#edit: i lied. it’s my display name now

[koqabear]

Wish Me Luck?

♫: Wake Up In The Sky, Bruno Mars

“In which working with these two makes your life impossible— because they’re annoying, and won’t leave you alone— you try your best to ignore them but sometimes, it’s too tempting.”

hueningkai x fem!reader x taehyun

Genre: pwp, rockstar au, makeup artist!reader, smut

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: genuinely like.. none, i think. 

Smut Warnings: dom!tae, dom!huening, sub!mc, threesome, unprotected sex, they’re both pervs sorry, use of mirrors(?), pet names (pretty, doll, cutie, etc.) dry humping, slight marking, handjob, fingering, hair pulling, spanking, praise, masturbation, slight exhibitionism?, multiple orgasms, creampie(s), lmk if i should add anything!

Notes: part of a rockstar!txt mini series. lowkey gave up on formatting so if shows don’t tell me. anyways! happy birthday to my bf huening 😁 again this was like… barely edited so it’s a little uhh… idk. enjoy, hopefully..

There are many perks that come with the rockstar lifestyle— money, clothes, fame, women.

Taehyun tries to take advantage of it all— and he has, though he finds that the last perk is reserved for someone more… special. 

Taehyun is currently in his favorite place to be before a concert— the makeup station, of course. This could mean many things for him; a chance for him to rest, a relaxing time to get his hair and makeup done, able to get perfectly dolled up just for him to ruin it all during his shows. 

But that’s not the reasoning at all— rather, his reasoning lies with the pretty makeup artist who, unfortunately, is not tending to him today. 

It takes a bit of enjoyment out of the experience— however, he will say that he’s not complaining about the view he’s getting now, watching the way you tend to Kai and touch his face as though he’s made of glass with a fond smile; before he can control himself, his eyes fall to the cute skirt you’re wearing today, a tug of guilt hitting his stomach at the way he feels slightly disappointed upon the realization that they have built-in safety shorts— what can he say? It was always a total accident when he looked over to you bent over, pretty ass on display as you worked diligently on the member assigned. 

Hueningkai, Taehyun notices, definitely isn’t faring well with your proximity to him. Unlike Taehyun, who’s always dying to get his hands on you and keep you to himself, Hueningkai has always preferred to watch from a distance— so to have you here, taking over his senses with the alluring perfume you use and feeling your delicate fingers brush against his skin as you do his makeup— well, safe to say Hueningkai is practically meditating to not pop a boner then and there. 

“___, have you been busy? I barely see you around anymore,” Taehyun asks, peeking up from his phone and over to the next chair where you continue to meddle with Hueningkai, standing back to observe your work before you’re jumping at the sound of your name. 

“Well, I’ve been assigned to the rookie group the company debuted, you know,” you sigh out, having had this conversation more times than you can remember as you reach to brush away a stray hair from Hueningkai’s forehead; you watch as his eyes flutter shut and his brows twitch, and you wonder if you may have irritated him as you press your lips together. 

“That’s unfair…” Taehyun pouts softly, pretending as though his phone is much more interesting as he continues to sneak glances at you, eyes darkening at how cute you look while concentrating, not paying attention to Taehyun’s words as you begin applying lip tint to Hueningkai, “They’re taking my makeup artist away from me, I don’t like this one bit.”

“I’m not your makeup artist,” you fuss, sighing in exasperation as you take a step back from Hueningkai; you tell him to open his eyes as you take in the final result, smiling softly in satisfaction as you observe your work on him— looking at Taehyun, you cross your arms, frowning at the way you catch him staring at you already, “I’m the company’s makeup artist. Who I get assigned to work on is entirely up to them, so I don’t get why you’re acting like this right now.”

“Is it wrong to want a pretty girl to do my makeup?” He asks, and your face twists as you watch his current makeup artist throw an incredulous glance your way— just as you’re about to turn and leave, you’re surprised to find Hueningkai grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to him. 

“My hair,” he mumbles quietly, so soft you almost missed it— you lean down to try and hear him better, unaware of the way his eyes dart down to your low neckline and your lips that pout in concentration, “Can you fix it? It’s… different now.”

As far as you’re concerned, he looks completely fine; you’re quick to tell him that as well, only to see as he insists that it was different before you worked on his makeup. 

“Well if you want, I can go get your hairdresser—“ you begin, only to stop short at the feeling of Hueningkai’s grip tightening slightly. 

“But you can do it, no?”

God, these two were impossible. 

Their behavior was nothing new to you, and you oftentimes found yourself the victim of teasing as your coworkers poked fun at the way the two seemed to be attached to you like lost puppies— you always tried to refute such claims, but the way they constantly wanted you around them really didn’t help. 

“You can do it, ___,” Taehyun says, and you feel a bit bad for his makeup artist as he moves to look at you, “Gives us an excuse to keep you here a bit longer.”

Out of the two, Taehyun is much more blunt— but that doesn’t mean you’re used to it, feeling your face grow hot at his words as you attempt once more to run away— it’s all in vain of course, because Hueningkai is tugging you back and giving you a look that almost makes your knees buckle.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this.

“Please.”

Nothing about that is a request. He looks up at you with lidded, dazed eyes, and you find yourself complying hesitantly the longer he looks at you like he’ll devour you any second. You don’t even know what he wants his hair to look like— so you go with his usual ruffled look, his long dark hair soft under your fingers as you stand in front of him and run through the locks with mousse. 

You try to keep a straight face the whole time; even when Taehyun continues to make baiting comments at you, complimenting you with a deep purr as he tries to get your attention back on him— even as you feel the way Hueningkai can’t take his eyes off you, much bolder than usual as you bite your lip and hover over him, quick hands desperate to finish his styling. 

Your hands freeze in his hair as you feel something warm on the back of your thigh. 

That something warm serves as Hueningkai’s hand, resting on your skin as he simply continues to look up at you innocently, chewing his gum and tilting his head as though to ask what’s wrong? 

You try to contain the shiver that runs through you as his thumb begins to softly caress your skin, venturing under the cloth of your safety shorts for a moment before he’s moving it back down.

“Something wrong?” Taehyun drawls out, and a glance at him shows that his makeup artist has left— it’s just you three, and your brows knit together as you take in the way his makeup isn’t done yet, “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You’re shaken out of your reverie at his words; putting the finishing touches, you step away from Hueningkai, feeling the way his hand is reluctant to leave your skin, his arm falling limply at his side as he stares at you with hungry curiosity. 

“I think I’m done here,” you breathe out, attempting to hide your shaky hands as you place them behind your back, “Make sure you’re changed and ready in time for the show.”

Bowing politely, you make your way to the exit— only to be stopped the moment you pass Taehyun, an exasperated sound leaving you involuntarily as he takes your hand and tugs you back to him. 

“Are you done?” he asks, sparkly eyes not enough to conceal his mischief as he tilts his head to the side, “There’s nothing missing here?”

Of course something is missing. Taehyun doesn’t have his lip tint on, but you refuse to point it out as you hum softly, pretending to be in thought for a second before you finally shake your head no.

“No?” he pouts— he’s then puckering his lips, nodding his head toward you and sending you a kiss as he smiles coyly, “Are you sure?”

“You seem to be missing…” you grit out, watching as he raises his brows expectantly, as though encouraging you to finish your train of thought, “Your lip…tint.”

“Oh. You think so?” he asks, looking back at the mirror and swiping a finger across his lips before he hums, “Could you do it for me, please? I’ve always loved how you left my lips all pretty.”

