He leaned into your neck and bit the soft skin above your pulse, leaving a very visible mark. You whined with discomfort, your body going limp. "So now, be a good girl and take it."

By the time Gojo was done with you you were in an hyper stimulated state. You'd lost count of how many times he'd made you climax, how long you had to ignore the pain. The room around you barely even existed anymore. Everywhere hurt. Bite marks, bruises, hand prints, cuts where his fingernails dug into your skin littered your body. Your entire body trembled. Your throat felt hoarse with how much you had screamed. And your core felt like it was on fire. You didn't even have tears left anymore. You just wanted it to be over. In your muddled state of mind you wished he'd snapped your neck by mistake when he gripped too hard.

Gojo stared at your naked body, sweat covering your skin in a translucent second skin, his marks littering your body with bruises and he felt a sense of pride. Something about seeing you looking so small and broken made him want to protect you forever. To shield you from the outside world. Even covered in his marks and fluids, you looked demure. You were so beautiful, even though he didn't tell you that.

He ran a shower and gently washed your body. Everywhere hurt but somehow his hands soothed your skin. He prepared a soothing bath, scooped you up and placed you in the bathtub. He joined you, holding you as physically close as possible. He kissed your hair and told you how much he cared for you. And how this was all your fault. And he told you how you'll spend the rest of your days with him, how he'd arranged for your things to be moved in. That way you'd never leave. Ever. And no man would ever get to touch you again.

You barely even heard him, your ears still ringing from the amount of times you'd screamed and nearly had your brain fried with pleasure.

He turned your head and kissed the side of your mouth. His gaze was soft, almost loving. "My perfect doll," He said. "Made for me, all for me."

Turns out you still had a tear left in you. It fell from your eye, he flicked it away.

"Don't worry, you'll be safe with me."

You didn't have even the energy to move your arms. Yet you smiled at him, a tired smile. He kissed your temple.

"I love you." He whispered against your skin. He meant it. After all, you were covered in evidence of his love.

And you believed him.

[richardsgraysons]

the alchemy

prompt — some of my favorite songs as batboys

tags — nothing lol

DICK GRAYSON

the alchemy by taylor swift ( Cause the sign on your heart / Said it's still reserved for me / Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy? )

yellow by coldplay ( Your skin, oh yeah / your skin and bones / Turn into something beautiful / And you know, you know I love you so )

home by edward sharpe & the magnetic zeroes ( That's true, laugh until we think we'll die / Barefoot on a summer night / Never could be sweeter than with you (hey) )

daylight by taylor swift ( I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you / (I can never look away) / I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you / (Things will never be the same) )

a world alone by lorde ( All the double-edged people into schemes / They make a mess, then go home and get clean / You're my best friend, and we're dancing in a world alone

JASON TODD

homemade dynamite by lorde ( I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies / Seeing me rolling, showing someone else love / Hands under your t-shirt /Know I think you're awesome, right? )

guzarish by javed ali ( I'm walking in the nights / hope I don't crash anywhere / The flame of hope is still burning / But still I fear the incoming storm / I hope that the flame doesn't go off )

maroon by taylor swift ( The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones / The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon )

the blonde by tv girl ( 'Cause anyone who ever had a brain / Wouldn't stand out in the rain / Or keep it up for very long / Just to prove somebody wrong )

dear arkansas daughter by lady lamb ( You with the dark curls / You with the watercolor eyes / You who bear your teeth with every smile )

TIM DRAKE

lovers rock by tv girl ( But if you're too drunk to drive / And the music is right / She might let you stay/ But just for the night ) [ my biggest flex is that i was in paris by the eiffel tower with my family and we were going to go eat dinner on the eiffel tower, and as i walked by the street to get to the park where the tower is at, i saw a girl and a guy listening to lovers rock together on a scooter together and it was so CUTE ]

born to die by lana del rey ( Feet don't fail me now / Take me to the finish line / Oh, my heart it breaks every step that I take / But I'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine )

supercut by lorde ( I'm someone, you may be my love / I'll be your quiet afternoon crush / Be your violent overnight rush / Make you crazy over my touch )

are you bored yet by wallows & clairo ( 'Cause we could stay at home or watch the sunset / But I can't help from askin', "Are you bored yet?" / And if you're feelin' lonely, you should tell me / Before this ends up as another memory)

apocalypse by cigarettes after sex ( You've been hiding them in hollowed out pianos / Left in the dark / Got the music in you, baby / Tell me why / Got the music in you, baby )

DAMIAN WAYNE

sanctuary by joji ( If you've been waiting for fallin' in love / Babe, you don't have to wait on me / 'Cause I've been aiming for heaven above / But an angel ain't what I need )

sober by lorde ( Oh, God, I'm clean out of air in my lungs / It's all gone, played it so nonchalant / It's time we danced with the truth / Move along with the truth )

fire meet gasoline by sia ( I got all I need, when you came after me / Fire meet gasoline, I'm burning alive / And I can barely breathe, when you're here loving me / Fire meet gasoline, burn with me tonight, yeah )

work song by hozier ( When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I'll crawl home to her )

put me through it by suki waterhouse ( And I'm tired of keeping all my feelings to myself / Was undercover, playing cards that I've been dealt / You spun me 'round in circles 'til I tripped and fell / I admit I got addicted, now I'm sick as hell )

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Content warnings for this chapter: weapons, ptsd references, implied violence

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55445686/chapters/140852350

Chapter 5 - Kaz

“It can’t be a coincidence,” 

Kaz mused over Nina’s words for a moment, the cogs in his mind turning slowly to put the pieces together. It definitely didn’t feel like a coincidence. But Kaz tended to follow a strict practice of believing nothing was a coincidence. He’d told Inej that once, and she’d nodded wisely.

“Fate has plans for us all,”

She’d been sitting on his windowsill, watching the rain running down the glass. She began to trace one with her fingertip, and he followed it with his eyes. Kaz frowned. He’d left the door open, because it was raining and he didn’t want her to open the window, but for some reason he was suddenly compelled to push it shut. Like there was something here that should be hidden, that he didn’t want to entertain the possibility of anyone else ever bearing witness to. He flexed his fingers and gripped his cane tighter, refusing to move.

“Suddenly, I believe in coincidences again,”

Inej looked at him for a moment, then back to the rain. 

But it seemed very unlikely that Nina landing a strange job on the Geldstraat right before this job started was a coincidence. Kaz didn’t know what it added up to yet, but he would figure it out.

“Well, anyway,” said Nina, “I spoke to Feliks, all good for the job. He’s not thrilled about it though,”

“Of course he’s not,” said Kaz.

“He said you’ll owe him for the lost income,”

That would be more concerning if Feliks didn’t already owe Kaz money. And anyway he wasn’t really paying attention to that; mind still whirring away trying to solve the puzzle of Nina’s job on the Geldstraat last night. Not a coincidence. No such thing as a coincidence. No such thing as fate either, but Kaz really shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

“Did they want you to go routinely? At the Geldstraat?”

Nina bit her lip.

“He said it could be an ongoing offer, if I wanted it. But he also said he lost an indentured Healer recently, if he gets someone else I don’t see him forking out any extra cash for the pleasure of my company,”

“When you say lost…?”

Nina grimaced.

“Concerningly vague,”

Kaz wasn’t surprised. He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll look into it. If this ends up being an ongoing job for you it might be good for intel. Inej is at the Crow Club, tell her to get a bag together - I want you at the university tonight,”

“Tonight? Kaz, you said two days, I have clients-”

“They’ll wait,”

“Kaz-”

“Update Inej. I need to talk to the old man,”

Nina huffed a little, but she turned on her heel and went on her way. Kaz watched the empty doorway for a moment before he slowly stood up - his leg was wreaking havoc today, and he leant heavily against his cane to find his balance. He was going to be vulnerable without the Wraith for a time, and now she was vanishing slightly earlier than expected. He’d set up a communication line but it still felt dangerous not to have her close by, gathering secrets. 

“I’m not sure I’m following,” she’d admitted last night, when they were discussing the plan.

It was before word had come from Nina and she’d left to follow her to the Geldstraat. They sat in Kaz’s office at the Crow Club - the door was closed and the room had no window, but they needed privacy and there wasn’t much Kaz could do about that. He watched Inej, wondering if they would need to step outside, but she seemed fine perched cross-legged on a chair, posture perfect, hands planted on her knees. Kaz found himself studying the tiny movements in her fingers, the occasional movement of her boots against her knee as she shuffled her feet. He bought her the boots the night they came back to the Slat, because he was an idiot and he hadn’t brought anything with him for her to wear. She’d traipsed after him all the way from the very North of West Stave to the very South of East still dressed in those ridiculous purple silks, completely barefoot. It hadn’t helped the whispers amongst the Dregs about what he’d hired her for.

“What connection does any of this have?” she asked, beginning to drum her fingers against her knees.

“It’s about forming the connections,” he’d told her, “Just focus on getting close to the mark - or let Nina get close and follow suit. Then we can discuss what comes next,”

Kaz’s leg screamed at him all the way down the stairs, only quieting slightly when he began to cross the ground floor of the Slat towards Per Haskell’s office. The Slat was nothing special to look at - actually it was ugly as hell to look at, with its faded, faintly mossy eaves, the wonky boards at the front that made it look like it was leaning on the buildings either side of it for support, and the fact that it probably was leaning on them but the boards just accentuated it - but nothing had come as close to feeling like home to Kaz as the Slat did since he’d arrived in Ketterdam and his entire world was slowly pried from his weak little childish hands. That was what this city did; took everything from you. And this is what you did to survive it: demand something in return. Scrape and claw and bleed your way through the Labyrinth until you didn’t just defeat the monster at its centre, you became it. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. He wasn’t quite there yet, on the very top, but he would be. He would taste the monster’s flesh, and embrace the city as his own. The Labyrinth was meant to be a prison, but if you played your cards right you could own it. And Kaz never sat down to a card game he couldn’t win. 

“Enter,” came the gruff, muffled response from Per Haskell to Kaz’s sharp, single knock on the door.

