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rinhaler · 10 months

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DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

m.list | chapter two

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annieqattheperipheral · 2 months

Text

HER STORY IS INCREDIBLE EVERYONE SIT DOWN AND LEARN FROM THIS QUEEN ⤵️

Kiana Scott, who played minor hockey system for 11 seasons, including four seasons on boys teams, gravitated to scouting from watching her brother’s games and critiquing his strengths and weaknesses.

Unaware of jobs available in hockey, she enrolled in makeup artistry college after high school, but knew her heart was in the sport.

She eventually enrolled in an online hockey general manager scouting course.

Scott joined the International Scouting Service Hockey mentorship program in 2018 and scouted for the service for two years while holding down two jobs.

“I love scouting future prospects, and the evaluation process,” she said. “I think that's kind of where my passion lies. It's just the evaluation process. And it's exciting, building a team.”

Scott spent two seasons as a full-time scout for Erie before she took a bold step and left the organization to move to Calgary and became an independent scout in June 2022.

“I just kept practicing my craft and kind of paid my own way, like, throughout the whole year,” she said. “All of the tickets to every game, all of my travel expenses, everything. I just put all my money into scouting and trying to evolve and then I ended up getting my (Avalanche) internship the next year.”

Scott had some financial help from her family for the move and she supplemented her income by working as a bartender at a Calgary casino, a job with hours that allowed her to scout games.

If all that wasn’t enough, she also enrolled in the University of Florida’s online sports management program.

“I've always had the mindset to just keep betting on myself and working hard and evolving,” she said. “I think I've taken a lot of risks to get to where I am, but I wouldn't try to change the journey for anything.”

Scott said she hopes women, women of color and people who don’t come from a so-called “traditional” hockey background will follow her on the journey.

“I grew up playing hockey, but I didn’t play professional hockey, I didn’t go to college or university for hockey,” she said. “I just had a passion for it. I love scouting. I worked at it, and I continue working at my craft.

“People that don’t necessarily come from the traditional background, I hope they see themselves in me and believe that they can put their minds to it and get it done.”

-----

The 2024 NHL Draft was as eventful for Kiana Scott as it was for the players who were selected in the seven-round event at Sphere in Las Vegas last month.

The 25-year-old Barrie, Ontario, native signed with the Colorado Avalanche at the draft to become a full-time amateur scout, fulfilling a goal she has had since she was a teenager.

“This is something that I've worked really hard for my whole career to be able to sign my first NHL contract,” Scott said. “I was elated. The Avs have been really good for me the past year, and I’m excited to keep building with them.”

Scott joined the Avalanche after working as an intern for the organization.

Colorado general manager Chris MacFarland said he and executive director of hockey operations Suzanne Borchert “were impressed with her work ethic and her passion."

MacFarland said: “Kiana was on our radar when she was scouting in major junior circuits ... and it worked that a few years ago we had an internship opportunity for her.

“She did a good job in that role and was an integral part of our amateur scouting department. We’re excited to see her contributions moving forward in her full-time role as an amateur scout.”

-----

Scott made history when she became the first woman scout in the Ontario Hockey League with Erie in March 2020.

She was among the initial of a wave of women who were hired in recent years as scouts at all levels of hockey, including Cammi Granato (Seattle Kraken), Blake Bolden (Los Angeles Kings), Krissy Wendell-Pohl (Pittsburgh Penguins), Meghan Hunter (Chicago Blackhawks), Gabriella Switaj (Anaheim Ducks) and Brigette Lacquette (Chicago Blackhawks).

Granato moved on from Seattle to become an assistant general manager for the Vancouver Canucks on Feb. 10, 2022, and Hunter was promoted to assistant GM by the Blackhawks on June 22, 2022.

“When I first started scouting, I didn’t know of any women in the industry already,” she said. “Cammi Granato got her job with the NHL a year after I started scouting. That’s when I kind of knew it was possible. But I never had anyone to look up to. I just had this dream and the passion for hockey. I knew that I had to the talent and skill to do it, and to try to keep building on them.

"That’s what I’ve always gone off on -- keep evolving, never give up on what you love.”

#kiana scott #colorado avalanche #nhl #erie otters #ohl #hockeyblr #women in hockey #diversity in hockey #minorities in hockey

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ukranianacearo · 6 months

Text

"Mother", a strong word

Part 2 Part 3

F!reader

Word count: almost 4k

Mention of Innocent zero's real name.

Tw: Mentions of starvation, enslavement (like what Russian empire did to Ukrainians back in 18-19th centuries), mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of birth, harrasing, and attempts at SA and I think that's all. Please, do inform me if you see more.

Pairing: romantically there's none, but reader has to marry Innocent zero.

Genre(?): angst.

Tags: @aiscreamcake (I thought you would be interested)

Author's note: This has been rotting in my brain for over a week and @fellow-anime-weeb927 post only strengthened this lol. Sorry for any mistakes, I didn't recheck it before posting and English isn't my first language. More under cut.

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Escaping the empire would be dangerous and risky. But even death would be better than what you had to endure. Your nation has been occupied and enslaved by another nation for centuries already, poisoning your people's minds, destroying your culture and language and killing those who were against the system. You weren't a person. At least wasn't considered one. Your lord, the one who owned your family, was a cruel man. Not only towards you and your family, but even to his own kids and his ill wife. When times got tough even for him, you were only 5. His wife's condition worsened, she got bedridden; there even was talks about her possible death. It was the first time he tried forcing himself on you. Fortunately for you, you escaped. Times got worse with the arrival of international market. Selling got worse and so did your family's condition. Your lord paid less and less, to the point where your family starved for days, sometimes even weeks. The first to die was your youngest brother; he was only 3 years old when he died of starvation, you were 6. Two months later, your mother died. The same cause, the same ground buried her. There has started to run rumors about the lord marrying you, since his wife will die soon and he had kids to take care of. Your father had no say in it, after all, you and your family are nothing more, but his property.

You were 7, your oldest brother died at the age of 17. He too, died of starvation. After a few months, your last brother died, at the age of 16. You and your father were devastated, but you only could bury your brother next to your other two brother and your mother. One of the days, you heard your lord talking with his friends about some ships taking people to another land, to another country. But, it was really risky, you could die from any cause there; not that it mattered to you, you could never even imagine having the money to buy tickets for you and your father. So you just continued working. A year passed, then another and now you're 9. One of the evenings, your father didn't come back and you started worrying. You had nowhere to go and seek him, but the lord's house. When you arrived at the door of the house, it was open and you could see your father and the lord talking about something. While trying to focus on what they were saying, you leaned slightly against the door, making sure it didn't move nor made any sound. It was muffled, but you could understand that they were discussing your marriage with the lord. Your father tried to reason that you were just too young for the lord, you only 9, after all. But the lord didn't care.

That day, you lost your father and killed your lord. That day was also the second time your lord trying to force himself on you.

You buried your father next to the graves of your family members the best you could. It was the middle of the night and lord's kids were sleeping in their respective homes, since most of them were old enough to have it. Not caring about lord's dead corpse laying on the floor of his house, you took the money there was; you didn't know how much a ticket to the other country would cost, but even if you had more than needed, it was better to have more than less.

...

The travel wasn't pleasant at all, but you finally was here. Most people at the port called it The Magic Empire. You didn't know if it was because there was actually magic and people could use it without being punished or if it was because people's dreams and wishes would be satisfied. Noticing that many people had some lines on their faces, you didn't want to stick out so you decided to use your necklace. Clenching it in your hand you increased the zone affected by it. Feeling their magic power being stored in the necklace, you changed the course and way of the magic in the necklace to create an illusion of a mark similar to the people around you. As you put the hood of medieval cloak on your head, you start going in the city; the cloak covering your figure completely, hiding the broken clothes you wore; a pair of pants and a T-shirt.

...

In the past 5 months you lived in the Magic Realm, as people from here called it. You were fortunate enough to know the language that people speak here, since you learned it from a dictionary someone threw out while you were still living in your home country. But, life was still challenging, of course. Although, 'challenging' would be an underrating. This realm worked such as higher your magic power - higher your status. So, you had to lie, to live a lie; you didn't have your own magic, you only could use or manipulate magic that you 'stole' with the necklaces. If you stole it by defeating a person, that person's magic was copied by one of the necklaces, and if you 'stole' it by just increasing the area that was under the necklaces' cancellation of magic, you could use a person's magic for as long as they were in the area + a certain amount of time after they were out. In these past month you have worked as anything you could: cleaning people's shoes, selling newspaper, running errands for people, etc... You did your best and most of the errands were done perfectly, and your employers were satisfied with your work, paying you a bonus every now and then. You tried to save as much as possible while still eating something at least once a day. Your plan was to go to a middle magic school, but to do so you would need to deceive many people and even the government, so that they could think that you had actually alive parents, at least. For that, you would need to defeat someone who possessed a mind controlling power and you only had three years to do so: that's when middle school start.

...

It was easier than you thought. That boy really thought he could use you as a punching bag, but ironically, he was the one laying on the cold and dusty ground. Now, you're one step closer to succeeding.

...

This mind controlling magic was actually something. You carefully created a well written story for your play, the realm your stage and everyone the audience. The school you wanted to go accepted you, just like you planned. And thus, the played started.

...

No one has suspected a thing. Which feels kind of weird. But you decide to continue the show, there's nothing else to do.

...

The middle school was good, it had bedrooms for every pair of students, a kitchen and many more things. Just a perfect entrance of a grand show.

...

Few years past by, and it's time to decide the academy where you'll go. There were three options, the ones that will appreciate the show. Easton Magic Academy, Walkis Magic Academy and Saint Ars Holy Magic Academy; in Saint Ars, rules are most important thing and rule breakers are punished harshly. Definitely not for you: you would be considered a criminal at this point. Walkis focused only on strength which is also not the best, tho this academy produced the most divine visionaries at this point. So, you're left with Easton Magic academy.

...

The entrance exam was pretty easy. After that you were assigned to the Orca dorm. Not bad. You can work with this.

...

Eyes. No matter where you went, they followed you, like the hunting past. Were you in class, in the kitchen, training or even in the deep past, you remember eyes following you like a predator. When you were in middle magic academy, you didn't have time to ponder about it at all. Nor when you were doing errands for someone to earn extra money. Sometimes, when you tried to look at the one who was the person with such intense curiosity, you only saw white hair of a passerby, who you guessed was your classmate. Trying to follow that person was impossible, it's like they disappeared the moment you approached the place where magic lingered the most. It haunted you. You had a guess who it was, but with no evidence, you could do nothing, but try to be careful around that person. Cyril Marcus. He was the only one who had those long white locks. And his magic... Rather he used basic spells or his personal time magic or even if he didn't use any at all, you could always sense that difference between his magic and the magic of other people. When a person's potential is great in terms of magic, you can sense their magic differently. But this scared you very much. Even if you knew that your necklaces worked on him as well, you were scared. Better treat a gun as a loaded gun and not as a non loaded one. He seemed much eager to fight against you in the tournament for divine visionaries' candidates.