You’re inhaling slowly to not turn on your heels and run away— not because you don’t want to do your job, but because you’re anxious about what might happen if you’re left alone in a room with these two for a moment longer; all you know is that if the way they look at you serves as any indicator, then they’re definitely up to no good.

“My lips always look like candy with the combo you use,” he continues, watching as you go to the vanity to search for the products you usually use for him— after a moment, you’re turning to him, products in one hand a small lip brush in the other— your eyes meet his, and you’re slightly startled with the way he suddenly leans forward, eerily close to you as his eyes flicker down to the way your lips part in a silent gasp, “Don’t you think so?”

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” you mutter swiftly, immediately getting to work in hopes that Taehyun can just shut up for once— he does, but you’re still left at the mercy of his intense stare, trying to pretend as though his proximity isn’t enough to make you feel nervous.

“You look really pretty today ___,” It’s Hueningkai’s turn to torment you— if you weren’t so focused on Taehyun, you would’ve scoffed, opting instead to let out a noncommittal hum instead. 

“Are you doing anything after the show?”

He says that as you’re finally stepping away from Taehyun; silently, you’re happy for the timing of his words, because you know that you would’ve messed up Taehyun’s makeup from your surprise— which would’ve meant you staying longer to fix it. 

“No,” you say, refusing to elaborate even if their curious stares silently plead you to— turning around, you continue to ignore them as you put your stuff away, pretending as though you weren’t rushing in hopes to leave quicker. 

“Taehyun and I are going out for drinks after to celebrate the end of the tour,” He says quietly, and you make the mistake of looking up at him through the mirror— he’s looking at you of course, though the way his dark makeup only makes his eyes look more intense doesn’t help you at all— softly, he smiles. 

“You should come with. Our treat.”

“Oh, I— I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a bother,” you stutter out, your nonchalant demeanor beginning to slip the moment you see them stand up behind you, shaky hands rushing to zip your makeup case shut, “I should really get going now, you two still need to change—“

“Yeah, but what’s the rush?” You’re fucking trapped— they stand on either side of you, looming dangerously and looking at you as though you’re nothing but a treat for them to devour— you can feel their breaths fanning on each side of your neck as you attempt to close yourself off pathetically, trying to take a step back before you feel two hands on you— one on the small of your back, the other on your hip as they both push you back against the vanity; the startled yelp you let out is embarrassing, your hands flying down to support yourself from how firmly they push you forward. 

“We have well over an hour to finish getting ready,” Taehyun breathes out, lips brushing against your jaw as he lets out a soft sigh, “And that’s a lot of time, isn’t it?”

Hueningkai hums in agreement; his hand is the one on your hip as it rubs soothing circles, leaning down to where you hang your head and sending you a misleading smile.

“We should do something to pass the time.”

God, were they always this close? They’re filling your senses and making you dizzy, your hands beginning to ache from how hard you’re gripping the edge of the vanity as you simply gulp in response. Their lips are soft and fucking sticky from the gloss you just put on them, leaving kiss marks along your skin as they kiss you softly, mumbling compliments and praise that you can barely get through your head from how dizzy you feel. 

“Do you know that we try to request you for every show?” Taehyun asks, watching the way your eyes flutter shut as Hueningkai begins to trail kisses down your neck, open-mouthed and sultry as he nips at your skin teasingly, “Some bullshit about you knowing our complexion best— don’t get us wrong, you do, but…”

“You’re like a lucky charm,” Hueningkai finishes for him, pulling away and bringing a hand up to grab at your chin, tilting you to look at him as he stares at you with lidded eyes, “The show won’t go well if our pretty makeup artist isn’t here with us.”

You whimper— and shit, it’s humiliating, your cheeks growing hot immediately after as you wish nothing more than to dig a hole for yourself then and there— but oh, their words are so hypnotizing to you, speaking about you like you’re something they can’t live without, touching you like they’re starved and desperate to get a taste.

And judging by the way they look at you, they definitely are. 

“Sometimes… we wonder if it’s enough, just getting a look at you before we go on stage,” Hueningkai says, and it’s Taehyun’s turn to nod along and leave teasing touches, his hand playing with the hem of your shirt as he noses at your throat, taking in your scent with a satisfied sigh.

“I think it’d be nice if you wished us luck tonight,” Hueningkai says, tilting his head as he gives you a puppy-eyed look, “Don’t you wanna?”

Fuck. You can’t think straight, not when they’re taking up your space, unable to keep their hands and lips off you as they wait not-so-innocently for your response. Shutting your eyes, you try to move past the warm and welcoming feeling of their hands to think.

“This is dangerous,” you finally spit out, biting your lip at the way they immediately back off, “You could get in trouble— I could lose my job.”

“Oh please,” Taehyun scoffs, sitting back against the vanity as he crosses his arms, “The company doesn’t care about what we do in our private life— you’ve seen the way the others can get with their little groupies, right?”

You mull over his words for a second; it’s no secret that this band is very active and reckless, though you suppose the company has taken advantage of that and began to use it as their image halfway through their career— at least, that must be the case if they’re able to advance on you so boldly, the rest of your coworkers unfazed by the whole situation. 

“But— my job—?”

“You think none of these other people that work here haven’t fooled around with their groups?” Taehyun asks, the incredulous smile on his face quickly turning to a pout as he coos at the innocent, wide-eyed look you give him, “They know how to keep a secret, pretty— so do we.”

This is ridiculous— even more so because you find yourself considering it, quickly shaking your head upon the sobering realization— though, the two are keen to notice the way you have yet to try and scurry away from them like always. 

“Don’t you feel tired of being so uptight all the time?” Huening asks, your head snapping up to watch as he places his hands on your shoulders, hovering behind you as he massages them gently, “We could help you relax. Have some fun, even.”

The two try to keep it cool the moment you lean into Hueningkai’s touch— though, you can still pick up on the way Taehyun’s eyes widen and Hueningkai’s hands freeze for just a second, your eyes threatening to shut from the way you remain too shy to gauge their reactions. 

“Won’t someone come in?”

In response, they laugh— poor thing, they think, glancing back at the door that got locked long ago, if they were finally going to get their hands on you, the last thing they would do is allow someone else to see. 

“No one will come in right now— we’re supposed to be changing, aren’t we?” Hueningkai says, smiling against your skin as he continues, “It’d be an invasion of privacy to try and come in now.”

They grin at the way you remain silent, clearly lost in thought by their words.

“Want us to treat you good?” Taehyun asks, placing a hand on your waist before he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against yours as he lets out a shaky breath, “Thank you for your hard work?”

Finally you break. 

“Please.”

Taehyun is a messy kisser— though, you don’t find yourself to be too surprised, always more eager out of the two to get his hands on you as he begins to kiss you with abandon— his hand cupping your jaw to keep you close, tongue prodding your mouth open and sharp teeth sinking into your plush lips teasingly; behind you, Hueningkai has moved his hands to your hips, pulling you back and forcing your back to arch as you feel him begin to rut his cock into you slowly, dark eyes taking in the way you only whine and moan under their touch. 

“Fuck, let me use those pretty hands, baby,” Taehyun sighs against your lips, guiding you down to his hard bulge and smiling against your lips the moment you begin to palm him; you’re slow and unsure with your movements, but that only makes Taehyun needier as he begins to rut his length against your palm, eager to get stimulation as he places his hand on top of yours to guide you to hold him through his sweats.