It sounded like he’d already been drinking, and when the door was open the smell alone confirmed it. Kaz fought the urge to grimace, keeping his face a cool, flat mask as he closed the door behind him. There was a window in this room and for a strange, ridiculous moment Kaz almost moved to open it. He needed to get his head on straight - the Wraith wasn’t even here, and if she had been then she could open a damn window herself if she wanted to. 

“Kaz, my boy,”

Haskell gestured for him to take a seat, and Kaz’s leg was putting up such a protest that for once he took up the offer.

“Sir,” he said, nodding.

Haskell grunted. He was playing with one of his little ships in a bottle things again, and for a moment just let Kaz stew whilst he drove his focus into rearranging one of the tiny pieces. Kaz didn’t get the appeal of these little models but they were popular to display in merchant houses, to sit on desks or mantelpieces like the homeowner was waiting for your gaze to linger on it just a second too long so that he could tell you a long story about it and how it’s an exact replica of a ship he, in fact, owns himself. There were two half-constructed ones sitting on Haskell’s desk that he’d given up on over the last few months, and Kaz watched the man’s meaty, and slightly shaking, fingers fumble over the details of his newest one, feeling unsurprised that he’d never been successful at finishing any. After a minute had passed Haskell sighed and plunked the thing carelessly against the table, then picked up his glass and downed the last few drops before all but slamming it back down. Kaz flexed his fingers over the crow’s head of his cane, tightening his grip. 

“Brandy?” asked Haskell, as he began to pour himself another glass.

Kaz abstained.

“Alright,” the old man breathed, taking a sip before he continued: “What trouble are you here to tell me this time, then?”

What could Kaz tell him by way of trouble? That Jesper Fahey abandoned his security shift without telling anyone where he was, only for the Wraith to drag him back five hours later from a Dime Lions club? That Nina Zenik had been sent to the Geldstraat to complete a highly suspicious Tailoring job that might have had something to do with the job Kaz had been planning for so long? All he said was:

“I need Nina and Inej to start the job earlier than I thought,”

Haskell frowned.

“How long will they be gone?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s all under control. You’ll get your twenty percent,”

Haskell’s jaw twitched. It always got on his nerves when Kaz didn’t tell him what a job was, but that wasn’t part of their agreement. And besides, Kaz didn’t want to spread the details of his plans to too many people - everything in Ketterdam leaked.

“You can’t just take my Heartrender and my best spider without telling me h-”

“They’re not yours,”

“Well they ain’t yours,” growled Haskell.

“That isn’t what I meant,”

He groaned loudly and performatively, shaking his head.

“Don’t go getting righteous on me now, boy. I want them back here within the month, at minimum,”

Kaz pursed his lips.

“I’ll try to arrange that,”

“You see that you do,”

“Yes, sir,”

Haskell snorted, but Kaz knew he lapped up every stupid politeness he gave him. He liked to think of himself as the patriarch of a large, criminally-inclined family, but everyone knew it was Kaz who did the real work. It was more of a formality for Kaz to ever tell him anything at all.

“The Black Tips are still edging away at Fifth Harbour; pushing their luck,” he said, watching Haskell run a ringer along the rim of his glass, “We should move quickly if we want to re-establish our dominance,”

Haskell waved a hand dismissively through the air,

“A mere dog yapping at our heels. Monitor the situation, if things are any worse in a few months time we can organise a parlay,”

The man really was an idiot. Kaz nodded.

“Yes, sir,”

By the time Kaz left the office, disgruntled and impatient, Nina was back at the Slat. 

“Where’s Inej?”

“Upstairs getting her stuff,” Nina said, nodding vaguely towards the stairs, “You really not going to tell us anything at all?”

Kaz sighed.

“When you get to the University, go straight to the office opposite the Boeksplein; it’s 24 hour, and they should be expecting you. You just arrived from Ravka - private journey, pepper it in because the tourist ferries don’t arrive this late - and there should be transfer papers waiting in your name. They might kick up a fuss about you being early, accommodation-wise, but-”

“But we’re two young rich girls from Ravka, it’s the middle of the night, we’re exhausted from travelling, and we’ve nowhere else to go,” Nina finished in a falsely distressed voice, winking at him, “I think I can manage that,”

“Good,” he handed her a thin stack of kruge, “That’s a month’s salary in advance, if it takes longer I’ll give you more but if it’s shorter I’ll need it back,”

She narrowed her eyes.

“This is your money? Not the Dregs’?”

He shrugged. He had to pay her somehow.

“Thank you, Kaz,”

“You won’t be any use to me if you run out of cash and starve,”

Nina sighed, tucking the notes into her pocket.

“Well thank you anyway,”

[tiofrean]

Oh boy... OH BOY... I was reading through comments and tags under that Flint vs. Stede post (and before that in Silver vs. Oluwande post) and OH BOY RANT INCOMING

Feel free to ignore. No, I'm prickly about this.

I LOVE how people are like "Black Sails fans are so mean why are they like that T.T ?" in the tags and comments.

LET ME TELL YOU.

So we have this show that has been marginalized and has been pushed to the side for years. A show that has excellent plot, wonderful intrigue, magnificent representation and well-written, 3D characters that are complex and relatable. You get your edgy queer men (whether you want to characterize Flint as gay or bi, doesn't change the fact that he likes dick whichever way), you get your edgy queer girls (Anne), you get your flamboyant whatever-the-fuck-Jack-Rackham-is (<3), you get sweet gays (Thomas), you get confused bisexuals (Eleanor, Silver), you get straight sweets (Miranda) and straight angery dicks (Woodes Rogers), and competent, edgy straights (Vane). Oh! A competent, master-of-the-house lesbian? Check (Max). You even have asexuals, or that is what I shall forever classify Billy as. You have a f/f sex scene in the first damn episode, ffs. You get threesomes (sexual, romantic), you get couples, you even have Silver in a brothel orgy.

But sexual representation is not ALL! You get goofy pirates (Jack Rackham), you get serious pirates (Blackbeard), you get balls of rage (Flint), you get chill, laid-back sea dogs (Gates), you get competent little weasels (Silver), you get incompetent rats (Dufrense). You also have marvelous extras and side characters (Beauclerc the marksman, Captain Fruit-Fruit, Idelle... OHMYGOD IDELLE <3333).

There's the political plot that's historically accurate, the story's plot that's Flint's big gay rage, there's the sociological context of being painted as a monster, there's the gold hunt, there are ships correctly operated by crews of more than five fucking people, there are guns, blood and realistic injuries. You get quotations and allusions to Shakespeare, Cervantes, Julius Caesar, Marcus Fucking Aurelius, a metric ton of other classical writers. You get so many tropes done right it's astonishing and too effing long to list them all here.

On top of that, there is the picturesque landscape, absolutely gorgeous ships and very accurate portrayal of how life looked back then.

We had to defend that show when it first came out, the actors had to fucking fight homophobic assholes upon the airing of season two (IMAGINE THAT), people who loved it had a hard time going around, although admittedly it's a "fandom" hard time, not a "real life" hard time. We persisted, we persevered, and now we're here, clinging to what's left of our fandom, because we are admittedly all over the place and we don't have "troops" on any one social media, which makes our numbers small in comparison to other fandoms, and makes fandom interactions very limited.

Now imagine that there aired a show... a pirate show promising a lot. And then the show turned out to be an office-type comedy with no lesbian/bi women representation (I may be wrong, but I did watch it out of curiosity, didn't see any, just guys). A show that the whole plot of is just a rendition of the Beauty and the Beast for pirate times with so many historical inaccuracies (couching your crew like a bunch of office workers? Plz. The way they speak and the concepts they talk of that weren't there? It's like they were sitting around a fire, holding hands and singing kumbaya). And don't get me wrong, there's place for those shows as well, and maybe it works for you (and great for you too!).

We tried to ignore it, really we did. We basically gave it the eyebrow-raise-huff-ignore thing that you do on the internet when you want someone to enjoy their stuff and are not interested in it yourself.

But you know what happened? Suddenly there were people on twitter tagging everyone and their dog from Black Sails with renditions of Flint/Izzy (Izzy who comes across as an extreme asshole at best and a homophobic shit at worst and you can't fault people for reading it like this). Let that sink in - our fandom babe Flint, who had his whole life ruined due to homophobia and homophobic assholes is suddenly being shipped with a guy who suspiciously fits the description a bit too much for our tastes. Wouldn't you get angry? Of course you would, we're all very protective of our babes. We are, you are, everyone is. We asked you not to do this, and while I admit that hurling curses your way might not have been the most polite way of asking you to stop, the message was clear enough. What does OFMD fandom do? They all double down. Double fucking down on fanfiction and tagging everything in BS again, pairing Flint and Izzy together, writing things way out of the realm of any possibilities because most of the writers didn't watch BS (I did read their comments on that. They weren't even sorry). If you take such character and throw him into a work of art that can and will be seen as controversial, you should at least have the decency to do your homework on the original work he comes from. Otherwise, to our eyes, you're taking the most wronged man from our beloved show, wronged due to his sexuality, and throw him together with a literal asshole just to see them fuck because they would look pretty (and that's an actual comment from one of the artists, I shit you not). Wouldn't you feel a bit angry about that? I bet you would.

What's worse, people loving Black Sails and not liking OFMD usually point out how narrow the representation is, how improbable the show is and how they're not remotely invested in the plot. It's a cheesy show for your average Sunday afternoon, don't make it into something it's not. It's not a political statement any more than Guess The Tune is.

What's more, when I've seen attempts at people pointing out the obvious flaws in plot, in logic (how many people crew that ship exactly? How is he not dead after being stabbed clean through with a sword?), all we've gotten was "Oh it's not that type of show, OBVIOUSLY", "it's just a comedy, duh" and my personal favorite "you just DON'T UNDERSTAND IT BOOMER". (I'm a late Millennial, thx). Every attempt was chucked out the window. What got me most, tho, was the high praise of OFMD IS THE FIRST SHOW TO [insert whatever queer thing it did supposedly]. No, it's not. There was even a post on twitter that debunked all those claims one by one. I get it, you're happy that you got your gay pirates, good for you. But give credit where credit's due, otherwise you're gonna piss off a lot of people. People who watched our show struggle and crawl so that your show can run today and be fine and accepted widely.