...

Your fight against him just ended. You won. After all, he was nothing without his magic. But, in your opinion, he was more testing you than fighting you. Right now, it was break time before continuing with the tournament. As you sat on one of the couches in the room, you clenched the necklace in your hand. The other three core necklaces were still deep inside your skin, in the same spot, even after all these years. The square body of the necklaces had some difficult artistic style. You still couldn't figure out which one exactly, but it resembled the baroque style very much. The black hook that was on one of the edges of every body wasn't as delicate as it seemed, just like the black chain that went through it, embracing your neck loosely.

-"You seemed so brave out there, but look at you now." - You snapped your head towards him, the look of shock on your face making him chuckle. His mocking tone didn't help, as it made you more uncomfortable. But you were used to the feeling, so you didn't let it show just like always. - "Don't look at me like that, it makes me think that you didn't expect me." - Deciding to play safe you calmed down your expression to a neutral one and let go of the necklace.

- "What do you want?" - There was no need for chit chat, especially between you two. You two weren't on bad terms exactly, but you weren't friends either. Still, your suspicion about him being the person who stalks you was present on your mind.

- "You're so straightforward, as always."

- "It's better to save the time and energy used to talk about nothing." - As you crossed you arms across your chest while Cyril smiled in that typical sly smile, although to you, it looked more like a smirk.

- "This...show that you play in front of everyone is quite the spectacle. I must admit, it took me a while to see the truth."

- "What are you talking about?" - In this type of situations it's better to play dumb. You couldn't afford for the show to end just yet. It would be a fiasco. Anyway, how did he figure it out? Has he been stalking you for so long just because of that? You made sure he couldn't see your thoughts on your face.

- "Don't play dumb. We both know what I'm talking about. At first I thought you were just a 'Disgraceful Mage', just to find out later that you are magicless. I must admit, your cover is good enough to make me think about you and your magic for quite the years. This fight in particular has confirmed my suspicion. Your necklace isn't just an accessory, am I right?" - His words froze you as he pointed at your necklace. The situation got to the point where you couldn't just deny your way out.

- "It would have been better if you continued thinking that I was a 'Disgraceful Mage'..." - You mumbled, making Cyril look at you with a curious smirk. - "What do you want from me? You wouldn't be here just to talk with me, would you?" - You tried to stay calm, but it was the first time someone saw past your costume. Instead of the character in the play, he saw the actor. You already realized why he was going in circles while fighting. He was out of the zone affected by the necklace, so he still could see magic power. Truly, that potential you saw in him would be enough to end your show.

- "Don't worry that much, I wouldn't want for the show to end just yet. After all, you could call me the most loyal fan of your spectacle. Who else would sit and watch it, while seeing your true form and not the character's?" - It was as is he read your thoughts with magic, although it was impossible, your necklace still worked around you. - "I don't mind your magicless nature, but what about others?" - He slowly walked closer and sat on the couch in front of you - "I'm sure you know they wouldn't accept you if they knew, otherwise you wouldn't be putting this good of a performance. How convenient that I have just the offer for you, wouldn't you say so? You see, I plan on becoming the perfect human, but for that I need to find more knowledge and strong allies."

- "What do I have to do with all of that?" - The palms of your hands have started sweating, but you still somehow managed to act calm enough. Hearing your words, Cyril smirked slyly and put his leg on the other.

- "We both know that magic users tend to rely very much on magic - myself included - and you're someone who shifts their situation a lot with just a lift of your hand. Or even without it. As years went on, you taught yourself to manipulate that necklace very well. When the time will come, I want you to join my association and plan. Of course, I, on my end, will make sure the government won't get you." - It was tempting, but the actor can't just disappear from the stage, it wouldn't be fair. You clenched your left wrist with your hand as you looked at him a bit troubled, trying to stay calm. Seeing your hesitation, Cyril chucked. - "Don't worry. I will give you time to think about it. But when I'll come for an answer, I hope you'll have it." - He said as he got up, walking towards the door in his usual slow and elegant way. You wanted to answer, say at least something. But it felt as if the words got stuck in your throat, sinking in your stomach, leaving you alone with your thoughts haunting you, trying to come up with something, anything. - "So long, dear actress." - He left the room as the voice of a commentator announced the break time over. You were left alone, looking at the floor while your thoughts got to you. How could you afford such a mistake? Your performance was supposed to be perfect, without even the slightest flaw. Clenching the necklace you tried not to let emotions get the best of you. Even if there was a break between the acts, the actor shouldn't forgot that they're an actor. People are supposed to only see the character that they portrait, not the person behind it. One person in the audience saw the actor as they are, but that shouldn't matter. Especially when the person continues to watch the show peacefully.

...

- "Tell me, Cell war," - You started while watching your 'son' in the tank, or better say, in an incubator. Cell war, who was a creation of Innocent zero, turned to look at you patiently, waiting for you to continue. In the past years, Cyril Innocent zero really weird choice of name got to know that for achieving his goal to become "The Perfect Human", he needed six hearts of blood related family. That's how you got to this scene of the show. The audience changed, but the actor and that one specific person stayed the same people, probably. He mixed his DNA with your to create a life. You promised yourself that no matter what, your 'sons' won't live as bad or even worse than you; you would not allowe it as long as you breathe. - "How do you feel about his plan?"

- "If it's something 'father' wants, then it should be done."

...

- "You shouldn't be up this late." - You said in a scolding voice while standing behind the four young boys that stood outside your bedroom door.

- "Mother!" - They four said in unison, as they turned around to look at you. Fanim and Delisaster immediately went to hug you by your legs, since they didn't reach any higher yet, while Doom and Epidem stood by your sides taking your hands in theirs. They all seemed very exited and happy to see you again.

- "We wanted to see you the day you came back from this mission, so we stayed up." - Doom explained in a shy manner. You patted their heads as you hummed, giving a sign of acknowledgement.

- "That's very sweet of you, boys. But you shouldn't lose sleep just because of me. Sleep is fundamental for your health." - You answered in a caring voice, you truly couldn't be angry at them for long. Hearing your words, they looked between each other and then all looked at you.

- "But, mother is also very important for our health." - Delisaster started.

- "You train and play with us." - Doom continued.

- "You don't get angry at us for the slightest mistake and explain everything that we ask you to." - then Fanim continued.

- "And you give us all kinds of sweets." - Epidem finished. You were shocked. All of them were still so young, but understood so much. It wasn't uncommon in your experience, many kids you knew from the streets when you were younger had to grow up too soon - yourself included. But these four boys didn't live that life. Your best guess was that they were so aware of everything because of Innocent zero, their father. You smiled softly at them as you hugged them all.

- "What would I do without you guys, hm?" - They basked in your attention. - "But you gotta go to sleep now, it's already late." - Hearing that they whined in unison, but obeyed and you guided them to their rooms.

...

- "Did you see mother?" - Delisaster asked Doom, as the later was sharpening his sword. The former couldn't find you for a while now and he really wanted to show you one his new tricks with his pole arms.

- "Did you not know yet? She fell into a coma." - Doom tried to act as calm as possible, but in reality he was devastated. The fact that you just fainted out of nowhere wasn't positive at all, especially for the sons. There was no logical explanation for this and no one could figure it out. The ones who were probably affected the least were Domina and Mash, who were still too young to understand it. The room fell into silence's embrace as Delisaster tried to process the devastating information he just learned.

...

- "Domina, you should be useful. That's what mother and I would want. You understand, right?" - His sly tone of voice echoed in the small dark room that could barely be called a bedroom. He stood in front of Domina, looking at the small boy from his height. - "We must do it so that mother can wake up. Do you want her to wake up? Domina."

- "Yes, father." - The small boy looked pitiful. His pink-ish hair was cut just above his shoulders with bangs covering his eyebrows. He was just around 5 years old, yet he seemed as if he didn't eat enough. Domina's was determined to do anything to help his mother regain consciousness and make his father proud. What he didn't understand was that, he shouldn't be the one to fight for it.

...

- "I see you still don't understand, Mash Burndead. If you continue to fight against it, mother won't wake up." - Doom said as he blocked one of Mash's punches.

- "I don't know that mother much, but I'm sure that destroying the world won't help wake her up." - Mash answered in a usual monotone voice as he punched Doom in the abdomen.

...

- "Who is she?" - asked a tall man with white hair and a big sword at his hip.

- "She was retrieved from the castle. Supposedly Innocent zero mixted his DNA with hers to create the six sons. Her name is [Y/N] [L/N]. She studied in Easton Magic Academy back in the days alongside me and Innocent zero. Was reported missing by some acquaintances after graduation. Later on was discovered that she lied to the government, a lot." - Another tall and old man with grey hair answered.

- "So she's also Mash's biological mother... I wonder why she joined Innocent zero in his plan." - The tall man with the sword murmured.

- "I'm sure Innocent zero had some cards in his sleeves to play to manipulate her. She wouldn't go for such length just because of someone else's desires. Especially Innocent zero's, she couldn't care less about the man."

- "Maybe she was in love with him." - The tall man with the sword suggested turning his head slightly to look at the old man. Right after the man finished his sentence, the old one started laughing; when he finished laughing he sighed and started talking.

- "That's impossible, Kaldo. Not even love potions could make her feel something so deep. She herself said that she was unable to feel such love since birth; her brain lacked in that part. I guess she had a secret that the world shouldn't know and Innocent zero knew it."

- "Like what?" - the curiosity got the better out of the man with the sword.

- "Hmm, I don't know. We should ask her after she wakes up. For now, call Mash; I wanna talk with him." - The man with the sword bowed and walked out of the door, while the old man continued looking at the woman in the nurse bed. - "Mother, such a strong word, huh..."

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And that's it :D I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. If you want to be added into the tag list, please comment.