“Is playing hard to get fun for you?” Hueningkai asks, his voice low and rough as he plays with the hem of your shorts, pulling at the waistband before letting it go and allowing it to snap against your skin, “I can feel you soaking through your shorts— so fucking needy, why have you been avoiding us so long?”

You don’t have half the brain to answer that question; not when Taehyun has slipped your hand under his sweats and Hueningkai currently pulls down your skirt, leaving you exposed as you hold Taehyun’s cock and allow him to fuck into your first with shaky breaths against your lips. 

Trying to avoid them was such a stupid decision— because if it meant you could have these two boys like this sooner, drunk off your touch and desperate to take even more from you, you would’ve given in to their cheeky comments and shameless flirting long ago. 

Hueningkai’s fingers are slender and long as they glide up and down your slit; pressing against your panties, taking in the way you’ve soaked through them with a deep satisfaction as he lets out a breathy laugh. His middle and ring finger press at your entrance, listening to the way you whine and almost letting out a groan at the way you wiggle your hips and press them back in hopes of feeling him inside you. 

“Waited so long for this,” Hueningkai breathes out, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulling them down sloowwly, watching as you whine impatiently before you’re stepping out of your garments— You pull away from Taehyun, staring down at the way he bucks into your fist and missing the way he bites his lip to suppress a laugh at the sight of Hueningkai pocketing your soaked panties. 

“Wanted to fuck you the moment you got assigned to us— our pretty makeup artist,” Hueningkai sighs, placing a kiss in between your shoulder blades before he’s fucking his fingers into you, jaw clenching at the way you suck in his fingers and tighten around him pathetically, the wet sounds that come from his shallow thrusts enough to have your head hanging with pleasure. 

“Do you…” you sigh, letting out a soft whine as Taehyun takes a handful of your hair and forces your head back up, clearing your throat in a weak attempt to continue as the said man now begins to kiss and suck softly at your neck, careful to not leave any marks, “Do this to… fuck, every crew member you think is attractive? Mess with them shamelessly and try to corner them so you can finally fuck them? …Hmm?”

Hueningkai’s index finger is tracing your entrance teasingly— he laughs softly at your comment, choosing not to say anything as he stretches you out with a third finger instead; he’s curling his fingers and grinding his hand into your cunt, taking in your expression with hungry eyes and noting the places that make your legs shake. 

“You think we do this to just anyone?” Taehyun asks, brows furrowed as he pulls away, taking in the way you wince at his appearance— more specifically, his lip tint that has smudged all over his lips and chin and onto your skin, “Baby, I hope you realize that you’re the first person we’ve ever pulled this shit on.”

“And the last,” Hueningkai chimes in, looming over your shoulder as he bites at your earlobe teasingly, his other hand circling your waist to rub at your clit, “We plan to keep you.”

God. You hope he didn’t notice the way you clenched pathetically from his words, but judging by the way he laughs breathily and fucks his fingers harder into you, he definitely did. 

“Shit, what aren’t these hands good for?” Taehyun asks, watching the way you pump along his length and reach up to swipe the precum that leaks from his tip, spreading it along the rest of his length as you watch the way your hand glistens and becomes messy from your actions, “You have no idea how much I thought about this— always felt so guilty watching as you did my makeup so innocently, unaware that I’d give up my job if it meant I could— I could bend you over this vanity and fuck you good.”

“Did you ever fantasize about us?” Hueningkai teases, only to be surprised by the way you nod your head frantically, eyes shutting from embarrassment as you grind your hips back into him, just to get a feel of his cock against your ass, “Yeah? What’d you think about? Maybe we could make it happen.”

You shake your head no— you’re reluctant to spew out your fantasies as easily as the two are, but that only proves to be a mistake from the way Hueningkai’s fingers slip out of you, instead landing down harshly on your ass as you jump at the sudden feeling. 

“What, too shy to tell us?” Taehyun asks, placing a hand on top of your own and making you slow to a stop as he examines your face, “Then again, you’ve always been a shy little thing— it’s your charm, you know.”

You can only let out a pathetic whimper at that; Taehyun is shaking your hand off him, your eyes fluttering open as you watch him tuck himself back in, giving you a sly smile before he’s sitting back down in his chair— Hueningkai is taking a step back, but it’s only to bend you over as he lets out a soft chuckle at your reaction— nodding to Hueningkai, Taehyun grins, his dimple poking at his cheek as he speaks.

“You first, Kai? I’ll give you the honors for being so patient.”

Your mouth is falling open the moment you feel his tip glide along your entrance— going up and down, clearly teasing you as he allows your wetness to collect on his dick, forcing you to listen to the sounds as you let out a shaky sigh, staring down at the vanity and your tense hands that are curled into fists— slowly, he begins to push into you, enjoying the way you bite your lip in an attempt to muffle your sounds, failing to do so as Hueningkai resorts to the next best thing— his hand is firm against your mouth as he holds your head up, your eyes meeting his through the mirror as you watch him begin to fuck you slowly.

The stretch has you blinking away tears of pleasure— if it weren’t for Hueningkai keeping you quiet, you’re sure you would’ve gotten the attention of the rest of the crew, your sounds muffled against the palm of his hand as your body begins to jolt forward from his pace, the vanity shaking slightly from the impact. 

“Fuck,” Hueningkai grunts, brows furrowed together as he watches himself disappear inside you, “So perfect. Pussy was made for me, look how good you take it.”

The two only laugh as you let out a weak whine at the praise— they’ve got you figured out good, and you’re meeting Taehyun’s gaze through the mirror as you catch him staring at you, stroking his cock at a slow pace as he simply gives you a teasing grin.

“Why don’t you watch the way Huening fucks you, pretty?” He asks, and your eyes flicker back to the sight he’s talking about, meeting Huenigkai’s eyes as he simply sends you a coy smile, “You look so perfect like this— bent over the desk like a pretty doll, perfect for us to use… isn’t that right?”

Before you can moan out a muffled response, a sharp knock on the door takes your attention; you’re jolting to try and get Huening off you in a hurry, but the boy merely retaliates by pulling you back against him, colliding against his chest and letting out a weak whimper at the feeling of him rutting his hips up into you— watch, he growls into your ear, grinning with satisfaction as you immediately follow his orders.

“Yeah?” Taehyun calls out, his tone much too casual for someone who’s watching his fellow band member fuck the cute staff member the two have been pining for. 

“Have you seen ___ anywhere? The makeup artist?” It’s Soobin, you all realize, your reaction of horror greatly contrasting the way the two merely smile casually at the realization, “They’ve been looking for her, and I thought you two would know where she might be.”

“Uhhhhm…” Taehyun draws out, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches the way Hueningkai continues to fuck you, fingers digging into your cheeks as his eyes widen at the way you’ve begun to squirm from his grip, your orgasm approaching as you try to grind your hips in search for more stimulation. 

“If we knew where she was at, we’d probably be there bothering her,” Taehyun jokes, a crooked smile on his face as he listens to the way Soobin scoffs on the other side, “But seriously, we’re changing right now. She finished our makeup a while ago, we haven’t seen her.”

A moment passes; you think you might explode from how hard you’re trying to hold back your orgasm, but Hueningkai seems to be hellbent on making you cum from the way his free hand goes to circle your clit, your mouth falling open as you practically shake from the feeling. 

“Well…” another pause— Soobin sighs, and Taehyun can already picture the man running a hand through his hair on the other side of the door, “Let me know if you find her.”