And personally, I felt disappointed watching it because of the lack of representation. Disappointed that Ed turned out to be just as rainbowy as Stede. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against rainbowy, ultra-sweet characters that are big softies. I love them. But not everyone in the lgbtq community is like that. Actually, it's the minority. There are your sweets, there are your glittery rainbows, but the majority is on the more... inconspicuous part of the scale. And there are edgy people (like myself) who don't like glitter, pink, feathers, fluff and a shitton of other things this show had in abundance. You know what made me wince while watching? When I realized that the only person who I could remotely like for the way they weren't so glittery-rainbowy-sweet was Izzy, and I hated him because he was an asshole. Even Jim got the fluffy af oranges arch. So not my (and others') cup of tea.

So yeah, our recent anger and rabidity is not based solely on one post about an insignificant poll (that you're winning only because our fandom is significantly smaller and most people are dispersed between different sites). It's all those things combined and it's the result of them.

And no, I'm not going to finish it with a "please forgive us if we seem a bit angery, we're coping". Flint wouldn't.

[muddyorbsblr]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🧡

Oooo thank you for sending this in, bestie! Alright lemme see…my five favorite stories…

relinquish the crown – This one's always gonna have to be one of my favorites because it's my first long series that had me planning whole seasons and AUs and "What If…?" branches for these two blorbos.

one look & they'll know – my other long running series and I love these two blorbos with all my lil potato heart 🥹🥹 Tomathy in this series really saw Reader and went "Yes this one, I choose this one, I will love her forever and always give her cuddles and kisses"…and mango rides 😏😏

the final Lady Sharpe – i'm so eternally grateful to @ellooo0ooo for sending in this request because the concept of the story may have never reached me 🥹💖

maintain our cover – this is the story that had me realizing i definitely have a thing for writing an older Magnus and i'm definitely gonna be doing it again 🥵😮‍💨

no resistance – writing President Loki was smth else and i can't wait to do it again 😏😏

now as a bonus…some works i'm looking forward to writing and sharing with y'all…

The Dreamlight AU

So…remember that story I was trying to conceptualize that takes place in the Disney Dreamlight Valley game? It's not just gonna turn into a series…it's gonna turn into multiple series that all take place within this AU 🥹. I realized while working on the Phase 1 planning that there are at least 3 full stories that are going to be interwoven with one another by the end of it all, so it's gonna be a while before I get to flesh this out.

Say Don't Go

The Avengers x Doctor Who crossover story 😳👀

Back to You

This is probably gonna be the next series I start making because Phase 3 planning is complete for these incoming blorbos and I can't wait to start sharing their story with y'all 🥹💖

Captive Mind, Taken Heart

The Kilgrave v Loki story…aka the darkest story I might have in the works

The Midnights Collection

I have stories in mind for every single song in Midnights, and Phase 1 planning is complete 😳👀 Some of them are actually already out…the ones for "lavender haze", "paris", and "would've could've should've"

Stakes & Bounties

I'm not gonna say too much about this but I will say this… Pine v Wick 😳👀

np tags: @smolvenger @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Punishments

BTAA Scarecrow x gn! Reader (NSFW)

(1,567 words)

Summary: You are punished by the Scarecrow and he’s a complete menace about it.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, vibrator, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamics, punishments (duh), fear play, light nipple play, blood, penetration, rough sex, teasing/orgasm denial, crane being a sadistic asshole (but in a hot way)

Notes: I think I went a little crazy with this one, but I’m happy with it. also threw in some more reader-having-a-spine rep bc it’s fun to write and we all deserve it. enjoy the fic

-

“You asshole,” you moaned exhaustedly.

“That may be true,” he crooned, “but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

Hearing the soft hum of the vibrator power back on, you braced yourself once again for the incoming onslaught of delicious agony.

How did we get here?

More importantly, how did you get here?

-

With a click, the cuffs that held your hands over your head against the headboard, were fastened.

You could only imagine how vulnerable you looked right now. In addition to the restraint of your hands, you were in nothing but your underwear and an old t-shirt. Behind you was a pillow, which kept you sitting upright to the bed. You kept your legs shut to maintain some level modesty, but with a partner like Jonathan Crane, your modesty was the last thing you needed to worry about.

Feeling his fingers tilt your head up, your eyes met his. A mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you left me no choice,” Jonathan sighs with false disappointment.

“Jon, you were gone for like, 3 hours,” you retort. “The Midnight Movie Matinee was already starting, what was I gonna do? Not watch it? It’s a live recording.”

“Fair point, but you know I’ve been looking forward to this one all week.” You feel his cold and calloused hand trail up your leg, stopping dangerously close to your inner thigh, making you shiver. “…And also, I just needed to find an excuse to punish you, it’s been far too long.”

“But I was planning on filling you in anyway,” you shoot back.

“Aw,” he chuckles dryly, “that is such a sweet sentiment, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the further we get along.”

“The further we get along?” You raise an eyebrow.

Crane says nothing as he rummages around through the drawers. Your brain runs wild with the endless possibilities of whatever it is he’ll use to torment you tonight. With a wolfish grin, he turns around. You quickly spot the small vibrator he was now equipped with.

“What the hell is that?” You ask tensely.

You know full well what it is; you’re not stupid. The question more so implied the notion of what exactly it was he would be doing with it.

“Oh don’t look so nervous, it’s just a bullet vibe.” He says matter-of-factly. “I figured to let the punishment fit the crime, you were, what? 3 hours in? That should be sufficient.”

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates followed by a nervous chuckle. “3 hours? Did I say that?” You begin frantically. “I mean, if you really wanna get specific, it was um, really more like, uh, 2 hours and 26 minutes?” You plead, attempting to realistically shorten the time of your impending torture and hoping to God that he wouldn’t detect the uncertainty laced in your voice.

With a sadistic snicker, he gently coaxes your legs open. “You’re cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.” He grins maliciously, softly tracing over your clothed sex.

Trying your best not to move, your breath hitches in your throat. By giving him a reaction- any reaction at all, you would only be making it worse for yourself by giving him what he wants. As turned on as you were getting, you weren’t one to submit so willingly.

“I don’t beg,” you sigh, “I negotiate.”

Jonathan lets out an amused hum while getting onto the bed. His eyes remain dark with lust as he leans forward to take in your scent, his mouth beginning to pepper your neck with hungry kisses. When he moves forward, you feel his knee dig into your arousal, where a quiet moan exits your lips. Quickly snapping your mouth shut, Crane looks disgustingly satisfied when he pulls away.

“Oh really?” he drawls, “because from where I’m sitting, you are in absolutely no position to even try to negotiate.” His irritatingly smug voice rings through your ears.

Dammit. He’s fucking right, but you don’t cave.

“2 hours and 26 minutes, doctor.” Your gaze locks with his. “I’ll admit, I was very bad for starting without you,” you allow your voice to drop an octave, continuing to maintain eye contact with the increasingly aroused Jonathan Crane sitting before you. “… But, I will not let myself be punished for a second longer than I need to be.”

Crane stares at you with an expression mixed with curiosity and respect. There’s a brief silence in the room, save for the shuffling of the sheets as he shifts his position. He towers over you, but you are not intimidated.

“Fine,” he grins. He lays a quick kiss on your cheek and begins to slowly make his way down to your neck. The pseudo-tenderness of him kissing into you is sharply contrasted by the venom in his voice when he leans back up to whisper in your ear. “But I won’t make this easy for you,” his hand reaches down, rubbing you through your underwear. “…And if I find out you’ve been lying to me, you are going to catch so much hell and it’s going to be fucking beautiful,” he all but moans the last word when he finally reaches the spot that makes you jolt.

You shudder at his threats; the fear and arousal rip through you like tidal waves. After several minutes, his movements become jerky, lightening up the friction on your sex, causing you to buck into his hand. Letting out a chuckle at your desperation, Crane powers on the vibrator and you can only shift in terrified excitement.

“Nervous?” He asks, pushing your leg to the side, “you should be.” You brace yourself for nothing as Jonathan unexpectedly runs the vibe along your inner thighs. Apprehension spikes within your chest the closer and closer he moves to your core, only for him to snap it away.

Fucking tease.

You begin to squirm as he traces up to your sternum, making his way across your chest. You let out a restrained mewl, arching your back when the toy reaches your nipples through your shirt.

“Don’t quiet yourself,” he growls, “I want to hear every single sound that leaves your impatient mouth.” He continues ghosting over your sensitive buds. You writhe in delectable anguish, remaining defiant as you attempt to stifle any moan he tries to force out of you.

Growing frustrated, Jonathan finally drives the vibrator down to your aching sex, causing a loud and pornographic moan to erupt from your throat. Your face burns with shame.

“See?” He smiles wickedly. Crane slips the vibrator past your underwear, and presses it off, much to your chagrin. He coats the toy in your fluids; your cheeks flush at how embarrassingly turned on you are. “Not feeling so brave now, are we?”

“Go to hell,” you chuckle hoarsely.

“Oh wow,” Crane laughs. “You really don’t know when to quit do you?”

“I figure if you’re going to punish me anyway, I might as well get my digs in too.”

Jonathan’s gaze pierces into you hungrily. He’s quiet for a moment, huffing out a laugh until he meets your eyes once again. “…Fascinating,” is all that he utters.

Giving you no time to process, you see the vibrator swiftly set to the side. Jonathan grabs your face as he slams his mouth into yours. The kiss is sloppy; the sounds you two make are filthy as they echo across the walls. Your tongues messily bump into each other’s. Nipping at one another’s lips, you begin to taste the flavor of metal in your mouth, not giving a shit if the blood you were tasting was his or yours.

You catch your breath heavily as the air around you grows thick with arousal. Frantic sounds of a belt buckle unfastening, pants dropping to the floor, and the tearing of a condom wrapper invigorate your senses. The newfound urgency for lust seems to have infected Jonathan as well, as he all but crumples your underwear off your legs, leaving you exposed.