#mashle x reader #mashle: magic and muscles #mashle #x reader #anime #anime x reader #kaldo gehenna #mashle kaldo #innocent zero #innocent zero x reader #mash #finn ames #rayne ames #lance crown #lemon irvine #dot barrett

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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 year

Text

The Sun Will Rise

Wake Up, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: sexual assault themes and descriptions, if non-con themes trigger you please do not read. other warnings: swearing, misogynistic language, violence

This chapter is very intense. I tried to keep the S/A stuff as not graphic as possible to avoid triggering people but it is very much there and the violence is more present than any other chapter.

a/n: Today has been a fucking DAY yall. My new cat got sick (he’s ok he just ate too fast and then got sick on me and my bed which was gross), I am having issues with pay equity at work, and trying to deal with utility issues in my house. I am very sorry for the late update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about this chapter, your comments and reblogs literally make my day every week.

w/c: ~4.5k

Four years ago, you’d been desperate for a change. Despite spending thousands on a fancy degree, you had gotten nowhere in the legal field and your job waiting tables at a diner in Queens barely paid the bills, though you were grateful for the work.

Pouring coffee and taking orders wasn’t the worst job you’d ever had and the majority of customers during your shifts were sweet. You played the role of “cute, friendly waitress” well, making even the grouchiest patrons appreciate your soft smile and quick response time. Maybe this persona you’d adopted in your efforts to avoid your crippling anxiety was the reason he started looking your way. Perhaps it was your obvious desperation to be liked. Whatever it was that drew his attention, it was your eventual disinterest that kept it.

The first day you met James Lannister was a shitty one. You’d worked a double shift, meaning you had been less than perky towards the end of it, leading to stupid mistakes and screaming customers. Emotions were running high when he took a seat in your section, so his calm demeanor and attentive smile drew you in.

He’d only made pleasant conversation with you the first few visits. Asking about your day, your week, your hobbies, your interests, your family, your aspirations. Anyone would’ve been eager to spill their guts to him, he was quite charming. The way that his green eyes pooled with fascination as you spoke was almost reverent. No man in your life had ever made you feel that way, like nothing else in the room mattered.

Which is why the red flags zipped right by you without triggering your internal security system. Day after day, he’d visit your place of work after his own shift at the Pro Bono Association. He’d ask his questions and encourage you to ask your own, which led to a standing invitation to sit with him when there was a lull in traffic at the restaurant. Your shared interest in the legal system and his willingness to share a slice of that life with you compelled you to take him up on the offer.

Next came the gifts. Little things, at first. Large tips, suggestions for weekend entertainment complete with a gift card or fully funded ticket, books to further your legal studies after work. It was strange, but the attention was divine. He wasn’t an ugly man, and you’d never felt noticed like this before.

Eventually, he’d goaded you into joining him and his wife for dinner at their house. Mrs. Lannister was beautiful and cunning. On the surface, she was always polite, reassuring, more than willing to host you or have you join them in public, but there was an ominous undercurrent that you never could place. The way she looked at you when her husband turned his back was almost murderous, but you were so caught up in the idea of being wanted that you glossed over the tension between the two of you.

You were lonely, sure, but you never wanted romance or…other things…from Lannister. To you, he was a mentor, an idol. Someone to live vicariously through while in a transition period in life. But after accepting all of his kindnesses, you’d unknowingly crossed a line.

Before it all fell apart, it almost seemed like universal intervention. During a seemingly mundane conversation, Lannister clasped his hands over yours with a giddy expression. It seemed that there was an entry level position opening up at the PBA office in Queens and he thought you’d be perfect for it. Not only would it be a substantial pay raise from your current position, but there were opportunities for growth and he would be your boss.

At the time, it felt like a miracle. Your ticket to the next stage of your life. And it was, but letting your guard down for that shark ended up being the biggest regret of your life.

Transitioning into your new role wasn’t seamless, but you took it in stride. Your eagerness to take on complex projects and expand the mission of the organization impressed the more seasoned employees. Lannister began taking you to lunches, galas, drinks, anywhere that he could introduce you to his network of attorneys. It was thrilling to be thrown into the world you’d always dreamed of and received with such open arms.

For a few months, it was pure bliss. Until the night you placed your first case.

Placing the case itself was unproblematic, you were happy that you fit into the role so well—and you expressed such sentiments to Lannister who invited you over to his house to celebrate. Arriving with a bottle of your favorite wine, it was immediately clear that something had changed. The once cozy house was in absolute disarray, riddled with empty liquor bottles and boxes of feminine clothes. And, although Lannister had implied there would be others there, you found him alone.

Lannister noticed your wandering eyes and explained that his wife had left him. He told you not to worry about that and to focus on your personal success. The two of you enjoyed some good food and cheap wine, the older man drifting closer by the glass. Eventually, you felt your eyes growing heavy and he insisted that you stay over given the late hour.

That night, you dreamt of a large shadow, looking over you while you slept, warm touch dancing over your clothes. You tried to protect yourself, but your arms wouldn’t respond to the commands your brain sent. When you woke up, you found your skirt unzipped.

It got blurry after that. Lannister’s very public divorce led to inopportune inebriation, massive hangovers in the office, lewd comments, and wandering hands. While you still accompanied him to events, he began claiming you in public in increasingly repulsive ways. Holding you by the waist, kissing your cheeks, stroking his fingers over your neck, using that disgusting pet name. My little Princess.

You only tried expressing your discomfort once before it escalated. You’d approached him in his office after lunch, when he was likely to be more sober, and hesitantly asked if he would consider pulling back. You’d been met with the most terrifying display of anger you’d ever seen. You hazily recall books being thrown, hits landing along your arms and torso, insults being hurled at you.

He had made you. You would be nothing without him. You were ungrateful and whoreish and conniving just like his wife. While the memories faded, the scars from your skin splitting over the hinges of his office door still shone in certain lights.

After that his actions were deliberate. His lingering touches scalded you. Being alone with him meant sentencing yourself to torture. When he was angry, he’d call you into his office to “talk it through.” To your absolute horror, these talks often involved a locked door and drunk hands groping your trembling form.

For weeks you endured his abrupt switches between calculated insults, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and inappropriate contact. You were barely alive, going through the motions and slowly convincing yourself that you deserved it. You’d fallen out of contact with your friends, were so emotionally fragile that a stern look from a stranger could send you into a panic attack, and you found yourself so nauseous that the first few hours of each day were spent hugging a toilet.

It was clear you needed help, but Lannister was your boss and his threats terrified you. He’d made it clear that if anyone found out about his behavior, it would cost you your livelihood. As an incredibly well-known attorney with an impeccable record, there was no way you’d win in court, he had too many friends on the force or the bench. Not to mention how new you were to the organization. Despite his growing alcoholism, your coworkers were as enamored with Lannister as you used to be, the chances of them believing you were minimal.

So, you stayed, trapped in a nightmare of your own unintentional creation. Until a position opened up in Manhattan.

Applying on a whim, you’d kept your application a secret, not expecting to even get an interview. But, apparently the managing attorney across the East River had heard your name through the grapevine because she reached out within the week to schedule a lunch with you.

The heavy weight that hung over your shoulders like a shadow has lessened considerably in the days leading up to the lunch. The possibility of escaping the hell you were living in quickly appeared like the light at the end of the tunnel.

Manhattan was beautiful and the employees of the PBA office in Midtown were ecstatic to meet you. It was the best day you’d had in months, until you got back to your own office.

Realizing you’d forgotten an important file you needed for a clinic the next day, you walked briskly through the quiet building, hoping to get in and out without running into your supervisor. Unfortunately, the world was not that gracious.

As you rummaged through your desk, the overhead lights turned on making you flinch. Your hands stilled over the file cabinet, your breath catching on your throat.

“You little bitch.” Lannister was furious if the rage dripping from his tone was any indication. “Tell me, Princess, why did I receive a call from Midtown about how happy they were to have finally met my assistant?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat constricting as if wrapped with fabric. Frozen in place, you heard him approaching and you cowered.

“Thought you could go behind my back? Leave me high and dry without a warning? You owe me, little princess. After all I’ve done for you…”

Whether from fear or something else entirely, your brain blocked out the rest of his actions that night. You came to shaking on the floor, bloody and partially undressed, but you weren’t alone. Lannister had disappeared, thankfully, but your coworker stepped into your office with a shaky inhale.

Erica was a young attorney who’d started a few weeks before you. Your emotional state had made it difficult to grow close to anyone in the office, but she’d always seemed sweet. And, fortunately for you in the end, she’d heard the commotion your boss had caused before storming home.

As your wonderful coworker helped you clean yourself up, you tearily confessed the secrets you’d worked so hard to hide. Disgusted, Erica had encouraged you to speak to HR and you’d submitted a complaint later that day with her assistance.

You owed Erica a great debt. Over the period of the investigation, she’d become a fixture in your office, making sure to keep you at a distance from your abuser. Without your prompting, she’d offered the committee looking into the allegations her full testimony. You were quite certain that her statement is the reason Lannister was fired.

In the weeks following his termination, you felt like a new woman. You’d moved to a cute little place in Hell’s Kitchen and begun your new work as a volunteer coordinator. While you still struggled with crowds of lawyers and the taste of alcohol, a good therapist and a decent amount of time had helped you heal a considerable amount.

Enough to open yourself up for the possibility of a relationship, which you weren’t sure you’d ever want after everything you’d been through. Meeting Matt had changed that though, turning ‘never’ into a ‘not right now’.

Sweet, considerate, adorable Matt who had brought you more comfort than you ever thought you deserved. Who was probably still furious with you for falling for him, but you couldn’t help but plead with the universe to send him anyway. Please, Matty, please come for me.

As the muggy van rumbled over potholes and uneven roads, you pictured his beautiful face. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his brow furrowed with concern over the most minor harm that had befallen you. The beautiful way his lips melded with yours as a single kiss made you feel weightless. You regretted not kissing him one last time before ruining what you had.

I’m sorry, darling. Please don’t let them take me from you. I’m not ready to let you go just yet.

As Matt neared the 4th floor, a knawing pit of dread grew in his stomach. He could smell your tears, newer than those that had fallen after he’d left, but your heartbeat was nowhere to be found. Frantically pacing the hallway, he quickly noticed your suitcase abandoned a few feet from the door to your shared room. Crouching down, he tilted his head, evaluating the scene. The scent of your fear coated the floor, walls, and fabric of your bag. You must have been terrified for it to penetrate your surroundings to that degree. Underneath your pheromones, Matt shuddered with rage as the sickly saccharine fragrance of Beatrice Snyder’s reached his sensitive nose. Mingling with her perfume was a different smell, smoky and dark.

You’d been cornered by Snyder and an unidentified man, he was sure of it. Fumbling to find the right end of his key card, he threw open the door and stripped out of his suit. Given that he’d intended to share the night with you, he’d intentionally left his body armor at home. A black long sleeve tee and scarf around his face would have to do tonight.