After a moment, his footsteps fade entirely— it’s only then that Hueningkai bends you over once more, grabbing your hips and using this as leverage to fuck you back into him as you whimper that you’re close— seconds after, you’re squeezing Hueningkai so hard he thinks his cock might slip out, fucking you through your orgasm as your legs simply tremble from the intensity of it all. 

“Did that get you off, baby?” Hueningkai murmurs, his hips beginning to stutter as he watches you lay against the desk, your cheek pressed against the wood as you only let out weak whines in response, “Knowing we were about to get caught? Is that what made you cum, cutie?”

In a pathetic attempt to dodge his question, you bury your head in your arms— the man behind you simply laughs, pressing on the small of your back and grinding into you slowly, biting his lip at the sight. 

“Want me to cum inside? Fill you up and have it leak down your legs, making people wonder just where you disappeared to for so long?” frantically, you nod; you’re pressing your ass back against him, trying to fuck back into him as Hueningkai only groans at the sight— moments later, you’re practically biting through your lip from the feeling of him filling you up so well, trying his best to fuck his cum back into you the moment it begins to drip back out. 

A moment passes where the two of you simply remain still, attempting to regain your breaths— then, you hear sounds of shuffling and footsteps, and you’re meekly raising your head from your arms to watch as Taehyun approaches the two of you with a teasing smile.

“You should go get cleaned up and change,” Taehyun says, tapping your ass with a smile, “It’s my turn now, isn’t that right baby?”

Hueningkai rolls his eyes at the other’s antics— then, he’s slowly pulling out, hissing softly at the feeling before he’s grabbing your face and bringing you up for a kiss— it’s slow and sensual, his plump lips addicting as he sneaks his tongue in for a taste of you— he’s reluctant to pull away, and only does so when you grip his shirt in your hands weakly and whine petulantly in his mouth— pulling away, he’s sending you a soft smile, taking in the sight of your shining and swollen lips before he’s telling you I’ll be right back— Taehyun rolls his eyes at his words. 

“Tell me,” Taehyun begins, bending you over once more and keeping his head next to yours, encouraging you to hold eye contact with him as he smiles softly— his index and middle finger are slowly massaging up and down your slit, and you let out a weak whimper at the feeling of him gathering the cum that’s leaking out of you before he’s pushing it back in slowly, “What would you fantasize about? I’d love to try it out on you.”

He won’t do anything until he hears your confession— a sign that you really did want them all along, forcing himself to tease you instead as he takes in the way you begin to break slowly, your hips attempting to chase pleasure, only to be stopped by Taehyun’s firm grip on your hip. 

“I could do so many things to you,” he mutters softly, placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder before he continues, “All you have to do is tell me.”

Fuck, where do you even begin? All the things you’ve ever thought about these two boys were reserved for the dark hours of the night when you couldn’t control your wandering mind, never to be revealed as you always told yourself you’d take this attraction to your grave— but now, as you feel Taehyun’s fingertips continuously dip into your entrance teasingly, able to feel the way some of Hueningkai’s cum has already run down your thighs, you really can’t be blamed for the way Taehyun’s sparkling doe eyes are able to extract the words from you without a second thought.

“Thought of riding you while I did your makeup,” you whimpered out pathetically, the confession enough to make your face feel like it was on fire— Taehyun, however, thinks the image might just make him cum on the spot, so he doesn’t have it in him to be apologetic as he quickly guides you back to his makeup chair and makes you hover over him.

“Well? What’re you waiting for?” He asks breathlessly, straddling his lap and staring down at him with wide eyes as he keeps his hands on your waist, having yet to find release as he feels his cock straining painfully against his sweats, “Now’s your chance, cutie.”

You stare at Taehyun— at his smudged makeup, his flushed cheeks, and his eyes that are blown open with need— and nod meekly, your hand reaching to take him out before you’re lining him up with your entrance, brows furrowing slightly as you properly take in his size.

That does little to hinder you; the way you sink on Taehyun is fucking painfully slow, and the said man is cursing in your ear as he feels the way you clench around him, your and Hueningkai’s release already coating his dick and making a mess of the chair as you stare at him with bleary eyes. 

“Don’t you need to fix my makeup?” Taehyun asks, his voice a bit strained from the effort to not pound into you recklessly— cluelessly, you nod, your expression making Taehyun let out a breathy laugh, “Do what you need to— I’ll do all the hard work, pretty thing.”

You’re unsure of what he may mean until he’s nodding back at the makeup case behind you— letting out a soft oh, you reach for your supplies, shaky hands taking what you need before you’re turning back to Taehyun. 

His hands are on the swell of your ass, smiling fondly at you before he begins to buck his hips up into you— softly at first, giving you the illusion that he’ll actually let you work, then becoming rougher as he watches the way your expression breaks, coherence leaving your eyes as you simply look at him with bleary, clueless eyes— your actions are oh so slow as you try to touch up on his makeup, trying your best to not make things worse than they already are— but the task seems to be impossible with the way Taehyun fucks you, biting his lip and guiding your hips up and down to get you to ride him as well, already noticing a second orgasm building up from the way you help him out eagerly. 

“Tyun,” you whimper out, makeup supplies in your fists as you place them firmly on his chest, “This isn’t working— I can’t… ah…!”

You’re interrupted mid-sentence as you’re finally coming undone on top of him— the makeup supplies in your hands dig into your skin from how hard you grip onto them, a weak, choked moan escaping you as Taehyun only continues to fuck you through it, not slowing down even after you’ve ridden out your high, going back to whining that you can’t do it, it’s too hard— too much.

“Yes you can,” he grins, taking in the way you only shake your head with satisfaction, “Okay then, can you hold out until I cum then? Can you be good for me, pretty girl?”

You don’t hesitate to nod at that; it has Taehyun laughing before it’s choked off into a moan, finally able to use you to his liking as he begins to fuck you rougher— shit… you hear him groan, and one look at him is enough to tell you that he’s staring at the sight in the mirror behind you— taking in how pretty you look as you bounce on his cock, hands desperately holding onto him as you tuck your head into his shoulder— The feeling of your lips sucking absentmindedly at his skin is enough to set him off, bottoming out inside you and groaning at the way his cum spurts inside you, barely able to stay in from how full you already are. 

Gradually, his pace slows down to nothing but a slow grind— you’re attempting to regain your breath once you finally sit up, still perched prettily on his cock as you begin to touch up his makeup with shaky hands. 

“Hmm? That’s unfair,” Hueningkai’s sudden voice has your head snapping up, looking to where he stands as he taps a finger at his collarbone, “Why didn’t I get one of those?”

Your eyes widen as you’re turning back to Taehyun at break-neck speed— sure enough, you’ve left a mark, and you can already feel your stomach sinking at the thought of having to cover that up. 

“Relax, our outfits are pretty covered,” Taehyun scoffs, reading your expression with a playful roll of his eyes, “But I wouldn’t really mind having others see it.”

“No fair, can I get one?” Hueningkai pouts, even more so when you deny him shyly, focusing on your task and pretending as though you’re currently not sitting firmly on Taehyun’s cock with both their cum leaking out of you.

“Baby,” Hueningkai calls out softly, making you turn your head as he captures you in another kiss— it’s even messier than last time, which you really didn’t think was possible as you’re left panting for breath once he pulls away, your eyes widening at the lopsided grin he sends you. 

“Fix my makeup next?”

Fuck, they’ll miss their damn show at this point. 