His mouth continues to ravage yours when he finally enters you. Your lower half aches deliciously, feeling yourself be spread apart by Crane’s cock. He pounds into you ferociously, eliciting moans you never thought you were capable of making begin to tumble their way out of your throat. His pace is violent, yet his hands find their way to yours, which are still firmly locked above your head. His fingers interlace with yours for a surprisingly intimate moment in the midst of one another’s chaotic passion.

You feel yourself begin to unravel. As you wail pathetic obscenities into his mouth, Jonathan begins to slow down significantly. You whine when he stops completely, desperately longing for his touch.

“Oh come on now, did you really think I’d let you finish that easily?” Letting out another one of his signature sadistic chuckles, Crane pushes your retrained hands further into the headboard for emphasis.

As if you weren’t already sweating enough, you can certainly feel the perspiration forming at your temples. Feeling exhaustedly fucked out, but unsatisfied, you glare at Crane.

“Don’t give me that look,” he laughs huskily, “You’re being punished, we still have 2 hours to go, remember?”

“You asshole.”

“That may be true, but I’m not the one who decided to start the marathon early.”

[oskea93]

Keep it to Yourself (2)

✶ DouglasBooth!Nikki Sixx x OC ✶

Warnings: Mention of drug use, cursing. A/N: Thank you so much for the love guys!! I hope you enjoy the 2nd chapter, it's kind of a long one. If you would like to be tagged, just let me know! Gif(@ughmerlin)

Taglist: @fancywasmyname1, @kaitieskidmore1, @xxisxxisxxis, @sparxx27,  @cruecifymesixx, @tempt-ress, @a-sia-san, @x-xinenas, @casualcomputerarbiter-blog​, @makaelahdelvalle

“Is this some kind of sick joke, Bryant?”

I leaned my head against the payphone door – watching as Nikki filled up his car. “Afraid not.”

Wyatt stayed silent for a moment, my surprising news turning more into a nightmare as the minutes passed. He let out a sigh, “You’re 20 years old – got your whole life ahead of you but you decide to fuck it all up by eloping that idiot.” His usually soothing voice dripped with anger.

It was a total whim – Nikki and I were just sitting around, and he brought up the idea of getting married. We’d been together for a year almost and the thought of marriage never crossed my mind. I didn’t even think Nikki found our relationship to be serious half the time. He had dreams of becoming a rockstar – a wife – the old ball and chain – would only hinder that dream. There was no ring – no getting down on one knee. It was basically you have this one chance to say yes and get it done or it’ll never happen again. We scrounged up enough money to get a marriage license and were married the next day at the courthouse. A random guy from the street was our witness – Nikki buying him a bottle of booze as payment. It wasn’t the fairytale wedding most girls dream of, but it worked for us.

“I thought maybe you would have a change of heart and be happy for us.”

An annoyed laugh rang through the receiver, “Be happy for you – Bryant, you need to be married to this kid like you need a hole in the head. I’ve told you from day one that he wasn’t the one – have you're fun and then leave. You need to be with a man that has structure – someone with a steady income – I don’t give a shit if the guy works on Wall Street or at the gas station on the corner, Nikki is not the man you need in your life.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Uncle Wyatt.” I muttered.

This seemed to piss him off even more – “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I played with the phone cord, unsure of what to say. “It’s just –“

“Just what, Katherine?” His tone aggressive as he used my legal name. “Now that you’re married, you think that you can talk to people however you want? Just remember this little girl-“ He paused. “I’ve known guys like Nikki all my life – Hell, I’ve been one of those guys and I know how they pick one girl, stay for a bit, and then move on to the next thing. Don’t come crying to me when he kicks your ass to the curb when the next little hottie crosses his path...”

I could pick the man out of a sea of people.

His hair was a little longer than I last remember – his clothing changing with the times and trends. The fancy sports-car that the guys purchased for him glistened in the California sun – the sun hitting the red paint just right.

“There she is.” His arms spreading open expecting me to jump right into them for one of his ‘famous hugs.’

“Hey, Doc.” I forced a smile as he pulled me in.

His touch felt more like relief than welcoming – kind of like a forced thank you for coming and saving my ass. “I’ve missed you, kid.”

I pulled away first as he took in my appearance. It’d been almost three years since we’ve seen each other – a lot of things changing in that time. “You look great.” He smiled. “More mature – nothing like that little girl I met backstage.”

“Yeah, well –“I shuffled nervously. “Someone had to grow up and become the adult.”

His eyes locked with mine, squinting as my words coursed through his brain. “May look different but that attitude is still the same.” He pulled my suitcase out of my hand, placing it in the trunk as I placed myself in the passenger seat. I took a couple deep breaths – the reality of what was about to happen finally hitting me. I was cool as a fucking cucumber the whole flight – only worrying that Wyatt would pop up at any second and drag me off the plane by my boots. I didn’t think about what I would do or say when I finally saw Nikki again. I already knew that he wasn’t going to be happy – raging would be more like it.

The thought of if this was a good idea was now creeping into my psyche. Hannah’s warning to watch my moves and have an escape plan just in case he’s bad enough where he tries to harm me played on repeat as Doc drove through the canyon. From the way he was going, Nikki still lived in the same house.

“So-“Doc smiled. “What’s been happening with you lately? Last I heard you were living in South Carolina.”

I glanced at him through my shielded lenses, rolling my eyes. “Just living life.” I was short.

“You got a job?” He continued to press.

“No –“I turned to look at him. “I just live off my good looks and hope old men want a young plaything to leave all their money too.”

His face instantly fell as he glanced at me – my face expressionless as he fumbled to form a sentence.

He chose to end the conversation after that leaving the rest of the journey completely silent. I was somewhat grateful but talking made me forget about my internal thoughts – the ones eating away at my emotions...

“Where are we even going?”

I watched as million-dollar homes passed by as we travelled further into the hills. Nikki remained silent – his eyes hidden behind his dark shades – a stoic expression on his stubbled face. We had been driving for almost 30 minutes – silence taking up most of that time. I could tell from his body language that he was nervous. His body was stiff as he kept both hands on the steering wheel. He was home from the first leg of the Shout at the Devil tour – the guy I had known before tour started was left somewhere on an abandoned highway. Nikki was different – a little distant – more focused on the drugs and booze than before.

Instead of saving the money that was coming in from the shows, he and the rest of the band went on a spending spree – laying thousands down on new cars, expensive clothes, and the finest designer powder they could get their mitts on. It was a nice feeling not to be struggling anymore but Nikki was going through the money like water in the desert. His habit went from a couple bumps here or there to being desperate for the next fix. Shady looking characters were in our apartment every night as he got ready to go out with the guys. They followed him around like a puppy would their owner – Nikki was their client – he had the money, and they had the blow.

I kept glancing at him as he concentrated on the road, “Is there a party up here or something?”

He cleared his throat, slinking further into the leather seat of the Camaro. “No.” His answer simple.

“Then why the hell are we u-“

He stopped the car in front of a large home – the exterior darker than those around. “Welcome home.” His voice flat. I looked between him and the house – confusion written all over my face.

“What?”

“You wanted a house, didn’t you?”

I stayed quiet for a second – trying to process the situation. “Are you trying to tell me you bought a house – this house – and you didn’t bother to ask me how I would feel about that?” I pointed towards the home; my eyes fixed on Nikki.

He ignored the question, driving past the gate that secured the house from the open road. The driveway was long and steep – the house sitting perfectly on the hilltop. It was an open landscape – not many trees and the perfect view of those that lived in the valley.

“Nikki – you can’t be serious right now?” He placed the car in park – turning the engine off before removing himself from the car. I didn’t wait for him to let me out, hastily slamming the door shut as he rounded the passenger side. “Please tell me you didn’t buy this house?”

“You know-“He smiled as he removed his sunglasses – the telltale signs of last night written all over his face. “You bitch about living in a small apartment but yet here you are bitching me out for buying you a beautiful house.”

I raised my hands in the air, “I didn’t ask you to buy me a fucking house, Nikki!”

He rolled his jaw in anger as I vented about how we were supposed to be saving money and not throwing it away on things that we didn’t need or things we could wait for. I was perfectly content in staying in the apartment – hell, it was better than the one he was in when I first met him. I made sure to keep it clean and we shared the rent 50/50. Just because Motley had become a success didn’t mean that I wanted him spending that hard earned money on a house. We had plenty of time to look at houses – a house we would both love – not the first one that had a for sale sign.

“Fine –“His voice low. “You don’t want to the fucking house – “He hastily reached into his shirt pocket fishing out the key before throwing it as hard as he could down the embankment. “Then no one will fucking get the house!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” My anger exploded as I raced to find the key. He stood behind, leaning against the black hood. I knew it was gonna be like finding a fucking needle in a haystack – the only chance of getting into the house would be to break in...

Doc’s car pulled up the familiar driveway – Nikki’s overzealous purchases sitting in front of the house. “I’ve always hated this house.” I muttered.

“Yeah-“Doc smirked. “Nikki’s made mention of it a time or two.” He placed the car in park – a knowing sigh slipping past his lips. “Ready for this, kid?”

I tucked my lip between my teeth – a nervous habit I had since childhood. “Ready for it like a hole in the head I guess.”

He chuckled at my answer, walking up the stairs ahead of me. The day I left kept flashing in my mind – the way my shoes hit the stone steps – Nikki trying to follow behind but stumbling from the drugs. Doc unlocked the door using his personal key that he had made, telling me that he had keys to all the guy’s houses. Stepping across the threshold showed me just how much he had changed. The once bright living room was now painted in a dark red – black, leather furniture scattered around the room. The house was an absolute mess! Liquor bottles, beer cans, food containers, and clothes littered the living room and kitchen.

“You can’t afford to get him a housekeeper?” My nose turned up at the smell. “This place is a fucking pigsty, Doc.”

He waved me off as he started towards the staircase. From what I could see, all the doors to the rooms were closed – the bedroom we shared being off to the left side. “Let me go see if he’s up and decent.” I nodded my head, looking around in disgust at the mess.

Gold and platinum records lined the walls – older photographs joining here and there. The photos that hung while we were together were nowhere to be found – probably burned and turned to ash. Heavy footsteps sounded as the person descended the stairs – my heart starting to race at the thought of seeing Nikki again.