Stepping back into the empty hallway, he fled to the stairs. While the scent of your fear only fueled his dark anger, it was strong enough to leave a trail down the stairs and out the back door into the cool night air. As inconspicuously as possible, Matt navigated through the building, dodging employees and guests successfully until he reached the loading dock behind the kitchen. Your scent stopped here, replaced by the smell of gasoline.

No, no, no. Where are you, angel? What happened to you?

Matt growled in frustration, spinning around desperately searching for any sign of you, he ripped his phone out of his pocket and pressed your speed dial, hoping that you could still reach your phone.

Receiving nothing but your voicemail message in return, he felt his fists clench. “It’s going to be ok, my beautiful girl. I’m coming.”

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took off in the direction of the strong scent of auto fuel, praying to God that the most recent vehicle would lead him to you.

The van jolted to an abrupt stop and you slid along the dirty carpet into a seat in front of you. Your back ached from the jostling you’d gotten on the ride to whatever destination you’d apparently arrived at, and you could feel the imprint of thousands of plastic carpet strands that had melded with the flesh on your cheek during the drive. The sound of car doors slamming and the heavy footfalls following made you strain against your binds one final time.

A large, rough hand snatched your ankle, yanking you towards the night air at the tail end of the vehicle. Kicking your legs wildly, you flopped like a dying fish along the carpet as you were slowly pulled outside. The fingers at your ankle moved to wrap around your throat, forcing the airway to constrict. Struggling fiercely against your captor, you heard a familiar, rasping voice from behind you snarl, “Shut her up, you idiot!”

Lannister’s goon pressed a sharp implement against the soft flesh of your stomach. “Keep movin’ and you’ll lose a lot more than your man, bitch.”

As your squirming died down, reality set in and tears began flooding down your face. It was over. He’d won. All of the efforts that went into putting distance between the two of you were meaningless. He’d found you, and Snyder was going to take Matt from you because of it.

You were roughly stood on your feet and forced to move in the trail of Lannister and his other goon. Eventually, you were forced into a cold metal chair, binds attached to the stiff bars of the furniture. Your blindfold was ripped off, though your gag remained. James Lannister’s ferocious grin appeared in your line of vision, making you flinch. “So glad we’ve been reunited, Princess. We’re gonna have some fun.”

The group had taken you to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were broken wooden palettes and scraps of steel scattered around the floor. Holes in the sheet metal walls allowed cold, winter air to blow crisp waves of wind through the space, raising the hairs on your neck. A gaping hole in the roof above you showers you in moonlight, illuminating a small s circle around you and Lannister.

A knife glinted in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, squirming involuntarily. Lannister grabbed a fistful of your shirt, yanking you forward with a growl. “The more you squirm, the more damage I do, little princess. I’d hold still if I were you.”

With that warning, he slashed a jagged cut in your top, nicking the skin along your collarbone. A hand ran over your hair, grasping the strands and tugging so that your face was turned towards your captor’s once again. “There’s my obedient little pet. Was wondering where she’d gone.”

Bile rose in your throat as Lannister stroked his massive hands along your face, planting heated, bourbon-soaked kisses along your neck and down your chest. Prying away your torn clothes, he turned to face the goons. “Is it ready?”

“Yes, sir.” One deep voice responded from the shadows of the warehouse beyond your visible surroundings. “Before I have my fun,” Lannister stepped aside, revealing a tall dark shape topped with a blinking red light. “I’d like to record a confession, dear. For my sanity, and for the board to know the truth.”

Raising his barely slurred voice, he turned to the camera.

“State your name, for the record.”

“Please don’t do this. I don’t—“ Your pleading morphed into a screech of pain as the point of the blade ripped a gash in the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Wrong answer, pet.” Lannister took a swig from a practically empty bottle of liquor that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. A trail of blood wormed its way to the cement floor, pooling at your feet. You stared at the river of red liquid for a moment before stammering out your name.

“That’s a good pet. What’s your relation to me, my dear?” Chucking the now empty bottle aside, it shattered at your feet, spraying you with cheap alcohol and pieces of glass.

“I worked with you. In Queens.” A smaller knife plunged into the meat of your thigh and you screamed in agony. The larger of the two goons shuffled into your wavering vision, smiling as he wiped your blood from his hands.

“More specific, Princess.” Lannister spat at you.

“You were my boss.”

“That’s right. Now tell us, how did you get me fired?”

You sobbed, “I didn’t, I wasn’t—“ Grasping the knife still planted in your leg, Lannister twisted it, grabbing your throat.

“Yes you did, you miserable bitch. You ruined my fucking life. I lost my divorce settlement, my job, my house, my reputation. All because I took an ungrateful slut under my wing.” Ripping the blade from your body, he hurled you to the ground.

“TELL THE TRUTH!” Lannister roared, sending a brutal kick into your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. “Tell them that you seduced me for months and then used me to land a promotion. TELL THEM THAT YOU TOOK MY ENTIRE LIFE FROM ME AFTER I’D GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!”

Stomping over your body again, he stumbled backwards allowing you to cough out a response. “I—I took everything f-from you. I was un-ungrateful.”

Lannister cackled, pulling you from the ground by your uninjured arm. “Turn the camera off. They won’t want to see this next part.”

The goons stepped forward to follow your former boss’s orders, but a piercing sound from outside halted them in their tracks. A horrific shriek, the sound of metal grinding on metal, echoed through the warehouse. All three men froze, looking to each other as if expecting to find the cause of the noise at the hands of their fellow assholes. Dropping you hard onto your shoulder, Lannister turned towards the source of the creaking and your head lolled after him.

As the door to the warehouse slammed open, you cried in relief as your weak gaze made out the black clad figure against the night sky. Daredevil. Your devil. He came for you. Tears poured down your cheeks and your limbs tensed, Matt’s presence drawing you in like a magnet.

Lannister huffs out a laugh. “The fuck do you want, shadow man? Don’t you have robberies to stop?” At his sides, the other men shuffled nervously, knives gripped firmly as they awaited their next command.

Matt stalked forward into the warehouse, his body stiff as it held his rage back, visible tension like that of water building against a dam. Fists clenched, he prowled an arc around your three kidnappers. “Step the fuck away from her.” His deep timbre was pitched exceedingly low with pure fury and it sent ripples of goosebumps across your bare skin.

Drawing the handgun from the back pocket of his slacks, Lannister stepped towards you once more. “Do your worst, Devil. She’s not leaving here alive.” The world slowed, as if the air around you was suddenly thick as molasses. Your eyes were processing as much as they could as dread settled in your stomach. The barrel of the gun moved across Lannister’s body and pointed at you as his meaty thumb cocked the weapon.

Simultaneously, Matt’s athletic form rocketed forward, skillfully dodging the swings from both of your unnamed assailants and leaping at Lannister. A gunshot rang and you traced the bullet as it soared towards you. Suddenly, your vision went white as pain seared through your body following the pointed metal cylinder as it tore through your abdomen. Screaming in anguish, your ears rang with a high pitched tone, the flash of white across your sight fading to black. The only thing you could focus on was the burning agony as the puddle of your blood seeped into your torn clothes. Forcefully shutting your eyes, your inhales turned shallow, and you prayed to your beloved Matthew that he would get you out of here before you took your last breath.

Matt’s skin was alight with rage as he maniacally tore through the three brutes to reach your collapsed form. The head captor’s words barely registered in his ears over the deafening sound of a gun being pulled. No. Do not let it be her, take me. The safety was undone as Matt ripped one man’s shoulder from its socket, using the falter in his steps to knock him unconscious. He needed to be faster. He had to reach you. Planting a hefty kick into the next guy’s stomach, he brought his billy club up to meet the force of the man’s own body weight bringing him down. A hollow thud of a body on cement meant there was one attacker left. And then came the gunshot.

As the bullet escaped the barrel it was encased in, Matt roared, the devil inside him fully consuming his consciousness as tackled the shooter. Knuckles connected with a jawbone, then the softer cartilage of a nose, then the lumpy space of a rib cage. Matt poured every emotion he had into this criminal, each punch holding seeds of guilt and regret and desperation.

The smell of your blood cascading over the dirty floor broke him from his trance. Dropping the battered body of your captor to the floor, he dove beside you, hands hovering over your body as he assessed the damage.

Sobbing in relief, he cupped your face as gently as he could. “It’s ok, angel. You’re gonna be ok. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. Just breathe with me, please sweetness, breathe.”

Your shallow pants stuttered as your hand weakly grasped his shirt. “Ma-Matty?”

“Yah sweetness, it’s me. I’m right here. Gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on.” Ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, he pressed it over your largest wound, biting back a pained sound of his own when you hissed. “I know, I know, angel. I have to stop the bleeding.”

The soft smell of salt melded with the metallic odor of your blood. You were crying, holding on to the fistful of his shirt like it was a lifeline. “Y-you came for me? I’m—I’m so-sorry”

Stroking your face lightly before he dialed 911, he cooed. “Of course I came, lovely. I’ll always come for you. Always. Now you just focus on breathing. In and out, sweetness. Good girl, just like that.”

At the operator’s greeting, he spit out a rough command for police and an ambulance, giving a brief description of the events that had happened. Next, he pleaded for their help. There was no way he alone could get you to a hospital in time.

“They were holding her hostage. She’s been shot, stabbed too. Lost a lot of blood. She’s still alive but she needs medical attention, please hurry.” He spit out the approximate location, scrubbing tears from his face as he pocketed his phone.

Pressing his forehead to yours delicately, he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. It’s going to be ok. I’m so sorry.” Your hand raised shakily to cradle his nape.

“Matty,” Your voice was weak, but determined. “I—I need you to know—“

“Hey, this isn’t one of those moments, sweet girl. You can tell me later, when you’re healing. You focus on—“

“No, please.” You begged, he fought back a choked cry so that you could say your piece.

“I love you. S-so much.” You heaved a breath. “I’m sorry that I ruined—“

“Shh, you didn’t ruin anything.” Matt chided gently, tears slipping faster after you'd confirmed his previous mistake. “I love you too, my wonderful, sweet girl. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t.”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, and then you fell out of consciousness.

Matt collapsed against your chest, clinging to the sound of your weak pulse as his body trembled with sobs. He planted soft kisses to your hair and cheeks, stroking lightly over your skin as he willed God to save you.