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun oneshot #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #taehyun smut #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai imagines #hueningkai oneshot #hueningkai smut

[quitesins]

Katsuki Catching you on the Sims

Masterlist

Tags: Sfw, suggestive, fem!reader, friends to lovers, short drabble, no edit just vibes

“Is…is that us?” The voice startles you and you immediately go to cover your screen, embarrassment hitting you like a truck.

“What- no- Kats’ what-” You scramble out the words, snapping your head to the side.

“Oh it fucking is, isn’t it?” You can hear the smirk, Katsuki shoving you lightly to the side and taking seat. “Go on, show me.”

You shake your head harshly, still clutching the laptop, not making any moves to close the game.

“Nah, I wanna see.” Katsuki can be stubborn and you know you aren’t going to get out of this one.

“Fine…” You whisper out, reluctantly slipping your hands down and finding the mouse pad.

God, it’s embarrassing.

You can’t even try to hide the resemblance between the character of your game and the man beside you. His name is in bright capital letters, admitting your lies for you.

“Huh, it really is me.” Katsuki muses, eyeing his Sims counterpart. “Got my skull shirt and all.”

The sim in question walks around the screen, throughout a large but homely house. The two of you watch it for a moment, when suddenly a notification pops up. Oh no.

“This sim is feeling…” Katsuki starts to read, and you wish for the ground to swallow you. “Flirty?”

You don’t even want to look at the screen anymore, but Katsuki does, following along the character as the camera pans. Soon another sim is in view. One that’s evidently you. And before you can even attempt to pause the game, divert the character away or even throw the laptop off you, there goes Katsuki’s sim, pulling yours into a kiss. A grand, dramatic, and undeniably salacious kiss.

Not a word is said. All you can hear is your own heart beating tremendously. You wonder if he can hear it. Then, abruptly and loud, Katsuki laughs.

A genuine- from the belly- laugh. He doesn’t stop, even when you shake him in protest, whining that he’s being a prick. There’s tears in his eyes, his head is tilted back and his hands rest on yours as they jab at him lightly. If you weren’t so flustered you’d probably appreciate the rare display of unrestrained joy.

“Shut the fuck up! Katsuki!” The laptop is pushed off you by now, and you’re practically atop of the man, shaking him to stop.

His laughter starts to taper but with a chuckle still in his voice, he says. “You’re an idiot, y’know that?”

Katsuki doesn’t give you a moment to take in the words, already pulling you to him, clutching your face in his hands and kissing you.

One grand, dramatic, and undeniably salacious kiss.

It surprises you for a second, but then you melt, almost asking for more. You’re on his lap, by your own movements and his. Nothing on your mind but the feeling of his lips against yours.

When the two of you finally pull apart, you can see how he blushes, how his chest falls and rises. Just like you- he’s in his own fluster.

“Could’ve just asked.” He breathes, the two of you calming. “I’d give you anything from that shitty game.”

The hint of jealousy makes you giggle, resting your head on his shoulder. “Even the multi-billion dollar house I designed?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft and full of love.

“Yeah, even the fuckin’ world.”

-

“Holy fuck [Name], do we have kids in this shit?”

“KATSUKI!! STOP LOOKING!!!”

I’m currently trying to re-download sims because the last I played was when I was 16 and I miss it! Bout to make my whole genshin team and start a fight club 💪

Edit: this is getting loads of reblog comment thingies and I really want to say thank u!!! But IDK HOW TO REPLY??? THIS APP IS SO HARD TO USE???!??

#fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki imagine #bakugou drabble #drabble #bakugou fluff #mha fanfic #quite shorts #quitesins bkg

[girls-alias]

Mental - Dean Winchester

Title: Mental - Dean Winchester

Words: 1,169

Relations: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: Mental health, mental breakdown, SH.

Prompt:

Saw a TikTok edit of Dean and it inspired me.

I excused myself from the table as I hurried to stand. I didn't look at Sam and Dean before I left the room. I was slightly hyperventilating but once I rushed to my room I couldn't breathe. I practically threw myself into the back of the door. Needing it closed and need privacy. I slid down the door trying to control my breathing, to bring air into my lungs but the panic attack didn't end.

How could Dean like me? I'm a mess, I'm crazy.

Nothing has even gone wrong and I'm still miserable. I should be happy, it's a day off, and I should be enjoying quiet time with Sam and Dean.

Dean doesn't like me. He just confessed it to find a way to let me down slowly.

I shouldn't have told him about my crush, I should have just hidden it like I have done all year.

He is so out of your league. He'd never like you. Remember when he would check out other girls, he doesn't like you,

Oh, my God. I'm an idiot.

My mouth was dry from breathing so heavily, I wanted to gulp to try and gain some control over my own body but it wasn't working. My vision seemed to be clouded by dark spots. I knew there was only one way to gain some control but I cried as I thought about it.

I feel like my only solution right now is to self-harm, I need to get control of myself. I'm acting manic. I have been clean for 78 days. I'm doing so well. I can't break that now. It took me years to get that far.

I cried as I crawled to my display knife that sat on my desk. It was a real knife, sharp enough to cut paper easily but it was only ever decorative. I pulled it from the stand. Resting my back against the drawers I brought my knees up close to my chest. I put my arm facing me in the divet between my legs. The tears evacuated my eyes as if an alarm was ringing.

"Y/N," Dean's voice called through the shut door, worry lacing his tone. "Are you okay?" He asked, worry more evident. I slowly put the knife down not wanting him to hear it. I cleared my throat softly.

"Yeah, why?" I asked but instantly winced as I knew I would never normally say that and Dean might recognise that.

"You just ran off," He explained not seeming to hear my error.

"Yeah, I just needed the bathroom," I lied. I waited anxiously in those few seconds it took Dean to reply. The door isn't locked, I hadn't thought of that. I gulped watching the handle afraid in case he came in and saw me. I don't want to think of how upset Dean might be.

"Oh, are you sure you're okay? You sound a little weird," He explained, his voice a little cheerier but suspicious.

"Gee, thanks Dean," I played it off. Smiling as Dean chuckled seemingly happy with my response.

"Okay, well come back when you're done," Dean explained, I listened to his steps as he walked away. I sighed with relief and sorrow. My tears quickly resuming. A part of me wanted him to come in, to save me but I was too scared to say anything.

I buried my hand into my sleeve, bringing it to my mouth to quietly sob into it. I screamed as the door swung open forcefully. I looked up to see Dean had burst into my door, eyes on me instantly. He looked completely startled, maybe even scared. I didn't have time to compose myself before Dean was crouching beside me. He held my hand, sneaking a glance at my wrist before his eyes dived deep into mine.

"What's going on?" He asked softly. I sighed, not caring to try and compose myself. I look like a mess anyway.

"You shouldn't have lied to me. You should have just turned me down," I sobbed as he moved closer, His hand on the back of my head bringing me closer to him so I could cry onto his chest, comforting me as he stroked my hair.

"I didn't lie to you, baby," He's never used a pet name for me before. He's just feeling sorry for me. "I do like you, I've always liked you. From the second you walked out the room when we first met I told Sam, I wanted you," He explained but I shook my head as I sobbed.

"You're just saying that because I did this," I stated as I lifted my arm.

"No, baby. No, I've liked you from the second I met you. I was too scared to say anything because I didn't think you'd like me," He explained as he hugged me a little tighter. "I want to be yours," He added. I sobbed, sitting up as I shook my head to look at him.