Doc appeared seconds later, “He’s not here.” He spoke out of breath. “Fucking needles and baggies are lying all over the closet floor – probably got high and left for God knows where.”

I threw my purse on the couch, taking a haphazard seat as Doc began to pace the room.

“When’s the last time you seen him?” His eyes connecting with mine.

He thought about it for a second, “Probably three – four days ago I guess.”

I looked up at the ceiling, my tolerance for him starting to waver. “You have a guy that’s actively addicted, knocking on death’s fucking door, and the last time you laid eyes on him was four days ago? Are you fucking kidding me, Doc?”

“I talked to him on the phone the day before yesterday and he sounded fine. I can’t be on babysitting duty twenty-four fucking seven, Bryant. I have other bands that need me –“

“No-“ I cut him off. “You have other cash cows that are out there killing themselves so you can make a name for yourself and have money in your pocket.”

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, “I didn’t bring you out here so you can rip me a new one, Katherine.”

My anger finally coming through, “Don’t fucking call me that.” My finger pointed in his face. “You don’t have the right or luxury to ever call me by my real name.”

“And who has that luxury, Bryant?” He pressed. “Your fucking ex-husband who’s out there killing himself because you fucking left him? You know you may think it’s my fault that Nikki is the way he is, but you’re just as much to blame. He didn’t get bad until you sent the fucking divorce papers – this is on you, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” I pushed past him, making my way to the front door.

I started walking down the driveway, not even caring that the sun was starting to set, and I didn’t have anywhere to go or anyone to pick me up. I made it about halfway down before Doc’s car came up beside me. “Get in the car, Bryant.” His voice monotone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that in my 25 years of being on this planet. That was my go-to move anytime Nikki pissed me off and we happened to be in the car. Hell, there was sometimes I would just get out of the car at a red light and start walking down the busy street.

“I’m sorry –“ I turned to look at him. “I don’t accept rides from assholes.” My boots slapping against the concrete.

Doc let out a string of curse words, finally stopping the car as he got out and tried to catch up. His fingers grabbed tightly onto my wrist, spinning me around into his body. “Fucking stop, Bryant.” His breathing ragged. “I already have enough to deal with and you acting like a fucking brat doesn’t need to be added to the plate.” I pushed the hair out of my face, yanking my arm out of his hold.

I waited a second as he walked back to his sports car before inching my way back to the passenger side. I may have slammed the door a little too hard, earning a look from Doc as he drove to the main road.

“Vince is throwing a party-“He spoke. “My guess is Nikki’s probably there since all the dealers are there.”

“He’s like a month flying to a bug zapper.” I mumbled.

The drive to Vince’s beachside mansion didn’t take long – traffic being light for that area. Different cars surrounded the home as music blared out of the open windows. I watched as people moved out of the way as Doc drove up to the front – those outside looking to see who was arriving. I didn’t bother waiting for Doc this time – getting out and stomping up the staircase.

I had no idea where he could be – the house was ginormous. The music grew louder as I neared the living room – a circular couch sitting in the middle of the room. A tall skinny guy was the first person I noticed – still having the same stupid haircut he had when we first met. Tom was a fish out of water in the world he lived – the opposite of Motley Crue. It still amazed me to this day that he was the reason Motley got signed.

My eyes moved across the couch, a head full of jet-black hair bent over a silver serving tray caught my attention. I watched as the lines that were perfectly placed vanished as the rolled up bill moved in a vertical motion. His head popped up for a moment, rubbing his nose as the high was hitting.

“I see you found him.” Doc stood next to me. “This is mild compared to what he’s usually doing.” I kept my eyes trained on Nikki as he talked to Mick and Tom – laughing at whatever they were saying. “Bring back memories?”

I glanced at Doc, rolling my eyes before walking towards the white couch. Nikki was in his own world that he didn’t even notice that someone was getting closer. Tom was the first to notice, his jaw dropping to the floor as his eyes grew wide.

“Holy shit.”

Nikki and Mick looked up to see what caused Tom’s reaction, Nikki’s eyes connecting with mine. It took him a moment before his smile started to fall – sobering up within seconds.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Hello, if you write angst, may I request a any character you want x reader, where in the process of time travel, they lost reader.

If you don't write angst, may I request a any character you want x short reader, with anything you want.

lost in time with luxiem

part 2 here ↣

mmmyess YESSSS i do write angst! it’s been a while since i wrote some but i’m glad i got to practice my hurt skills :D long post incoming but i really enjoyed writing these. especially the gory scenes. man. i really am a briskadet aren’t i

tags: established relationship, hurt no comfort, gender neutral reader

⚠️ drinking + gore in luca’s entry

⚠️ drinking in mysta’s entry 

⚠️ suffocation + fainting in shu’s entry

⚠️ gore + panic attack in vox’s entry

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you’re ripped out of your universe and sent to a completely new world, it’s only natural to react like that...

🖋 Ike Eveland

His usual solution is to throw himself into his work. The must tumultuous of times create the best stories, pressure turns carbon into diamonds, and writing down the pain make it so much easier to let go of when he scraps the draft.

Ike commits pen to paper, as is second nature. He holes himself up in his office. Sleep comes to him randomly. He can never predict when, but he sleeps deeply, and when he wakes up it’s right back to his nightmare. Food becomes a second thought to written word, then third, then fourth, until it’s forgotten completely. 

It’s addicting, is what it is. He needs to write. The situation he finds himself in, peeled away from everything he knows, is so wildly impossible that maybe, maybe, impossible thinking will return him to where he once was. If he wishes so much to return to the one he loves, creates a world within his pages that mirrors his own, then maybe the stars above or the spirit of the universe or some cruel higher power will hear him and return him to where he came from.

The world he finds himself in is angular, blocky. Its features are so foreign to the intricate architecture of his homeland. Where there once was grass is now endless gray and metal and stone, pavement under his footsteps, so he stays inside now. The office, just as geometric as the outdoors, is blank and the paper serves as the color he’s neglected to spread within his room. 

Because, after all, he’s not going to remain here. Of course, he can’t remain here.

There’s so much he wants to do in his original world. He’s no revolutionary author, but his works are getting recognition after years and years of publishing. He just used the money to move into a proper home of his own, and it’s no mansion but it’s more than comfortable, and the window in his bedroom is at the perfect angle to gently wake him with soft sunlight every morning.

And after all, there’s an angelic face sleeping next to him every time he rises.

He writes tales of a princess trapped in her own castle, with no way to communicate with her subjects. After that, a novel about a hermit who returns to society, and how decades of living alone impacts his daily public life. Whenever he runs out of ideas, he works on a collection of short stories from the perspective of various people locked within a strange, enclosed new environment. 

The poetry is new. Novels are paintings, but poetry is sculpture, and he struggles to find the right words in the right order, but whenever he writes the last line it always tells stories of loneliness. 

Each draft takes place along flowering fields and rolling skies, clouds that adorn tall trees. Houses painted in candy colors. Streets in sepia. Snow that falls gently like blankets, and sun rays that greet mountain peaks. The aurora borealis heralds the climax of each protagonist’s journey.

Ike’s pen runs out of ink on what he would estimate is the seventh night. He curses, and his throat is so out of use, the sound is barely decipherable. He reaches to his drawer of office supplies, only to grab nothing. There is no drawer. He’s forgotten exactly where he is again.

Ike clears his throat, and raises his voice. “Reader? Be a dear and get me some more ink, please?”

Ike waits.

“Reader?”

There’s no response.

“Reader, my darling.”

There is no Reader. He’s forgotten exactly where he is again.

It’s strange that he does, he notes. Why, he’s written so many stories as his own escapism, but he can’t even remember that he left his darling Reader. 

His darling Reader, all alone, the only person in their shared home. They make meal servings for one, now, and wakes up later now without another in their bed. They have access to the study and the shelves upon shelves of home-bound books, the first edition before publication, but there is no novelist at the desk, no handwriting, no one to hold a mug and offer his gratitude. No one to sit behind as they read his latest work and offer their thoughts and notice his plot holes and typos and errors, no one to hold his pen back and insist, It’s late, let’s go to sleep, and carry him out of his chair and tuck him into bed themselves, and run their hands through his hair until his eyes close and his breathing softens and he wakes up to warm soft sunlight on an angelic face.

“Reader.” Ike says it again, but this time he knows there’s no one to respond to it. His voice breaks halfway through.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

At the end of the day Luca Kaneshiro is a social creature. Moreover, he’s a social creature that just got cut off from his friends, family, mafia, and lover all in one fell swoop. 

It’s that appreciation for others that drives Luca to walk the streets, acting like he still owns the world despite the completely different reality he finds himself in. He’s a man that’s spent his life around family, both blood and hired. New people to meet and friends to catch up with. A sweet thing he could hold and love openly, one that he would do anything for. Believe it, he means anything; that’s a promise only a mafia boss could keep and truly mean. 

There’s no replacement for them in this time, but he can’t let go of it. He doesn’t actively drink in his original time but in 2022, there’s a party every night, and he wakes up every morning with a hangover. Luca admits it. He’s a nobody, a friendless loser here, but at least every night coupled with the booze and the bodies all dyed under the colorful lights he can forget. Pretend those faces are the ones he’s come to know underneath lion masks. 

The first night was the hardest. He entered the club to color his mindlessly lonely days, because at least he could have a meltdown properly with drinks than the husk he is during the day. A young woman taught him to dance, and he traded dance partners with the rest of her friends until most of them went to get drinks, and the best dancer of them all cozied up to his arm.

By the time they returned with cocktails Luca was already long gone on the way back home, his coat wrapped around his body. He felt dirty. Everything about that night was supposed to make him feel like his legacy was still alive but when it wasn’t you feeling him up, he could feel his stomach turn. 

Sure enough, the next morning he retched out the remains of alcohol and women, and swore he’d never go clubbing again until he returned to his timeline with you by his side… until the loneliness threatened to swallow him whole, and that very evening he was back to pretending that the people in the club were his. 