The distant sound of sirens forced Matt to pry his face from your pummeled body. As the sound of vehicles approached, he made sure to alert the paramedics to your presence before taking back to the shadows. Hearing the clamor of attendants around you, he made a promise. “I’ll be there when you wake, angel. I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

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katz-chow · 9 months

Text

baggage claim

a/n: having a bad night, this is my version of comfort…also self indulgent like most of my writing.

warnings: chubby!fem!reader, parental trauma, body issues, soft simon, hurt/comfort

there’s a lot of things that simon have not experienced quite yet, such things is the american airport system and how complicated tsa is. however, he landed, he walked, and there he’s faced with the rounding carousel of multicolored bags and suitcases.

he checked his ticket and looked up at the display of numbered areas. ‘11’, that’s the one.’ he watched the mouth of the conveyor belt, its plastic fringes flap against a purple suitcase…definitely not his. but still his eyes trained on that particular spot. then he let his mind wander.

long distance relationships were hard, long distance military relationships were harder. plane rides from deployment back to manchester then plane rides to another continent across the pond, lovely, just how he wanted to spend his first few days on leave: absolutely jet-lagged.

but then he thought of you, precious, precious you…oh his darling lovie and how your eyes shines whenever they make contact with his. you made it worth it. you made every crying baby on the plane, every overpriced water, and every awkward “thank you for your service” and then a bad american accented “thanks”; you made this airport journey worth it.

from here he spots his camo duffle. making way through the people, who’s eyes also trained on the infinite, snaking black, he hoisted it up and carried it with the strap on his shoulder.

his phone buzzed, whatsapp. you.

‘i’m in the lobby, by gate 2!!’

‘I’ll see you there.’

‘🥰😻🫶’

‘❤️’

and just like that, a few minutes later and a lot of sign-reading, he escaped the labyrinth of an american international airport. you stood there, hoodie and sweats on and your head bowed towards your phone. the dark sky outside and the oddly green-ish fluorescent made you look washed out, dull even. but simon knew you, he found you, he always did.

you look up, you wave, a smile adorned your face. you didn’t run up to him and tackle him in a hug that only a soldier could’ve done. and he didn’t have to lift you off the ground from the momentum of the hug, his bag dropping to the tile flooring.

instead you stood still, phone in pocket, as you waited for your boyfriend to get to you. simon didn’t understand, but he figured you might just be tired—which was fair, so was he. so he dropped his bag and wrapped his much larger arms around you, squeezing you tight and breathing you in, nose buried into the crook of your neck. “missed you…”

you smile, arms tight in between your chests as he holds you. he lets go eventually and you feel your body relax. “missed you too. let’s go home” you smiled politely.

simon’s eyebrows furrowed for a quick second but followed you anyway. thoughts ran through his head as he looks at the highway in front of him, one of his hands on your thigh as you drove the two of you home. he recalls the interaction you two had in the airport lobby. you’re distant, opting to curl up into a hug rather than hugging back and rocking side to side or jumping up and down. something’s different, something’s wrong.

his mind snaps back too as you took the exit, signaling the end is near of your driving adventure. the hum of the engine and the bumps of the road filled the air. no music. he furrowed his eyebrows again, medical mask now thrown away as he got into the safety of your car.

and now the safety of your bedroom, which is oddly quiet as he laid in bed, back slightly up as to prop himself up against the headboard. his eyes look at you drowsily as you sat on your vanity in front of the bed. you worked the multitude of skincare on your face and neck, patted it dry, and then climbed into bed, face the same emotion.

simon couldn’t take it anymore. “are you okay, lovie?”

you hummed in assurance, opting to set him down by wrapping your arms around his waist, urging him to lay down with you. he does and he holds you close, sleep flooded him, and just as quickly his succumbs.

he woke up to the sound of a hurt animal next to him, clearly in pain. he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and looked over at this hurt animal. it was you, curled up, and softly crying.

his heart stopped as he noticed your trembling figure, even with your face pulled away from him. "lovie? are you okay?'

you hold back a whimper as you tried your best to hold back the tremble in your voice. "i'm okay...go back to sleep simon."

he grumbled as he shifted over to you, wrapping his burly arms around, pulling you close. "tell me what's wrong."

the thoughts echoed in your head, resulting in a chill that ran through each muscle of your body, or lack thereof. your mother's words criticizing how you look flows through you mind, drowing out simon's. you grip onto the back of his hand and moved it away from your stomach, ashamed of how plush it was. you can just imagine it, the way it spills out of your shirt, the different rolls, how you sit, how you stand relaxed... you hated it.

simon poked his head up, surprised by your adjustment, but respecting it anyway. his big palm then instead rubs your arm comfortingly. "will you tell me?"

"i hate it."

"hate what?" he inquired, voice low and rumbling. his breath felt hot against your ear as he whispered, fighting sleep away while also wrapped up in your soft blankets.

you finally catch your breath and turn over to him, tucking yourself under his chin, feeling his stubble as you do. you sniffled, opting to breath in his scent and distract yourself from the past with the present. "i don't like how i look."

he sighed and clicked his tongue, arms tightening around you. "has this been bothering you all day?'

he felt you nod under him as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. "what's wrong with how you look, did someone say something?'

he felt you respond again, a shake of your head which led to more rubbing against his neck. "i just don't like how...big i am."

"you don't like your stomach? how soft and jiggly it is? how warm it makes my hands fill, hmm?" he sniffed and sighed, closing his eyes on top of your head. the scent of your lingering shampoo quickly lulled him in. "i love how you look, and don't say any of that shirt your mum said. don't say that shit about how i deserve better than you or something."

you moved your head away from his warm chest to protest, to say that it's true but he growled and held you tighter, preventing you from moving away. "don't even try. it's true alright? i love you and how your stomach feels when i knead it."

you whined and sniffled, his love filling up in your chest-which was once heavy with doubt. it was silly, you decided, that you think he wouldn't like you after coming back from deployment just to stare at you and gag at how ugly you look. of course not.

"you're my baby, you're mine." he reassured you, a pat and rub on your head and then a kiss on your forehead. "and i think you're beautiful."

"okay," you mumbled as he hummed a distant song that you recognize but don't quite remember all the words to. he hummed and kissed you and rubbed your head, fingers raking through the strands.

"now can we sleep?" he complained as you feel a smile form on his lips.

you pulled away from him, pouting audibly, "it's so cold."

"woman, i am literally hold you under two blankets."

yeah you were going to be alright.

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mikuni14 · 8 months

Text

Why I think the way the final episode of The Sign was distributed is wrong, offensive and unfair to fans. And how disappointing I am with this approach, because I sincerely supported Idol Factory and Saint.

Personally, I pay for Gaga, Viki and IQIYI, plus a VPN to watch shows that are not available in my country (like Pit Babe), which, you know, I already paid for 🙄 Additionally, I pay for Netflix, I have combined subscriptions with other people for Disney, HBO, Skyshowtime, Prime, last year we paid for Apple to watch Silo and Severance (I recommend both series btw 👌). I also don't mind paying one-time for a film on the platform, which is how I recently watched Oppenheimer.

Money is not an issue (<- lol), apart from the fact that I support myself and I have to work, and I have to carefully manage my budget in order to feed myself and my cat, clothe myself, pay my bills, and my loss of job will mean obviously giving up access to all these media. I say that money is not a problem in the sense that I WILL SPEND MONEY on something I like. I will save, I will give up something else, but I will spend this money on stuff I love.

The Sign has chosen a certain distribution method for international fans. They chose YouTube and chose a set airing hour. They could have chosen to distribute only in Thailand like Cherry Magic, or they could have chosen any other platform with paid subscriptions. But they chose YouTube. And they released 11 episodes for free and at a set time. And now they CHOSE to make the last ep paid and to create a complete chaos related to the distribution of the finale, because I honestly don't know at this point whether it is paid or not, what is paid and what is not, whether it is on Saturday or Sunday or it's for a ticket or for free on channel3 and apparently they have two endings????, which is always an alarming sign for me, because it's very Game of Thrones/Marvel style shit.

Besides, people have their own lives, their obligations, their schedules. Sometimes you just can't get around certain things and you can't watch a series in the available time, no matter how much you want. Secondly, releasing a product for free in order to limit access to it in the final phase is the worst manifestation of toxic capitalism. This is preying on the desperation and devotion of fans. The third thing is the selection of viewers into those who can afford it, have the time, have the resources and those who do not. And yes, sometimes even just $15 of an unexpected expense makes a huge difference in a person's budget. It's telling some of the fans that you are VIP and can sit in the front row, and the rest of the peasants should wait outside for two weeks 😄

tl;dr personally I want and can pay for: 1) the entire series on a legal platform 2) ADDITIONAL things, like specials, fan stuff, etc. I consider paying for access to the series finale, which until now was free, immoral.

But tbh I really have no idea what's going on, I go with the flow 🤡Whenever I check The Sign tag, I read more and more new information related to the possibility of watching the finale, and it's different every day. And if it turns out that the cut version of the series will be available for free on Channel 3, and the uncut version with subs will be available tomorrow with a ticket, it will be the funniest thing ever. Because that would mean that people paid $15 to watch, I don't know what, a sex scene? 😄

Idk, guys, instead of enjoying the finale, people are wondering how to watch it at all. And if IF starts doing this, won't others follow suit? 11 episodes for free, oh you want to watch the finale, well you have to pay or wait and dodge the spoilers 😈

And one last thing for potential defenders of this system, like "what's your problem, it will be available in 2 weeks, just wait": so you accept that not ALL fans will have a chance to experience the final ep together, which is the basis of the fan community? That some fans will experience and analyze the episodes this weekend, and the rest will wait?

#the sign the series #bl drama #thai bl

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stateswscarlet · 1 year

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Hi Scarlet! I saw your twt bio said no dms so I thought I would share my successes here that I got from your threads and content!

Bit of a background: I hovered over from the a+p girlies after affirming for 9-10 months for all my desires, using everything they taught and even putting full faith into thoughts and science manifesting. I would affirm almost nonstop (during work, school, even as I was eating/talking to others) for the entire time and I eventually got super frustrated! Not a single manifestation came in or even the slightest movement, maybe a butterfly and a car here and there (looking back at it its because I accepted seeing them internally and didn’t contradict that state, it wasn’t even the affirming). In March-ish I found your account on my timeline and previously I would ignore any states related information because I thought states were the same as dominant thoughts, but something about your thread at the time caught my attention which led me down a rabbit hole (positively!) of consuming your threads. I realized a lot of it actually made sense and explained why I didn’t see success so far.