"You're too hot for me," I exclaimed but Dean shook his head. I could almost see hearts in his eyes as he looked at me.

"I want to be yours," He repeated. My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at him.

"I'm emotionally unstable," I argued but he smiled softly.

"I want to be yours," He repeated once again. I shook my head.

"Dean, -"

"I want to be yours," He interrupted. He placed his hand on my cheek, his eyes peering into my soul. Like earlier, all the air seemed to leave my lungs but this time I knew it was coming back. "I want to be yours," Dean commented before leaning in to connect our lips. My brain frazzled as I realised Dean was kissing me, we'd never kissed before. This is a bit far if he was lying. He has to be telling the truth. I should believe him.

I kissed him back, my hand coming up to the back of his neck as our lips moved in sync. His tongue graced my bottom lip. I allowed his access as our tongues met in the middle, dancing around each other. I could taste his morning coffee. He smiled against my lips as he continued to kiss me. I melted into his arms.

He slowly pulled away. I couldn't stop the smile on my face from spreading as I saw the joy on his face.

"Come on, we'll get you cleaned up and I'll take you on the date I've been planning all day," He explained cheerfully. I chuckled softly as he stood up. I tried my tears, looking up to see Dean offering to help me up. I smiled as I accepted his hand, and he pulled me to my feet. He took the opportunity to kiss me again. A shorter but passionate kiss. "I want you to wear something cute," He explained playfully as he led me to the bathroom. I smiled knowing now that Dean likes me and I am enough for him.

Masterlist

Working On

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean #dean winchester fic #spn fanfic #spn #mental health #self h@rm

[anarchyrpbook]

FALLOUT (TV SERIES, 2024): Episode Eight Feel free to edit the sentences, places, pronouns, etc, as you need. NSFW TW: Mentions of violence

“Find me.”

“The locals put up a fight, but so did we.”

“He’s dead.”

“This is not the first time a [Brother] in your company has fallen into misfortune, is it?”

“I fear you lied then. Just as you lie now.”

“Don’t kill me and I can lead you to it.”

“I can help you.”

“My injury was my own doing, not theirs.”

“Such a display of loyalty, don’t see that much anymore.”

“They died running.”

“[The Brotherhood] has lost its way.”

“And yet power is taken, not given. A lesson you seemed to have learned.”

“Your entire life you’ve been looking for a home. Build one with me.”

“Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Join us. It’s my turn to host, isn’t it?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this moment. You wouldn’t believe the things that went through my head.”

“Guess I was gonna, walk in here and blow everyone up.”

“But, it’s not really how I was raised.”

“Now, please, give me them back.”

“Time is the apex predator.”

“You’ll never find out. Uhp. [Pronoun]’s gunna find out.”

“How can you guarantee results?” 

“By dropping the bombs ourselves.”

“But this is our chance to make war obsolete.”  

“We have conflict, and we have war. And war, well, war never changes.”

“He never told you where he’s really from, when he’s from.”

“Wait, [name], they’re sending you?”

“Punishment for what I did to myself.”

“I had no idea they’d blame you for it… I’m sorry.”

“And he burned that city to the ground.”

“I think you know.”

“[Name], they’re lying to you.”

“You can’t go home, [name]. Not with what you’ve learned.”

“So you’re just - you’re just gonna keep me here?”

“I did what was necessary to save our people.”

“You’ve seen what it’s like here. Everyone equally afraid, equally miserable. Forced to do horrible things to survive. I had to make a choice.”

“I believe, I know I made the right choice.”

“If the problem with the world is factions endlessly fighting, endlessly at war, then what is the solution but to get rid of the factions? To make the world us, ours to shape?”

“I’ll bet that outfit makes y’all feel like a big man, don’t it?”

“I wonder if they fixed that in this new model? I guess not.”

“Did you get them?”

“I can’t see shit.”

“Find that fucking [ghoul].” “Open the door, [name], open the door and let’s go home.”

“You see what this place does to people?”

“You came all this way for me.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“Now, I’ve waited over [200] years to ask somebody one question.”

“War never changes.”

“You look out at this wasteland, looks like chaos. But, there’s always somebody behind the wheel, and that’s who I want to talk to.”

“Well, it’s easier to track a stuck pig than to ask where it’s off to.”

“You wanna know how I know [person], don’t you?”

“Let’s just say that everything about your whole little world was decided [over 200] years ago.”

“Now, you can stay here with him... Or you can come meet your makers.”

“You comin?”

“Hey, get up…”

“I’ll find you.”

“Okey-dokey.”

“We did it, [name].”

“What do you suppose your [Brotherhood] would do with infinite power?”

“Maybe you can stop them. Maybe you can’t. Maybe all you can do is try.”

#rp sentence meme #rp meme #sentence meme #roleplay meme #source: fallout (2024) #mine*

[oogaboogaspookyman]

My take on JOTAPHOBIA!

Og dude belongs to @the-arcade-doctor

In August 13 of 2001, a 16 year old named Jay Tenners was found dead in the defunct Jotabird's Arcade (opened 1982, closed down in 1989 due to another incident, however it's another story) with his entire face burnt right off and his hoodie was affected too by the same burn, and also the number 87 was carved onto his stomach. There are no handprints, nothing but the corpse that says it was a murder caused by someone, theories even going as far as proposing the existence of a THING.

Also an arcade game seemed to be activated despite the state of the establishment, it's called Fly With The J, but no gameplay was seen in the arcade machine, but rather just a message that constantly glitches in the screen written in green VHS font: "i envy you, i really do, but it's not for me"

The design isn't made yet but it's basically just an arcade machine with the screen displaying whatever the fuck you want as a bg (example: low quality black and white gif of birds doing bird things, The Walten Files type shit lmao) and a photoshopped depiction of a tall lanky version of the victim with a beak and the goggles of a plague doctor edited on his face, with a few pieces of a plague doctor outfit mixed in with the burnt hoodie and the 87 on the hoodie is a whole other texture floating in front of him and it never goes away.

That's it that's the post lmao i just wanted to make a spooky digital horror-like take on the man Jota because i thought it'd be fun lol bye bye now

1 n3v3r r34lLy li|<3d rry hum4n17y 4|\|yw4y

#spooker's retake #the-arcade-doctor

[mywifeleftme]

365: Patti Smith // Horses

Horses Patti Smith 1975, Arista

There’s a man named Nicky Drumbolis who lives up in Thunder Bay, Ontario, in an apartment that doubles as perhaps Canada’s greatest bookstore almost no one has ever seen. The septuagenarian Drumbolis is short and nearly deaf, a master printmaker and eccentric autodidact linguist. For years he ran a second-hand shop on Toronto’s Queen St. called Letters, until push (the size of his collection) came to shove (skyrocketing rent) and he went north, where he could afford a sufficiently large space to spread out. Unfortunately, Thunder Bay has little market for antiquarian books and micro press ephemera, and his shop is located on one of the most crime-ridden streets in the country. And so, the transplanted Letters has no storefront—in fact, the building looks derelict, its windows boarded up and covered with what at first glance seems to be graffiti but on closer inspection resembles a detail from the cave paintings at Lascaux. Letters’ patronage is limited to the online traffic in rare first editions that brings him a small income, and the occasional by-appointment adventurer willing to make the long, long 1,400 km drive from Toronto or further abroad.