People flirt with him often, and he’s surprised he hasn’t bolted from one yet. Instead he politely excuses himself and ditches the club with a hollow feeling in his chest.

Luca wakes up every afternoon- noon or later, depending on how wild the night before was- alone in a bed meant for two people. His apartment is nice, but it’s devoid of personality. Glass encompasses one side of the wall, granting him a view of the skyline, and every piece of furniture is clean white. It’s almost hilarious how much it resembles one of his penthouses in Melbourne, but without any of the charm that branded a Kaneshiro home. 

He misses it so much. His active schedule has gone to the wayside, and instead he can spend hours at a time laying in bed. It’s a destructive cycle. Party at night to keep up the pretend life, then wallow during the day about how the life is gone. How unfair, he thinks bitterly. I never asked for this. I don’t even know how I got here. Why me?

The dreary thoughts never ebb while the sun’s out, and once night falls he can’t bear to spend another moment with them. Everything is a distraction now. He can’t bring himself to imagine the mafia surrounding him at the clubs anymore. It sends him into veiled turmoil.

That’s a future worry for future Luca, though.

He walks home one night in better condition than usual. The night is blank and silent, only to be interrupted by a stifled cry. 

He turns to the source of the noise. Two people stand by a closed store. One of them is a older man, and the other is a young woman. Luca recognizes her as a girl from the club he just left, mostly because she barely looked old enough to enter. Her face is flush with alcohol, and the man practically drags her along closer to the door with a hand over her mouth.

Luca’s eyes meet the woman’s. They’re nearly closed, but widen when she realizes there’s a bystander, and then she’s gone. The man led her into an alleyway out of sight.

Sobriety regained, he dashes to the alley, and feels for the hidden pocket on the inside of his coat. It was one of the first things he reached for when he fell into the future, and he thanked his lucky stars he still had a pistol and rounds of ammo on him. 

He takes the safety off but keeps it concealed, and turns into the alley. Two other men lurked deeper into the row, while the first shrugged the woman’s body off to the ground. She was barely conscious.

One of the creeps cocked his head. “The fuck’re you looking at?” 

Another raises an arm but Luca fires before the loser aimed his weapon properly. The bullet shatters the wrist, and the gun spills out of his grasp along with blood. He clutches the mangled appendage and cries out. “Bastard shot my fucking hand!”

The second man raises his gun as well but Luca’s already aiming for his arms and fires, disabling him long enough to move closer into the alley.

The final guy brings out a knife, but Luca’s built for this. He shoves him off, then grabs his arm with one hand and forces the knife away in the other. There’s a cold look in Luca’s eye, he hasn’t said a thing. He pushes the arm the wrong direction, and feels muscle trembling to stay upright. The creep curses again, an empty threat Luca doesn’t care to hear, and the knife clatters to the floor. Luca stomps on the handle with his sole, preventing it from moving any further. 

Luca keeps his grip on the arm, and feels the other guy’s joints give out. An ugly thought wants him to go further. So he indulges even after he hears the snap of broken bone, and when he’s done twisting the limb he yanks it out. The scream of dislocation is like music. 

He feels monstrous, but the most alive he’s been in weeks, an animal let out of its cage with the scent of blood in the air. He notices the one with bullets in either arm struggle for one of the guns, so in one clean movement Luca pins him down, blows an elbow joint out with his own gun, and drags the disfigured arm out along the jagged pavement as his weight rises. Hopefully he’ll get it amputated. 

The first one he shot, the one with one less hand than he started with, helplessly struggles for the gun he dropped with his good arm, so Luca drives the leftover knife through the flesh and into the ground. He lets the bloodthirst win as the blade curves into the muscle like a hook, twists, and snatches it out.

He covers the knife in a handkerchief, then retrieves the guns, and crouches eye-level to their drunken target. Her head is lolled to the side, but unharmed.

“I’m gonna bring you back outside the club,” Luca says. “Get some staff to watch you and call a taxi.”

He helps her up. She’s conscious enough to walk, but her body is limp, and she relies on him to guide her. The blank silent night returns as they return. 

The woman slurs something out, and when Luca looks to her in confusion she repeats herself. “You’re the guy that’s always there…? At the club.”

“Yeah.” Luca keeps his face steady. “Yeah, I am.”

“You always have people around you.” She giggles. At least she seems to be a happy drunk. “Normal people don’t gun. Have guns.” She throws her free arm into the air and makes a finger gun. “Pew, pew…”

He doesn’t answer that. “What’s your name?”

She tells him. “Don’t remember it. You’re too sad for me.”

“I just saved you.”

“And thanks but you’re so… fake!” Luca should be insulted, but he’s so taken aback he doesn’t say a word. The woman is amused by it though. She continues. “Like, okay, you’re cool, I’d hang, but you’re avoiding something, aren’t you? And I’m not talking about the, the pew, guns…”

She used up so much energy talking that she doesn’t notice a crack in the sidewalk and trips. Luca catches her. 

“Hero, much?” She laughs. “You’re such a hero, you’re waiting around for something. What, want me to trip again? Go find it if you care so much about it.”

The woman babbles on as they return to the club. Barely five minutes after, a taxi pulls up to the curb.

“Bye, hero!” She chirps. “Stop being so sad all the time!” Luca gives her a small wave and she’s off. 

He re-embarks on his walk home, and her drunken ramblings follow him the way back. He’d save her again without question, but her words pissed him off. 

She’s right, you know, he thinks. But of course she is, and of course it’s not as easy as a drunk woman makes it out to be. Longing for something is one thing. Longing for a time long gone is another. 

Luca looks back at the club, so small in the distance. Already he can feel the isolation taking hold, and it’s only going to get worse the more time he spends in his apartment, but it’s not like he has the energy for anything else. 

He brushes his hand against his coat. A splatter of blood stains the fur, not so much to be noticeable in the night but daylight is a whole other story. Some hero he is. He’s never been as brutal in a fight as he was today, and the way he didn’t feel a thing, how easy it was for the ugly and dark and depressed to control his weapons… it scares him. 

That’s all he is. Afraid. Is this really who he is without anyone by his side? Maybe it was a good thing he was cast out of his original time. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near you. You’re too good for human trash that drinks until he can’t straighten out his thoughts anymore and revels in inflicting pain. Monsters don’t deserve kindness like yours, after all. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦊 Mysta Rias

There is logic in everything. Everything happens for a reason; every action has an equal and opposite reaction; energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. This is what the detective Mysta Rias knows. 

But people don’t just disappear like that. The city he finds himself in is tall and sweeping just like his home, but the lights are brighter and the people are stranger. He catches the year 2022 on a billboard advertisement and balks. This is what the detective Mysta Rias doesn’t know, and he’d admit he doesn’t know in a snap. There’s simply no reasonable way he sprung over sixty years in the future just like that. 

It’s been a while since he was transported into the future with no warning. After week two, he resigned himself to living long-term in the twenty-first century. About a month in, he started a private investigation service to scrounge up money and make sure his deductive abilities stayed sharp. He met some lovely people, but at the end of the day, this isn’t his time. 

What goes up must come down, and what gets magically transported out of his intended timeline must return. You can’t toss an apple on Earth and expect it to float into space. Mysta acknowledges how silly it must be to apply physics to a time portal, but it’s the only thing he can cling onto. The Doctrine of Uniformity states the present is the key to the past, and surely the present must be the key to the future as well. 

During his first week in the future he already searched for his information when he was in his original time. His house was destroyed decades ago to make space for a school. The home phone went to a storefront in Glasgow. So he retraces the steps. Surely there needs to be a gap where the original homeowners sign off on a deal with new owners, and that’s where he can identify the whereabouts of him and his partner. 

Hours of research and calling later, either any mention of Mysta Rias and Reader were wiped off the face of the earth, or they were never on this earth in the first place. 

Mysta tries not to let it get to him. After all, even if the original hypothesis is inaccurate, it narrows down the possibilities. Just keep going. 

Staking out his old haunts proved to be fruitless as well. His favorite restaurant is gone, as expected, but so is the library downtown that his city insisted on preserving for decades. 

Later that evening Mysta grabs a cocktail glass of orange juice, pours vodka into the glass, and places the screwdriver on the coaster of his desk as he looks deeper into the people of this world. Clearly there’s no records of Mysta Rias nor the person he spent his life with, but he recognizes the Queen of England even in her old age, and Paddington Bear is still a thing, so surely there must be other similarities between his UK and the one he landed in. 

The first thing he searches for is his mother’s name, and he’s not exactly surprised when no search results come up. His associates are nowhere to be found either. The closest he gets to finding one of his old friends is an online obituary for someone he doesn’t recognize and an archive of a newspaper comic strip. 

Your family is nowhere to be seen either. A few awkward calls later, he’s confirmed the phone numbers of family and friends as well as his old detective agency are being used by completely different people. He wishes he had some kind of photo from the past. While browsing around online he learned about reverse image searching. Maybe he could see if there were any social media posts or timeless landscapes that could trace back to his origin. Being able to see your face would be a good motivation too. 

Mysta pauses. Man, he misses your face. He’s been so focused on getting back to the right time that he hasn’t even acknowledged the pit of loneliness he’s been fighting off. Emotion makes reason messy, after all. The screwdriver isn’t helping either. If only Reader was here, he muses. They always watch over me when I’m drinking. Fuck, his head’s spinning. How much vodka is in this thing? He’s poured another glass, at least one more, his recollections are getting blurry. 

He blinks out of his thoughts before they can begin to spiral. Even if he didn’t measure out proper shots there’s no way he’s getting drunk on a screwdriver, and during a work night no less. 

The detective hones in on his legal pad and the scrawl of notes on it. He crosses out another failed method. There has to be something out there that can explain it. He chants it under his breath, because after all, he’s a detective. What is a detective without his reasoning?

Whenever he’s struggling on a case, it always helps to have fresh eyes look over his thought process. It’s always you. But he’s alone now without his partner, and he fears he’s working himself into a rut. Ugh, who is he kidding. He begrudgingly drains the rest of the screwdriver. The rut’s already here, and it always has been. The drink’s making it worse but it’s about time he acknowledges it. 