Anyways so after a few weeks of learning about states I decided to stop overconsuming and stick to your account and edward art ONLY for all my manifestation needs. It was a little hard breaking free from the affirming mindset but I decided to focus on embodying how it would feel if I no longer had to worry about my thoughts and allowed that to wash over me. I used your “embody being the solution” thread SO SO much and I realized I was able to quickly solve all my internal issues using that because anytime I felt stuck, I just had to assume the feeling of being unstuck and what the ideal situation would be! I also fell in love with fulfilling my imagination and although I did care about experiencing it in the 3D, it was more like me not even thinking of it reflecting because its a LAW. I remember you saying you don’t even have to think about stuff reflecting because it does so anyways and my only role is to naturally give it to myself. So here is a list of some of my *bigger* manifestations that came in within a month-ish of me APPLYING states of being after I learned about it:

SP and I got back together after 8 months no contact and 11 months separation

My top choice graduate school which rejected me months ago actually reaching out to me offering me a spot saying the rejection was a “system error”

Free coachella tickets all expense paid in a luxury hotel that sponsored not only me but my boyfriend and 3 friends

My favorite makeup brand randomly sending me a HUGE package of makeup that I never ordered or asked for (I wanted more makeup from this brand)

My dad receiving a random check to clear his entire credit card debt of around a decade

A better job for my boyfriend that pays him double of his last one and has flexible hours that he didn’t need to apply for or interview and hes been loving it!

Free first class plane tickets to Bali this summer! I had already booked normal ones months before but last week I got an email saying my party had randomly been selected for a free upgrade. This happened like a day or so after I for fun assumed the state of someone who has a live of luxury.

I have other smaller successes but these are some of my main ones!I really want to thank you scarlet you have honestly changed my life and I can’t believe it truly was that easy all along! Thank you for your amazing threads, please continue dropping more (I literally have your notifs on haha)

AWW YAYYYYYAYAYS IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR THAT!! You’re absolutely amazing🫶🏼

I dont even use this platform but just thought I would share this ❤️

#law of assumption #neville goddard #embodyingstates #manifesation #loass

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trainsinanime · 1 year

Text

LIMAX

I’m tired, I’m bored, let’s talk about the RE18, also sometimes known as LiMAX or Drielandentrein (three countries train).

Euregio

This international regional train connects the region known as Euregio Maas-Rhine, the area around the point where Netherlands, Belgium and Germany meet. The region has a long shared and sometimes weird history. The main cities are Aachen (Germany, about 260,000 inhabitants), Liège (Belgium, about 200,000 people) and Maastricht (Netherlands, about 120,000 folks). A cluster of smaller towns around Heerlen (Netherlands, 86,000 citizens) forms a fourth major pole. Each of the regions gets roughly around half a million inhabitants each, but with a lot of green space in between. Here's a very crude map:

Blue are borders, black are relevant passenger rail lines, red is the one high speed line I'll talk about later.

This region is either right in the centre of Europe, or at the periphery of each of its respective countries, depending on what aspect you look at. Centre of Europe is undeniably better, but it requires international cooperation to work out. For me, living in Aachen, it’s great. My nearest Ikea is in the Netherlands, and I can watch French movies in cinemas in Liège.

But a lot of things aren't perfect, and the regional rail connections are a good example. Differing ticketing systems mean that it's not only expensive to cross the border, it's often very difficult to figure out what it costs at all. In a lot of places, trains only did short hops over the border, and then you had to change to a different train to get anywhere interesting. Some lines weren't even electrified yet. But in 2018, that was all about to change.

LIMAX

The Liège-Maastricht-Aachen express, in short LIMAX, was meant to change all that. The train is officially known as RE 18, which comes from the numbering scheme in the German state of Northrhine-Westphalia but is used for the entire route. It was supposed to run from Liège via Maastricht and Heerlen to Aachen, connecting all the major cities of the Euregio.

This particular train is a dutch project, and connecting Aachen with Liège only happens incidentally. There is a direct Aachen-Liège railway line, actually the oldest international line that’s still in use, including the oldest surviving German railway tunnel, and there is even a high-speed line that bypasses around 90% of the historic line. You can get from Aachen to Liège in less than half an hour on high speed trains (though regional trains are weird and impractical at the moment). This train line is really more about getting people in Heerlen a direct link to Liège, and people in Maastricht a direct link to Aachen.

The train

The train is operated by Arriva Netherlands Limburg, an independent subsidiary of Deutsche Bahn, who also operate all other rail and bus lines in the southern half of the dutch province of Limburg. They were actually placed second in the tender for this, but got promoted after it turned out that the actual winner Abellio (a daughter of the dutch state railroads NS) had illegal access to internal documents of previous operator and third-place scorer Veolia from France. To their credit, this came out because Abellio management learned of it and made it public, but rules are rules, so they still got disqualified. This is barely in the top three most interesting stories with Abellio, but we don’t have time for that here.

The service uses Stadler FLIRT 3 electric multiple units. FLIRT is an abbreviation, but nobody bothers remembering what it stands for. The manufacturer also offers or used to offer the TANGO (streetcar), the WINK (smaller version of the FLIRT), KISS (double-decker) and their newest high-speed train, the… SMILE. Cowards.

The FLIRTs for this service are specially equipped for the line, supporting all the different voltages in the overhead lines and all the other necessary support systems… almost. That’s going to become important later.

(Arriva Nederland Limburgs also has other trains, including other FLIRTs, that are only equipped for the Netherlands. I'll ignore them here.)

Services started in December 2018, theoretically. In practice the German leg of the service didn’t work yet. The problem was that the line from Heerlen to Herzogenrath (and then further to Aachen) used to be one of the few non-electrified lines in the region. It was electrified specifically for the RE18, and the work wasn’t quite finished yet. That got resolved, though, and the train is now working mostly well between Germany and the Netherlands. There are still some issues, like how it consistently announces that the doors will open on the left when they will open on the right and vice versa, but those are minor issues. The main problem for me is that it bypasses the Ikea station instead of stopping there.

The much bigger problem was the Belgian line, from (south of) Maastricht to Liège. The Belgian railway authorities were never that enthusiastic about the project to begin with, seeing how it was a private dutch company (though owned by the German government), and the platforms in the intermediate station of Visé were too low for step-free access and needed to be rebuilt. But the real main issue lay elsewhere: The new trains did not have ETCS.

Train control systems

We need a detour here about train control systems. Trains are controlled by signals. If a train passes a red signal, an accident usually follows, so over time every country developed different systems to make sure that doesn’t happen. The specific features of these vary widely. Some just warn the engineer that a red signal is ahead, and stop the train if the engineer doesn’t react. Some activate the emergency brake when the engineer passes a red signal, or when they don’t brake enough. More advanced ones for high speed lines tell the engineer the current allowed speed, upcoming speed changes and how far away they are, like a mini-GPS system, and constantly check that the engineer is driving within these limits. Many systems do a combination of different things.

Almost every country has its own of these systems, generally known by a cryptic abbrevation, and many countries have several. For example, Germany has PZB for all lines and additionally LZB for high-speed lines. The Netherlands have different versions of ATB, Belgium has TBL1+ and so on. The differences between them aren’t relevant for this post, but they’re all very different in what they do and how they do it. The RE 18 trains support all of them, except LZB because they’re not used on lines that make it necessary.

That’s expensive and annoying, so the European Union and European rail industries have developed a new system to replace all of them, the European Train Control System or ETCS. You will also hear the term ERTMS (European rail traffic management system), which includes ETCS and some other things, but in common parlance it usually means the same thing. Despite the name, it is also heavily used outside of Europe, e.g. on China’s high speed rail network.

And yes, that is very much a situation like the classic XKCD comic:

Source: XKCD 927, CC-BY-NC 2.5

(For americans reading this and wondering about PTC: That is a whole mess and almost everyone, including Wikipedia, explains it wrong, but for the purposes of this post we can just say that these systems and in particular ETCS are all something „like“ PTC.)

ETCS will only make sense once all European mainlines are equipped with it, which is still several decades away. But some countries are working harder than others to implement it. In particular, Belgium demands that all new trains since about 2015 have ETCS. Including the Stadler FLIRT for the RE 18.

In this case

The operator protested, because that requirement apparently came in while the trains were in production, and the line in question didn’t even have ETCS at the time (according to the latest Belgian maps it does now). To this day, the trains actually running there, as a Liège-Maastricht shuttle, do not have ETCS. So clearly it's not that essential… yet. Still, Belgian authorities refused to budge, so the trains had to be sent back to the manufacturer to get ETCS installed.

(Aside: ETCS is an open standard, and you can get ETCS equipment both for the tracks and for the trains from many different companies. Stadler, the manufacturer of these trains, only recently got into making ETCS equipment. Before that they had to buy it from competing train makers. These trains are among the first equipped with Stadler’s ETCS solution.)

The first train got it installed, returned to the line, and started tests. It worked well in the Netherlands, it worked well in Germany, it ran into Aachen station and worked well there, it ran back out of Aachen station and it stopped. Full emergency stop. After some testing it was determined that it always does an emergency stop when running out of Aachen station. And nobody is really sure why.

The low-down

We can make some vague guesses, though, because Aachen main station does have some ETCS equipment.

ETCS works partially with radio, but also with what are functionally giant RFID tags, the same basic concept like what you’ll find on a wireless credit card. They’re working at different frequencies and they’re designed for reliable reading at 450 km/h, but the basic idea is pretty much the same. These tags, known as „Balise“ (French for beacon) or Eurobalise, are mounted in the middle of the track, and are often yellow, at least when new. They can either send the same data every time, or be controlled with a cable from a computer.

Not everybody loves ETCS, but everybody seems to like the Eurobalise. It’s simple technology that can transmit a lot of information, and so there are a number of non-ETCS uses for it.

One such use case is transmitting the information of an older train control system. That is what the Belgians do with their TBL1+ system. It’s the same system as TBL1 (there is also a TBL2, but that was a bad idea and is gone now), but it transmits its information with Eurobalises. The idea is that you update these balises later to also transmit ETCS signals. Older trains can just get a balise reader, newer trains can just get ETCS, and you have only a single type of thing in the track instead of two. Switzerland is the first country that is fully ETCS equipped thanks to such a strategy, and Belgium is following suit.

The other use case is the "ETCS-based class B transition". Sounds tough but really isn’t: ETCS has a mechanism to tell the train, "hey, ETCS is ending, switch to ATB/PZB/TBL/…". In this context "Class B" means any system that isn’t ETCS (and that is on the list of things that ETCS knows about, for this purpose). The system ensures that the train really does switch to the other system, and that it stops if the switch doesn’t work. That is very useful and so most border crossings at least in Germany use it these days, even if no other part of ETCS is seen anywhere.