When you enter, you find yourself in what appears to be a well-kept single room used bookstore, the kind there used to be dozens of in every major city. Books of every type and topic line the shelves, neatly arranged by category, and a long glass display features more delicate items, nineteenth century broadside newspapers and the like, some so fragile they seem on the verge of crumbling into dust. But this is not, Drumbolis warns you as soon as you attempt to take a book off of the shelf, a bookstore: this room is a facsimile, a tribute exhibit to as he calls it, “the fetish object formerly known as The Book.” The real bookstore lies in the chambers beyond this front room, the full catalogues of bygone presses, the one-of-one personal editions he’s assembled over decades of following his personal obsessions, the stacks which crowd his own modest sleeping quarters.

To Drumbolis, the original utility of the book as a container and mediator of information is now effectively passed; virtually every popular book in existence has been digitized, their contents instantly available in formats that are better-indexed, more easily parsed, and more readily transferrable than the humble physical book ever allowed. To desire a book is to desire possession of the thing rather than its contents, this edition, this printing, perhaps this particular copy that once passed through the hands of someone significant. He can show you the copy of John Stuart Mills’ On Liberty that was owned by Canada’s founding father John A. MacDonald, and argue convincingly that this object helped set the course of a nation’s history; or a set of Shakespeare’s complete works bearing Charles Dickens’ ex libris, which sets off a long anecdote about how Dickens liked to troll his houseguests with a collection of fake bookshelves. Drumbolis’s collection is threaded through his life like an old wizard in a fantasy novel whose flesh has fused with the roots of a tree: he eats with his books and he sleeps with them; collecting fuels his arcane research and dictates where and when he travels; 25 years ago he uprooted his life when his collection bade him, and though he’s starved for company in the frozen city it chose for him, he abides.

My own case of collectivitis is not so advanced, though Lord only knows what I’ll be like when I’m Old (I’m currently 47). And despite the conceit of this blog, I’ve seldom spent much time in these reviews dwelling on the physical properties of my records, evaluating the relative merit of pressings and the like (or even mentioning which one I’ve got). But as I sit here listening to my copy of Patti Smith’s Horses for the first time, I feel a small but definite sense of wonderment. It’s an early ‘80s Canadian pressing, so near-mint I might’ve stepped back in time and bought it new, still with what I take to be the original inner-sleeve, pale azure (to match the Arista disc label) with a texture almost like crepe paper.

It’s a delightful, surprising contrast to the iconic black and white cover portrait of Smith by her former paramour Robert Mapplethorpe. Generations of fans have stared at this image as they listened, not simply because Smith is hot (though this is undeniably true) but because the music’s visionary qualities demand an embodied locus. That a record, unlike a book, can speak aloud, has always primitively fascinated me; that this one contains what I can only describe as rituals makes it magical, this physical copy that is unique because it’s this one that is speaking to me in this moment. 

 Smith writes on the back of the sleeve:

“…it’s me my shape burnt in the sky its me the memoire of me racing through the eye of the mer thru the eye of the sea thru the arm of the needle merging and jacking new filaments new risks etched forever in a cold system of wax…horses groping for a sign for a breath…”

“charms, sweet angels,” she concludes. “you have made me no longer afraid of death.” The record becomes an extension of Smith’s body as it existed in that time—I think here of the physicality of the moment in “Break it Up” where you can faintly hear her striking her own chest with the flat of her palm to make her voice quaver. It makes me wonder how anyone could sell this thing once they have it: not because it is particularly rare or difficult to acquire, but because it’s hard for me to imagine the experience of slipping the lustrous black disc from its dressing and setting the needle down upon it as anything but a personal one. It is poetry and waves; the subliming of the idea of a rave-up; Tom Verlaine shedding his earthly mantle in an explosion of birds; John Cale; Kaye, Král, Daugherty, and Sohl; one of my boys from Blue Öyster Cult; the pounding of hooves and the Mashed Potato.

I suppose what I’m describing is a fetish, my pleasure in acquiring these things and writing these reviews the hard and strange work of finding life’s joy in its dusty corners. This year has run through my fingers like water, as it seems they all do now. But on my good days, all these words behind me and the records in front of me seem like a document of abundance.

365/365

#patti smith #horses #john cale #lenny kaye #ivan král #blue oyster cult #tom verlaine #punk rock #art rock #female singer #poetry #collecting #music review #vinyl record #'70s music #the end

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

322 of 2023

When was the last time you wore a Band-Aid and why?

when I was in the hospital, after removing the IV from my vein.

Do you like ketchup or mustard better with your corn dogs?

What are corn dogs even? I’ve never heard of it.

A trip to California, the Bahamas, New York, Wisconsin, Utah, or Canada?

Canada or New York, but I still prefer Europe, thanks.

What was the last act of creativity you displayed?

Re-edited some photos from two Belgian cities.

Do you like the way your hair looks right now?

Yeah, but it will need to be washed soon.

Do you ever find yourself just writing/typing out your feelings?

No, I can’t even put them into words.

If so, does that make you feel better?

I don’t do it.

Whose house were you at last, besides your own?

I don’t remember. Probably that dude in Mechelen.

Any big plans for this summer?

If possible, we’re gonna visit my parents.

Are you missing school yet?

Kinda miss my uni, but it can wait.

Do you like your teeth?

I’m not overthinking it.

Are you in a hurry to grow up?

I’m in my 30s, so.

Who was the last person you were in a vehicle with other than family?

Does the train conductor count?

Does piano music tend to calm you down?

No, but I like piano music.

What’s something you need to get done soon?

Dishes again, probably.

Is your best friend awake right now?

He’s at work. Late shift, he’s gonna be back home in an hour and a half.

Are any of your friends or family members out of town right now?

All my family lives far away. For my friends, I don’t know. I have friends all over the province.

If I came to your house, could I find any kind of chocolate?

Yeah, probably. We rarely eat it.

What size bed do you have?

Double, we sleep together.

What is the last thing you charged?

My backup phone.

Who was the last person to upload a picture with you in it?

Nobody does that. Without permission, it’s illegal.

Have you ever held a snake?

No, and I wouldn’t want to.

Do you like peas?

I love peas.

What is the last cd that you listened to in a vehicle?

Our car doesn’t even have a CD player. Everything is on Bluetooth. It’s manufactured in 2020, hello.

Do you ever wear sleep masks when you sleep or shower caps when you shower?

No and no. I find it pointless.

What would you like to drink right now?

Nothing, I’m good.

When is the last time you ate pudding or yogurt?

Today, rice pudding.

Would you rather go to a beach, an amusement park, or a water park?

Beach, hands down.

Don’t tell me lies, so where’s your man?

At work. Coming home soon.

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?

Yeah, my sister.

Has anyone said they love you in the last week?

Yes, my husband did. After having sex, as usual.

Have you faced any of your fears lately?

Yep, health issues again last week.

Have you ever kissed under water?

No, I haven’t. It’s not likely I ever would.

Which friend are you most similar to?

None, I guess. Neither appearance nor personality.

Your ex calls wanting to hang out. What do you say?

I would agree straight away.

Would you get back with your last ex if they asked you?

No, but we’re still great friends.

Have you kissed anyone whose name starts with a M?

No, but somehow I would like to. Oops.

Would you kiss the last person who texted you, on the lips?

Nope, it’s my father.

Camping with a ton of friends or hotel with a few friends?

Hotel, definitely.

Do you want someone dead?

No, I’m not 14 anymore.

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to?

I can always ask if I wish. We keep in touch regularly.

Could you go the rest of your life without a cigarette?

Never smoked, never will.