He’s sick of this feeling, so isolated out from everything he knows and the future that’s left him behind, and it’s almost like he can hear your voice melting into the silence of his bleak office. But the words that you’d say evade him. You’re irreplaceable even in his imagination, and it mocks him. His focus has abandoned him, and he’s been spiraling for a while now, it’s just that his mask is starting to crumple now, and he’s already starting to regret letting it slip.

“There has to be something,” he utters, and his voice is already lifting from the alcohol. It’s high and pathetic. Mysta slaps his hands over his face and lets them drag down, as if that would fix everything, and picks up his pencil again. “There has to be a reason.”

The pencil doesn’t move. Mysta repeats himself, reason is a mantra he’s lived by, but doubt drowns him. There’s no reason in time travel, after all, but he says it again, expecting something to change. He’s running out of platitudes. But he clings to it, clings to reason, because without it he’s nothing, and stripped of his home and love, it’s all he has left. Denial of absurdity is the only thing he can do. He can’t afford to wrap his head around it, because that means he accepts this nonsensical problem, so he lives without believing it at all. 

He pours himself vodka without juice and drinks. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

The Yamino household was no stranger to holding the supernatural within itself. For as long as Shu can remember, there’s always been scrolls hung up on the walls in thumbtacks rather than frames for easy access, rows of herbs left out to dry for spellcraft, even the living room regularly had its furniture pushed to the side to make space for a magic circle.

That was what made morphing his own home into a witch’s hut a smoother transition than he expected from the apartment unit he shared with you. The glamour made it easier to work, and besides, looking at your favorite things and the home you created together hurt too much. Either way, you were going to come back. There wasn’t a single question about it. 

Shu drags a clump of chalk along the stony floor. The outline of the circle is already complete, featuring countless shapes crafted for the exact target, and all that was left to do was to etch runes into it. The chalk digs into the floor with intention. 

“It’s going to work.” He rubs a stray line of chalk away, and checks his handiwork. The angular shapes inside of the circle are in position for a standard summoning. Runes form coordinates along the outline. 

He doesn’t even let himself feel proud for the summoning circle before he dashes off into your room. Moments later he returns with three items: your favorite accessory, your hairbrush, and a framed picture. 

There are three winding spirals drawn equal distances apart from one another in the circle. He gently placed your accessory in the center of one, before pulling out a strand of hair from your brush and into the second spiral. One represents sentimental attachments, and the other is something physical for the forces that be to identify a target.

Shu takes great care as he removes the backing of the frame and turns the photo in his hand. He sees himself first. He’s barely holding a giant teddy bear in his arms, and the plush head poked his face, threatening to make the sunglasses on the top of his head fall. On his other side, his beloved partner held the phone in one hand and his shoulder in the other. You timed the phone to take a picture just in time as you pecked his cheek and the beginnings of his blush started to set in. When you printed out the picture, you insisted on captioning it with a thin marker. “5/11/2022: Went to an amusement park and Shu won me a bear. He got a prize too!”

The memory is warm but Shu’s face is still grim. He sets the picture down on the final spiral. Any sorcerer worth their salt knows that you reap what you sow and miracles don’t come from thin air, and if you want that miracle, you’d better be willing to sacrifice something with emotional value. 

The picture captured his surprise and your affection from that day, and stares up at him as he stands. It’s been weeks since you were cast out of this reality. Even as a practitioner of the occult, Shu had no idea where the spontaneous portal came from, but it stole you away in front of his eyes. He was lucky he had the instinct to cast identification spells just as soon as you disappeared. They classified the portal as a time travel rift, and allowed him to reverse-engineer a summoning circle to locate and retrieve you. That picture, one of the most recent, was one of his favorites. It marked a shift in his relationship to you that was a long time coming, which is why it was so treasured. He would miss it, but, well, miracles aren’t cheap. He’d make new memories soon when you’re back in his arms in the timeline you’re meant to be in.

Shu lights a stick of incense, and rising smoke couples with the scent of jasmine and palo santo. He allows it to trail around the witch’s hut glamour and cleanse the room, a clean slate for his sorcery. Curses are his specialty, but he’s no stranger to ritual casting. He steps into the circle, and begins his incantation.

Shu’s flames alight after the first verse, a series of commands and words crafted carefully in accordance with the mystical. Shikigami circle around him as he gets to the second,  manifestation of his ability. The room feels like it’s floating. Static prickles in the air as it warps, the smoke mixing with the buzz, and for a moment the glamour blurs. It’s the spirit of the circle shifting the world around it as it was programmed to do.

The chalk along the floor brightens, shining luminescent with his words in white to lavender to bright, burning violet. A bead of sweat dribbles down Shu’s neck. It’s getting harder to breathe. If the world intends on taking Reader away from me, he thinks, then I’ll shred the very fabric of space-time itself to bring them back.

His fury is quiet, but concealed under how the air compresses around him. It’s a strange sensation, and if the Yamino name didn’t have generations of magic practitioners before him, the way that the atmosphere around him morphs would take him by surprise and ruin his ritual. 

Shu remains steadfast, though, and holds his breath through gritted teeth as the oxygen itself fights to separate itself from the circle. Even his flames flicker at the absence of fuel, and the heat transfers from the halo around his head and into his lungs as the air pressure increases tenfold, and tenfold of that. 

The third verse of the incantation is a fight to speak clearly, especially as the movements require him to fight hard against the resistance of literally rending space-time apart in his living room. For a moment he thinks of Atlas, the titan sentenced to hold the world itself. Then he tells himself to get off his high horse, fight the urge to let go of his breath, and finishes the verse half-ready to choke.

As he does the circle of chalk bursts into flames that lap at his feet, now floating in midair, and he doesn’t need a mirror to know the fire spouting from his body resembles pillars more than anything. Doesn’t matter. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open, but he swears there’s a crack levitating in nothing right in front of him. The fire around him pulses away from the crack and the air gets even tighter, teasing him with the vacuity of the universe he provoked.

The sorcerer thinks of the final verse less of words and more of sounds, anything to make it seem less like all the world’s weight is suffocating him. The crack in space is real. It stares at him unblinkingly.

Even when his eyes are open he’s seeing double, even in the silence he can’t hear himself utter the incantation. His chest is screaming and burning, a red-hot sensation unfamiliar to his purple heat, like claws raking through his lungs and threatening to shred him into ribbons from the inside. The pressure is too much to bear. 

The body is practically frozen in place as the vast emptiness of the crack slowly widens into a hole- a portal- and absorbs all the life from the room, and constricts him to where he stands. The claws inside start to pry and drag along his organs running dry without oxygen, and it’s a completely different sensation than incineration, it’s dead and deep, and slow. Shu’s eyes widen and strain, before blinking once, twice, and feeling the world turn upside down as everything goes black. He faints.

The sorcerer gasps alive minutes later, before entering a sharp coughing fit. The burning in his lungs has subsided, but the coughs are raspy and gritty. 

Shu clutches a hand over his heart as the memories of the ritual flood back, some areas spottier than others. The last thing he remembers is the way that the portal widened and the watercolor webbing inside of it, freckled starlight between the pure pitch, and clouds of color dyeing the fabric of space-time.

He rolls over weakly. He doesn’t have the energy to stand up. Instead he drags a tired hand over the remains of the magic circle, now a smoldering drawing in the center of his living room. Looks like the witch’s hut glamor faded. Not only that, but the chalk has turned to residual ash, easily brushed away by his fingers.

He inspects the rest of his surroundings as best as he can in his faint bleariness. The incense has gone out long ago, the room is in utter disarray, and barely a speck of dust is left on the spirals where his components were spent. They’re gone.

Shu tries to call your name but before he can get a sound out he’s already choking on his words. He fights to stand upright and clear his throat. He doesn’t know why he tried calling out to you. He should’ve known it was a failure. It’s just that he’s gone so long without you, without answers, without a single successful summoning, but this was the first time he saw the crack in space. 

Something’s going right. His body feels like it got caught in a land mine, but he’s on the warpath now, and he’s got his sights set on a new ritual draft, something that will certainly bring you back next time.

Shu hacks out a plume of ashy smoke and violet sparks. He’ll return to the drawing board soon, but he’s overexerted himself like nothing else. 

Despite how much his body feels like a crumpled ball of paper, he writhes to a pen and paper knocked to the ground from his ritual. He’ll summon you yet. Hopefully his next ritual won’t result in drowning on land, but he’s not too optimistic. He’s not going to stop until you’re back in his arms or his body gives out entirely, but he can’t kid himself forever. He’s going to burn himself out one day if he keeps this up, either metaphorically or literally. 

He writes down new observations from this ritual. It still doesn’t change a thing. He’s going to break himself if it means returning you to where you belong.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

�� Vox Akuma

The Voice Demon snaps awake with fire in his eyes and a growl from his throat. He’s been in stasis for what feels like eons but the memory of searing flames and cold wet blood and the razing of Akuma Castle is fresh. His heart aches. A look down and he identifies why: his red shirt is even redder along the center of his chest, and darkness blooms through the fabric in an unsightly stain. He stares underneath the fabric and sure enough, his torso is covered in slashes, though they fade in supernatural speed. This is demonic reincarnation, as expected, the same mind in a new body, the old transfiguring into the new. His blood boils as he watches the lesser lacerations fade into pale skin. The clotted blood reforms, places itself into his open wound, and the skin reseals itself. A fresh patch, an untouched body, a man seemingly unharmed.

It’s nothing compared to the first man fallen in his clan. Shot dead in the temple, an arrow protruding from his brain, pink and red staining the other end of the arrowhead. The young scholar that took up a bow to defend in the castle’s time of need, only for a catapult to sling a boulder directly to their perch, and send them falling to their demise. A woman, well-known by her Kindred for being a second mother to all, and how she went up in flames when the opposing army set fire to her refuge shelter.

Vox was no stranger to combat, and no coward that would allow his clan to fall for his sake while he stood by. He took to the battlefield, sword in hand, accompanied by his most trusted advisor and most capable warrior. 

“Be safe,” was all you said before you armed yourself with your treasured naginata, grabbed him for a life-or-death kiss, and launched into the fray beside your lord. 