Both of these use cases are well established and ETCS specifically allows for them. Aachen central station is particularly fun because here you will find both of them combined. It is the border station for (passenger) trains to Belgium, so several tracks can be switched to Belgium mode, with Belgian electricity, and with Belgian TBL1+ train control system. The Eurobalises in these tracks pull double duty: They tell trains whether to switch to Belgian or German train control systems, depending on where the route is set, and if the Belgian system is to be used, they also transmit the information from that.

This isn’t new, and has worked well for years. The only other two types of passenger trains approved for the Netherlands, Belgium and Germany (and in one case also France), the Thalys PBKA and the ICE 3M high speed trains, also run through this station and they also have ETCS equipment and it all works.

But something about the combination together with the ETCS equipment in the new trains just doesn’t mesh well. It’s possible that there’s a bug in the software of the train. It’s possible that there’s a bug in the coding of the balises. Maybe it's something else; ETCS is a complex standard with a lot of updates, and the equipment in Aachen hasn't been touched in a while.

A theory I read on a dutch forum said that these balises tell the train to switch to combined PZB+LZB mode, but the train only has PZB mode and gets confused. I don’t know enough about ETCS to know whether this is plausible (and I know way too much about this stupid system already). All we really know for sure is that there are people working on this, and they're not telling us any of the details.

But after a few days where the train just didn’t run to Aachen at all, they found a solution. You know how I said that some tracks can be switched to Belgium mode? The others can’t, so why not just run the train into those?

That was actually easier said than done. Aachen has a lot of tracks, but most of them are used for parking trains. Most German regional trains to Aachen end in Aachen, and then wait here for half an hour or so until they return to where they came from. This isn’t required by the track layout or anything, it’s just convenient because that way, delays don’t build up quite as much. And the best location for that pause is, of course, right at the edge of the country. Centre of Europe? Yeah, sure, whatever…

So the solution is now that the RE18 runs into track 3 and stops in the middle of the platform, where it unloads all passengers. Then it drives forward to the end of the platform, and stays there. Another train, the RB33, pulls in behind it (there’s a red signal between them, don’t worry), and waits for its time to depart. Eventually it does, and shortly thereafter, the RE18 runs back to the middle of the platform, and then a few minutes later, back out again. It’s a silly little dance, but so far nobody has found a better solution.

(Before you start, the end of platform 3 is very narrow and at a non-accessible height, so the train can't just load and unload there.)

As for the Belgian side of things, through-services to Liège will start this December! Woohoo! It seems this thing is finally working.

The Future

The long-term hope is to turn this from an hourly to a half-hourly service. It already is for most of its length, but right now the trains stop in Herzogenrath, just after the German border, because there is no space in the schedule to run them to Aachen yet.

Another hope is to create a completely new service from Aachen to Eindhoven, also using the same trains. Eindhoven wants to be connected to the German ICE network, Aachen wants to be connected to the dutch train network, so this sounds all great. Personally, I have doubt that these trains have enough capacity, but they are currently the only ones that would work. An issue with that is the actual line over the border. This used to be double-tracked, then got single-tracked. Now they want to double-track it again, but when it was electrified, they put the power poles right where the second track used to be. Not sure what they were thinking there.

All of these projects will take years, if not decades, and have in fact already taken years or decades. I’ve been in Aachen since 2007, and things like electrifying the line over the german-dutch border or creating a direct train from Aachen to the center of the Netherlands (or at least Eindhoven) have been in discussion for at least since then. On the one hand, it’s frustrating how slowly all these things are going. On the other, they are happening at all, and looking back ten years or so, it’s quite nice to see what has been accomplished.

I guess my one wish is that they’d finally let the train stop in Heerlen Woonboulevard, I’m tired of changing trains to get to Ikea.

#trains #railroads #aachen #maastricht #liege #arriva #etcs #stadler #guardia #flirt

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Text

Year One

Part Two of Three Years

Proposal | Masterlist | Year Two

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 3.3K

Notes: ....Hi! It's part two: Nathan Bateman boogaloo

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan

Summary: You settle down in one of your usual places, connecting your laptop to the monitor there and settling in. There’s a low level of nerves churning in your stomach as you get started. As you open up your calendar, you find it packed with meetings—for Q4 budgets for both Marketing and IT; for budget allocations for the following year; for marketing strategy for the following year; for a proposed overhaul of JIRA ticket rankings and escalation practices; to find a content management system to transition all of your learning and training content over to—

You slam your laptop shut, embarrassedly ignoring the looks that a few coworkers level you. You draw in a deep breath and push it out again as you rest your head in your hands. This is going to be hell.

You have an office.

Whenever you’ve worked at Sc(ai)le before, you’ve worked among the engineers. The workspace has an open desk policy, so you’ve just taken any open seat you could find. But now you have…An office.

It’s nearly the same size as Jenn’s, with fishtank-like glass walls and a large desk near the back windows. You look around, eyeing the empty desk and the empty shelves. It’s too much space. It’s too much money, it’s too much space, it’s too much mandated time—

You suck in a deep breath, tightening your grip on your bag strap.

Maybe you can ease into this.

You shut your office door, pointedly ignoring where your name and titles are etched into it before heading for one of the work areas further down the hall.

Communication that you would be joining full-time as part of the C-suite had gone out both internally and externally two weeks ago. You haven’t been allowed the typical onboarding period that another in your situation may be permitted. You’ve had one foot in the company for a long time. You don’t need to be brought up to speed. You need to start patching the holes and righting the ship.

You settle down in one of your usual places, connecting your laptop to the monitor there and settling in. There’s a low level of nerves churning in your stomach as you get started. As you open up your calendar, you find it packed with meetings—for Q4 budgets for both Marketing and IT; for budget allocations for the following year; for marketing strategy for the following year; for a proposed overhaul of JIRA ticket rankings and escalation practices; to find a content management system to transition all of your learning and training content over to—

Three years? Right now, you’re not sure you’ll even make it one day.

“Hey! I need you in here,” Jenn waves you toward her from across the hall. You curl your hands around your laptop and nod, glancing around to make sure you’re not cutting anyone off as you join her. It's been almost a full week of being asked to hop on to a call or tugged into meetings that hadn't made their way onto your calendar yet.

“What’s up?”

“Call with Nathan.”

You clench your jaw at the sound of his name. Nathan. Since when is he ‘Nathan’? Why isn’t he ‘Bateman’ or ‘That Asshole Who Coerced You Into a Job’?

“You good?” Jenn asks as she rounds her desk. “How’s your day been? Sorry I didn’t put this on your calendar sooner, it just came up—Hey!” She reaches out, unmuting her phone without waiting for any of your answers. “You’ve got both of us!”

“Hey hey,” Nathan’s voice comes across the phone. “How’s the newest member of the C-Suite?”

Losing my mind, you think.

“I’m great,” You answer as nicely as you can. “What’s up?”

“...I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Comes Bateman’s smart reply. You set your laptop down in a seat and brace your hands against the back of it, glaring down at the phone. Glancing over, you see Jenn waving you toward the phone encouragingly.

“Glad to hear it,” You offer before reiterating, “What’s up?”

“You guys been taking the media temperature on the C-Suite announcement?”

“It’s been mixed,” You answer. “Tipping toward the negative.”

“So you have seen it.”

“I’m CMO now, Bateman. It pays to pay attention.” It’s a fight to keep the irritation out of your voice. You can feel Jenn glancing between you and the phone. It’s another moment before Bateman speaks up:

“I think you ought to lay low for a few months. We’ll keep your name out of the press until the joint summit in September.”

“That sounds reasonable.” You mean it, too. You’re more than happy to just do your job and fly under the radar.

“Good. I’ll loop back with my CMO about coverage as we get closer to the conference.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll give you, uh…Twenty minutes back. Thanks, ladies.”

“Thanks, Nathan!” Jenn chimes as you blandly offer, “Have a good one.”

Jenn reaches out, ending the call. You reach down to take up your laptop, going still as Jenn asks, “Are you alright?”

You glance up to find her watching you closely. You shrug, drawing your laptop up to your chest.

“Fine. Why?”

“You wanna do dinner at mine Saturday? No work talk, just a catch up?”

You smile genuinely, nodding. “Sounds good. Is it eligible to be expensed?”

Jenn’s apartment has upgraded since first opening Sc(ai)le. When she’d started the company, the two of you had shared a tiny, overpriced one bedroom apartment. She had the bedroom; you slept on a lumpy fold-out couch across from the minuscule kitchen. Looking back, the accommodation had been awful, but at the time, you’d just—managed.

You had been working freelance; Jenn had been hocking the idea of Sc(ai)le to anyone that would listen while whittling away at her trust fund. Now, you each have your own spaces. Jenn’s apartment is just a few minutes away from the office; you’re about twenty minutes from the office by car.

Jenn’s apartment is larger than yours, but is decorated so sparsely. You can’t blame her for that. It’s no wonder, considering how much time she spends at work. Her office space is cluttered—there are notes, books, mockups and proofs scattered on every surface. Your own apartment is a different matter. You've taken the time to make it feel homey, and lived in. It's a space that you're happy to return to, and do your best not to drag work into if you possibly can.

“Wine?”

Jenn’s offer knocks you from your consideration. You nod, shoving your hands in your pockets as you drift deeper into Jenn’s kitchen. You wait patiently as she unpacks the takeout that you ordered, fiddling with the wine glass that she fills and passes to you across the kitchen counter.

“How’s your first week been?”

This time, she doesn’t chase the question with two more questions before cutting you off for the sake of Nathan Bateman’s stupid voice.

“It’s been…Alright,” You offer, peering into your glass. “Somehow more and less action than I expected.”

“How so?”

“You know, just more like…Telling people what to do rather than…Doing the doing.” You wince at your clunky answer.

“Everyone has growing pains. You remember how hands-on I was when we started.”

“I mean, you kinda had to be. There were only five people.”

Jenn chuckles, nodding as the two of you settle at her kitchen island.

“Yeah, but you were one of them.” Jenn raises her glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “I know this wasn’t your first plan, but I’m glad you agreed to come on.”

You can’t bring yourself to return the sentiment, and you can’t bring yourself to lie to Jenn just now. So you just smile, and take a full gulp of wine as you turn toward your food.

“...I know we said no work talk tonight,” Jenn hedges after a moment, “But I just wanna bring up one thing.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t seem to…”

When Jenn trails off, you glance over at her. Her expression is pinched; she’s toying with an auburn curl with one hand and pushing her fork into her food with the other.