You worked in tandem with Lord Akuma. His sword slid bodies for you to stab through, confirming they would never rise again. But you were only two of 522, and Tokugawa’s troops made short work of the defenseless, the inexperienced, the unprepared.

Blood pooled along your naginata blade, but when you could catch a glimpse of the metal, it reflected the burning of Akuma Castle behind you. You dodged one blade and blocked another, then skewered the man for his sloppy mistake. 

Vox fought his own battles, now, as the shogun commanded his troops to target the lord of the castle. His sword caught on the bone of a soldier before slicing another. He snapped his wrist, shaking the two off his weapon, before raising it into a defensive position in time with another attacker.

You spun the naginata in your hands and fell back to reposition. The maneuver forced your enemies to approach, just in time for you to attack first. They dwindled in number. You were no longer the priority. You held your own against another warrior, decorated in medals and a wakizashi in their hands, more seasoned than the last unit you fought against. 

The duel was a mind game, littered with fake-outs and feints, neither you or the warrior landing a blow. Their movements were calculated, without an obvious weakness, so you focused on observation. Their slashes were quick and left little room for a counterattack. They stayed in your face so your naginata can’t outrange them. They were mobile, moving low and high, their body contorting unpredictably against the backdrop of your burning home and-

And Lord Vox…!

You screamed his name. One of the bodies, one you recognized, still moving. Bloodied, barely alive, but quiet, behind your lord, raising his blade.

“Behind you! VOX!” You cried out so loud your throat went hoarse, only for blood to pour out of your mouth.

In your attempt to warn your lord, the warrior noticed an opening, and drove their wakizashi through your neck.

Vox spun on his heel at your command and drove his sword clean through the ambusher, only to watch as you fell to the mud. “Reader!”

He howled as a knife drove through his arm, the first good hit against him. You didn’t move. Another katana next. The gash on his leg disabled his movement. The fire against his blade flashed. Your body laid in a pool of your own blood. Tokugawa stood before him and pulled his own weapon back, aiming for the heart. You were dead, and he was no fool, but the sword plunged forward…

Vox stands. The ground below him, concrete. Across from him is a tiled wall and railroad tracks. He turns on his heel, fury in his eyes, ready to tear apart this subway station. “Woah, dude,” the man next to him says jokingly. His beard is turning gray and he’s covered in a worn winter jacket, and stays seated on the ground. 

“Piss off,” Vox snarls.

The man is as unbothered as ever, but seems concerned. “No thank you. Er, you good?”

“Good? Why, yes, I’m the very picture of ‘good’.” Vox lowers himself to the man’s eyes. He slams a fist against the wall, next to his head, as his words alight with poison and ember through gritted teeth. His voice burns demonic. “I said, get out of my sight like the vermin you are and PISS. OFF.”

The man’s face, once so calm and and sympathetic, forms into a visage of fear. He trembles like a deer in headlights before pushing Vox out of the way and bolting further into the subway. 

The subway platform Vox finds himself in is dismal and lonely. It’s dark, with some broken fluorescent lighting, and debris along the ground. The signs suggest the next train isn’t arriving anytime soon.

So Vox wracks his hands over his face, contorted in rage, and screams. When he runs out of breath he inhales and cries out again, ugliness crawling out of his throat, and when he closes his eyes he imagines the ugliness as blood, the splatters that coated your lips as you fell. The wakizashi sword through your neck. 

He can’t form words, but the heartbreak is primal. It echoes through the empty station, and when his voice shatters into a sob the acoustics remind him of his mourning. His broken heart tightens, tries to reform itself around the blood of his chest, and only gives him palpitations that lodge in his chest. 

Panic becomes him. What else could he be? Vox’s legacy is besmirched, his subjects slain, and most brutal of all, his greatest love gave their life to warn him in futility. He heeded their advice but- but the shaking in his heart, it’s so stifling, he can’t think straight, he needs to sit down- but he was useless to do the one thing you requested, to be safe. Now here he is, another casualty right after you fell, without the grace to even stay a dead lord. In another world, with another chance at life, and the first thing he does is spiral. How pathetic of Lord Akuma. Utterly disgusting. Even after his demonic blood gave him another chance, he’s spending it bawling like a baby, crumpled on the ground of a grungy subway station, his breath so shallow he feels like he’s about to die again. 

Misery. He’s too afraid to take in the world around him without the comfort of you, so his hands tangle into his hair and against his tears. Rebirth is nothing to an infernal, but today, the very picture of grief, the Voice Demon has been defeated for the first time in his immortal life.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

[bullet-prooflove]

Killing Me Softly Part Three: Share the Wealth - Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @ritasantosworld @bl4ckt00thgr1n @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond  @the-wandering-lunatic @lexondeck @keyweegirlie  @theplacewhereallthedemonsgo

Killing Me Softly Series:

Part One: Livid - You and Tig are at an impasse.

Part Two: A Stay of Execution - You and Tig talk.

It’s over a month later that Jax approaches Tig. He’s sitting at the bar in the clubhouse, sipping from a beer as he reviews the latest figures from Cara Cara. Website traffic is through the roof, subscribers just keep rolling in, the business is going from strength to strength. It’s one of the best investments he’s ever made, he may only own a quarter of the business, but he is making bank and the best part of all it’s totally legit.

Jax slides into the stool alongside of him, a cigarette hanging between his lips as Tig pushes the paper towards him so he can study the documentation. They each get one at the end of every month, but Jax hasn’t had the time to read through his copy. He takes a drag from his cigarette, the smoke pluming from his mouth before he nods his approval.

“Your girl knows what she’s doing.” He says as he reaches out for the ashtray further down the bar. His fingers hook it, and he drags it towards him before tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette into it.

“Yea my girl knows her shit.” Tig tells him, removing his own cigarette from the packet beside his beer. Jax removes his lighter, igniting the flame as Tig puts it between his lips. He lights the cigarette before returning it to the interior pocket of his cut. “You take it to table, and it validates everything we were saying when Clay tried to kill the deal the first time. He gave her three months to turn it around and she has.”

There are four equal share partners in Cara Cara. You, Tig, Jax and the Sons.

When the studio had first burned down, Clay had been dead set on cutting ties. He didn’t want the club to be involved with the rebuild, it was a dead business he had stated, there wasn’t enough money in pussy. He’d wanted the club to focus on the gun trade, the higher risk, the higher pay off he’d declared. The problem was most of them had just done a fourteen-month bid in Stockton for gun running, and no one wanted a repeat performance. The porn business afforded the club some legitimacy, it was a steady flow of income that built up the club’s reserves.

When you had inherited the business, you had played it smart, making a series of changes that had played better than any of them had expected. You’d gotten Juice to move the servers offsite, just in case. You set the girls working webcams in their down time, building stronger relationships with the subscribers and more consistent content. You’d taken the time to research other niches, making your categories more inclusive.

When the studio had gone up in flames it didn’t affect the websites, they were still up and running, still serving up premium content. You’d implemented a disaster plan in the early days of your tenure, and it had served you well.

During the physical rebuild, the girls worked the cameras from home, keeping the livestreaming side of the business going. You had built up a good enough relationship with Dondo that he was comfortable lending you his premises and equipment for a fair fee when he was off scouting talent out of state or wasn’t using certain sets. You had a couple of rough cuts you’d rescued the night of the fire, so Cara Cara kept producing.

Yourself, Tig and Jax had fronted the money for the rebuild of the premises, rendering virtually no additional cost to the club. Some of the guys had pitched in on the construction side of things, lowering some of the outgoings. It’s become a communal enterprise.

“This is going to going to keep us on the straight and narrow at least for a little while longer.” Jax tells Tig as he folds the paperwork and inserts it into the back pocket of his jeans. “No one can deny we’re making enough money to consider expanding in the future.”

Expansion. Tig wonders what that will look like in the future, he doesn’t tell Jax that you’re already meeting with Nero Padilla, looking into bigger and better business opportunities. He’s keeping his mouth shut until you’re ready to bring it to the MC.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Jax says, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a smoke circle. Tig, follows suit, he watching the ring disappear into the air as Jax continues. “Georgie Caruso, he’s complaining that your girl’s been fucking with him and his business.”

Tig stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray.

“That’s probably because she has been.” He tells his V.P frankly. “Luann was her friend; she feels like this thing with Georgie is disrespectful to her memory. She understands that the club needs him, but…” Tig shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t blame her for wanting a little payback.”

“Hm.” Jax nods his agreement before his gaze strays to through the open doors to where Clay is sitting at the head of the table. “It’s not the decision I would have made, but it’s the decision we’re stuck with until he outlives his usefulness.”

The two of them don’t mention the fact you shoved a gun in Georgie’s face and almost pulled the trigger. It’s not something that either of them wants Clay finding out about, it would really fuck up the shit they’re trying to do with turning the MC legit.

“She being safe with it?”

Tig considers the question.

“There’s no proof she called OSHA on him, just like there’s no proof she told his vendors he’s been haemorrhaging cash recently, so that they’d call in their accounts and deal with him on an upfront basis only.”

“Did OSHA shut him down?” Jax asked as Tig took a swig of beer.

The porn business was highly regulated, just like any other workplace. If you cut corners, they would come down on you like a ton of bricks, close down your studio, slap you with fines. Failing their inspection could literally kill a small business.

“Georgie’s a bit of a dirty boy.” Tig informed Jax. “He doesn’t wipe down his sets, thinks it’s too costly between takes. I heard they also found a couple of pharmaceuticals. He has thirty days to turn his shit around, in the meantime his girls are defecting to more upmarket establishments.”

“Cara Cara. It gives us more diversity, bigger names, better revenue.” Jax smiles as he shakes his head. “Your old lady, she’s fucking terrifying.”

“I wouldn’t fuck with her.” Tig tells him resolutely. “She’s got bigger balls than most the guys in here.”

“No doubt.” Jax agrees before jerking his head towards the table where Clay sits as the figurehead. “You ready to take this shit to Church, give them the good news about their investment?”

“You know me brother.” Tig says, draining the dregs of his beer. “I’m all about sharing the wealth.”

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