“...Jenn?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t spare my feelings.”

“Why don’t you like Nathan?”

Because he’s an asshole. Because he twisted and bent your affection and loyalty to Jenn and what she’s built to get what he wanted.

“I dunno,” You shrug, turning back to your food. “He just strikes me as a dick.”

“I mean, I get that, and he kinda was—at first. But…You get used to it.”

“You got used to it. Does it really matter if I like him?” You ask, picking at your food with your fork. “I’ve worked with plenty of people that I couldn’t stand. And I know you sure as shit have, too.”

“Yeah, but this is different. We’re working really closely with Bateman, and we’re all at the top. We need to present a united front to the company. You get that, right?”

You want to play dumb. You want to tell her, no, you don’t get it one bit, and Bateman can ram his impromptu meetings and his bullshit business terms up his pompous, freakishly round ass.

“I thought this was a no-work-chat dinner,” You grumble.

“This isn’t even, like, completely work. We don’t see Nathan that much.”

“Mmm, but we’re all at the top, right?” You remind her bitterly before shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. Jenn huffs moodily, looking down at her plate and stabbing her food. You wince as a prong of her fork scrapes roughly against the plate, emitting a screech that makes your jaw clench. You lean back on your seat a little, resting your chin on your hand. You didn't think the two of you would butt heads so soon—and not over this, of all things.

“For the sake of C-Suite harmony, I will try to be nicer to Nathan,” You offer. “But I’m formally requesting that you let me work at it without too much oversight. This whole thing has been nuts for me, J. I need time to adjust.”

Jenn’s quiet for a moment. You can hear her chew, chase it with a gulp of wine—and then her pinkie is poking into your field of vision as she says, “Deal.”

You raise your pinkie, hooking it around hers and giving it a squeeze, nodding. “Deal.”

Deal or not, you are two minutes from slapping Nathan right across the face right in front of the entire tech community.

Things have gotten better. You’ve reached a point where you don’t flinch at the sight of Bateman’s name in your inbox. You can keep a moderately cordial tone with him on the phone. But all of those things have come with blessed, much-needed physical distance.

Now, in person, you’re not sure you can manage not to slap Nathan Bateman in the middle of the joint BlueBook and Sc(ai)le summit. You just keep your gaze focused on the back wall, your hands clasped in your lap, drawing in and pushing out steady breaths. Sitting between him and Jenn has made the last hour feel interminable. You’ve only been asked a couple of questions, and you’re more than fine with that—but you would take being asked a hundred questions if it meant that you didn't have to hear Bateman's long-winded, self-aggrandizing responses.

Now and again, you can feel him looking in your direction, but it’s entirely possible that he’s looking past you to Jen. You’re not willing to meet his eyes to find out.

“Final question,” The moderator says, knocking their index cards against their thigh to straighten them out. “This partnership is almost a year old. Any regrets, from any of you?”

Your fingers flex in your lap, your expression carefully placid and flat as you wait for the answers around you.

“Not a one,” Jen answers without a thought before peering around you. “Nathan?”

Pointing the question right to him makes the attendees laugh, and you can’t help but smile a touch, yourself.

“Whoa, put on the spot,” Bateman chuckles, too. “Um…You know, I’ll be honest, I was a little rocky going into this partnership.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to slap him—

“I, uh…This is the first time I’ve thrown real funding and time into a company that isn’t BlueBook,” Nathan adds, “Into something that isn’t mine. It was a new experience, being so involved with something that I'm not in control of, but…” Bateman trails off, and you can feel his gaze directed toward you again. Surely it’s pointed at Jenn this time—though you’re still not willing to check. “The partnership is solid, the team is strong…the company’s pushing forward. No regrets here.”

It’s a relief. You have to force yourself not to sink down in your seat, to scrub your hands over your face, to groan out the, Thank fuck, that’s building up behind your lips. You glance toward the moderator as they say your name, slapping on a smile as they wait for your answer.

“Like Mr. Bateman, I was a little apprehensive going into this,” You offer, “But I think we’re all settling in, and I look forward to seeing this company and this partnership grow.”

It’s a safe answer, one that you’ve been practicing since you got the approved list of questions for the panel.

The moderator smiles, thanks you for your time, and disbands the panel to a round of applause as the three of you rise out of your seats. You’re just a couple of steps offstage before you feel Bateman’s hand land on the middle of your back. You glance down toward it, then look around to find his other hand placed on Jen’s back.

“Let’s grab a drink, decompress,” He suggests.

“Absolutely!” Jen chirps, grinning. When you don’t answer right away, you feel the two of you turning to look at you. In another situation, you might be able to decline, to say that it’s been a long day, that you promised someone that you’d catch up with them. You'd managed to get out of it once before, when Bateman had first gotten you in this position. But this is the first time you’ve been around him since you agreed to join the C-Suite—and you know you’ll catch hell from Jen later if you pass on this invite again. So you force on a placid smile, nod, and offer, “A drink sounds great.”

A drink sounds great.

That was what you had said.

A drink. One. Singular.

Any hopes you’d had of pounding back some champagne and exchanging short pleasantries with Nathan before relaxing alone in your hotel room are quickly dropping away. You're three rounds in, and you can’t bring yourself to argue as you all pile into the back of Bateman’s Benz. You give the driver a shaky, apologetic smile as Bateman yells the name of a bar at him before Jenn tugs the door shut.

You raise your hand to buckle yourself in, scrunching up against the door to shove the metal bit into the mechanism, and ignoring the way Bateman watches you with amused derision. You fumble in the dark, your fingers feeling thick with your growing buzz, but you finally manage to buckle in before slouching back against the seat and looking out of the window.

It’s a mistake. Watching Silicon Valley blur together is taking your slight tipsiness and tipping it in the direction of the spins. You close one eye and draw in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hone in on the music being piped through the car, and the sound of Jenn’s voice chattering on the other side of the car. It’s curious that Nathan is so silent beside you. It’s odder still that your tipsy brain is hooking into the cool scent of his cologne, and the press of his thigh against yours. Jeez, for a billionaire, you’d think he’d have a roomier backseat.

You prop your head up on your hand, hesitantly peeking both eyes open as the car rolls to a stop at a red light. You lift your head, glancing around and trying to catch sight of anywhere familiar. You recognize a spot or two. You peer around to the other side of the car, squinting at the nearest store on that side. On your way to leaning back and refocusing out of the nearest window, your gaze catches on Nathan’s.

It sends a shock through you, making your stomach flip, and nearly unseating every drink you’ve had so far. You turn to the window again, sinking down in your seat a touch as heat rushes to your face.

“C’mon!” Jenn chatters excitedly, grasping your hand and trying to pull you up out of the booth. “C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon, we’re up next!”

“Uhhh,” You let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head. “Nu-uh. This one’s all you, kid. Go flag down Nathan, he’ll join you.”

“Ugh,” Jenn groans, “You’re both so boring—Oh, that’s me!”

Both?

You don’t have a chance to ask. You can’t help but smile, leaning back in the booth as Jenn scrambles toward the ramshackle stage at the front of the karaoke bar. The decor is dated, and sort of tacky. There are Halloween-themed fairy lights that look as if they’ve never been taken down; there are knickknacks all over the fucking place, with no visible theme or cohesion. The vinyl booths are a cool glitter-laden turquoise; the seats make flatulent-like sounds whenever anyone moves on them. You glance back as you see someone walking around the back of the booth before they slide in.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” You mutters, taking the drink from Nathan. You expect him to settle some ways away, but he presses as close as he did when you’d all been in the car. You clear your throat after you take a thick gulp.

“So,” You tip your head toward Nathan, eyes still set carefully on Jenn. “How do you know about this place?”

“You kidding? This was one of my favorite spots when I still lived around here.” A pause. Then, “I own it.”

“What?” You ask, finally stunned enough to turn to look at him. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“It was gonna close,” He excuses. “It’s a good time.”

You blink a couple of times before you turn toward Jenn again. The music is still starting up; the words are populating on the screen behind and in front and in her periphery. You’re not sure what to make of this information. You actually think it’s…Kinda sweet. And then Nathan leans in, adding,

“I have a thing for failing businesses with potential.”

You roll your eyes openly then, using the dimness of the room as cover and tipping your head away from him. You shift in your seat a little, subtly creating space between the two of you. You feel it again—Nathan turning to look at you.

“You gonna fuckin’ pout now?” He leans in to ask it, speaking over Jenn’s opening drunken yells of Ke$ha’s TikTok.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You’re not smiling, either.”

“Usually don’t have a reason to when you’re around.”

It just slips out. You only just manage to stave off a wince, your fingers flexing around your drink. And Bateman, the incorrigible shithead, just chuckles.

“You don't like me very much, do you?” He asks.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.” It’s a moment before Nathan leans closer again, speaking into your ear. “I know I spend a lot of time with tech, but the reason I’m so goddamn successful, why my search engine works? I know how to read people.”

“Congratulations.”

“I thought you’d do a little more sucking up, you know?” He adds, “Considering how much my contribution has done to help your company.”

“Jenn’s company.”

“DON’T STOP, MAKE IT POP, DJ TURN THE SPEAKERS UP—”

Your gaze flickers to her as she jumps up and down in time to the beat, pumping up the energy of the otherwise lethargic bar crowd. Nathan’s focus seems to shift there, too, and he nods.

“Certainly didn’t invest with her for singing ability,” He comments. You smile a little.

“No, you didn’t,” You agree, turning to look at him. “You invested because when she wants something, she throws her whole heart and fucking soul into it—”

“Alright,” Bateman waves you off. “You don’t need to sell me when I’m already signing your checks.” He turns, giving you a knowing, shit-eating grin. You turn from him, stomach churning and bubbling with alcohol and annoyance.

“...So what are we singing?” Bateman adds, nudging your arm with his. You scoff a laugh.

“We are not singing.”

“Not at all?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“Maybe next time.”

You smile ruefully, shaking your head.

“Probably not,” You offer, meeting his eye. “Time’s ticking, Bateman.”

You don’t have a physical calendar, so you don’t mark it outright, but when a company-wide message goes out from Jenn, congratulating and thanking you for rounding out your first year, you can’t help but grin. You’d been glib just about a month ago when you’d mentioned it to him, but time really was ticking.

One down, two to go.

Next Part: Year Two

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @aellynera ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @revolution-starter ; @rachelwritesstuff ; @queen-of-elves

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x YOu #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Three Years

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