Do you have alcohol in your house?

We do, but we only use it as cold medication.

Have you ever wanted something you couldn’t have?

Does someone count?

Are any of your friends virgins?

I don’t go into details with their sex lives (I have better things to do), but by logic, many of them are not, because they have children.

What’s annoying you?

This survey, kind of.

How is your boyfriend/girlfriend doing and where are they now?

Jesus, three times the same question.

Do you have anything to pay off?

Yes, a few Klarna purchases.

What are you wearing right now?

Underwear lol. I’m chilling at home.

What are you listening to?

There’s TV in the background.

Where did you first hear this song?

Do you think everyone is listening to music while taking these surveys?

Are you the one that normally makes the first move?

No, I’m not.

Do you drink/smoke?

No and no.

#survey #q&a survey #random survey

[longalpha]

Gentle reader i married him

Fear not, dear readers, for if there is any scandal at said event, then I shall uncover it. Choose wisely, for her fate rests upon the hands of each and every one of you.ĭo not fret! I have my quill ready to note any scandal that occurs, so be sure to read my next paper for all the sordid details. But, perhaps the second-born, Benedict Bridgerton, could dominate this season as well.ĭearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season: who do you think would be most suitable to court our beloved Miss Auclair? As you tap on the name of your choice, it will lead you to the future of Miss Y/N and her eventual husband. Could the 1814 season finally be the season where one of the male Bridgertons marry? Perhaps, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton will grace the woman with his undeniable charms. Would she be the diamond of the season? After all, she grew up along with the famous Bridgerton brothers… Even one particular Bridgerton sister seems to agree that Miss Y/N would fit perfectly into their family. The Duke and Duchess’ new arrival has been the talk of the town, but this Author has been reliably informed that Miss Y/N Auclair is taking residence for the first time back in London after living in France for years. Much excitement is in the air regarding this new addition, and oh, what an adorable addition he is! Is there anything more exhilarating than the announcement of the ball held by Her Majesty, the Queen? Last season we were overjoyed with the success of our beloved Duke and Duchess of Hastings and after much anticipation, I can confirm that our fair city of Mayfair is gaining a new citizen! It is official… the Duke and Duchess of Hastings has welcomed a beautiful baby boy. But be forewarned, dear reader, I certainly know you.ĭearest gentle reader, the ton are abuzz as a new season is upon us. You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. "About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.It has been said that, “Of all women dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine.” If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth. More famous for her sensuous novels, Michèle Roberts now writes a short, sharp and witty novel in the spirit of Muriel Spark. in the unfailing sensuality of her descr) Book Description: The real pleasure of Roberts's writing lies. Guardian ( ‘Conundrums and their answers bombard the reader like a shower of carnival confetti in a novel whose characters resemble the cast of a modern-day commedia dell’arte. Roberts has constructed a fantastical Italian city, a capriccio of the sort beloved of Italian artists of the Renaissance, and makes the setting half realistic - imbued with the smel)įinancial Times ( ‘With her sudden offbeat collisions between reality and fantasy, Robert's sensibility is reminiscent of Jeanette Winterson’s, though undeniable shades of Muriel Spark prevail, of the writer fully in control of her measured, ironic tone, however much her n) Mail 'A triumphant tour de force ( Time Out‘Michèle Roberts is on sparkling form with her ludic 11th novel. but don't be deceived: Michele Roberts has written something altogether darker and wittier. The scenario is that of a standard romance. A sizzling firework display of a book ( Sunday Times ‘A deliciously black and breezy affair, the perfect antidote to dull winter days.

#Gentle reader i married him

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo-satoru-x-reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader romance #gojo x reader romance #gojo x reader imagines #gojo satoru x reader imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #gojo-satoru-x-reader smut #suki: 500 milestone event #suki: scheduled

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

#geraskier #siren #monster march #spicy #nsft #rex writes

[pandalandalopalis]

DEVIL MAY CRY WOLF - MATT MURDOCK X MUTANT READER MASTERLIST

[Updated December 11, 2023]

The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

THIS SERIES IS RATED MATURE FOR DARK THEMES INCLUDING VIOLENCE, SUBSTANCE ABUSE (DRUGS AND ALCOHOL), MENTIONS OF RAPE, AND MENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

This series uses formatting for effect. In order to fully experience the story, it is recommended that you do not read it on the tumblr mobile app.

Also apparently tumblr fucking removes spacing if you read the story on your dashboard rather than directly on my blog. Spacing is important to the story. For the full effect, it’s recommended that you read it directly on my blog rather than on your dashboard.

Create to writeyourmindaway for creating the divider I use for this story!

[Read it on AO3]

[Playlist]

[Edit]

[Gifset] [Gifset 2] [Gifset 3] [Gifset by buriedhatchetcominguplavender]

Part 1

Prologue

Chapter One: Frank Castle

Chapter Two: We Only See Each Other At Funerals

Chapter Three: Red-Tinted Mirrors

Chapter Four: This Doesn’t Mean I Care

Chapter Five: Promises, Promises

Chapter Six: Copycat

Chapter Seven: To Kill or Not To Kill

Chapter Eight: Take My Hand

Part 2

Chapter Nine: The Plan

Chapter Ten: Jigsaw

Chapter Eleven: Masks

Chapter Twelve: The Past and the Future have You Cornered (Are You Afraid? Are You Afraid?)

Chapter Thirteen: Blind Trust // Heavy Lies the Head that Knows the Avengers

Chapter Fourteen: Words Said in a Vigilante’s Shower

Chapter Fifteen: The Telepath

Chapter Sixteen: Wolf, Interrupted

Chapter Seventeen Coming Soon!

Chapter Eighteen: Tony’s Party Coming Soon!

(Chapter title previews are subject to change.)

(Note on Timing under the cut)

A Note on Timing: The Reader in this story (I have nicknamed her Wolf to separate her from my other xReader story) is a time-traveller. I recognize that sometimes this will make things confusing, especially the difference between what time period she’s in and how much time has passed for her specifically. In order to help with this, there are headers at the beginning of sections of the story that take place in different times or have a time skip (unless they’ve been omitted for story reasons). The time period (and place) will be displayed in bold, such as New York, 2015, New York, November 2017, New York, May 2017 -- but if there is a time skip that is the passing of time for Wolf herself, it will be displayed in bold and italics, such as Five Years (Give or Take) Later. The difference is that while the last scene may have taken place in New York, 2015, the Five Years Later does not mean that the next scene takes place in 2020, but rather that it has been five years chronologically for Wolf. I will include the time period underneath the time skip. So even though the last scene took place New York, 2015, the time period under Five Years Later is New York, 2016. Hope this makes sense! I know it can get confusing, so feel free to message if you have any questions!

#daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x you #matt murdock x you #daredevil imagine #matt murdock imagine #devil may cry wolf

[deviltoys]

IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!

hey, kevin here, i apologize that somethin' of this matter is being posted so late like this and so sudden. i won't be typing as i usually do as the accusations here are a serious matter and there won't be a need for my usual, light-hearted typing style.

it has come to my attention, though this information has been kept private for maybe a month, two? but has only just recently been brought to my attention by a good friend of mine. the claims were sent to him over instagram by my ex; kai or huhrizon. the photo will be attached below in which, kai, is laughing about the fact he believes he's found out that i am a minor. more specifically, fifteen. which couldn't be farther from the truth, this thread will be debunking and defending myself before he can come out and express these fabricated lies to try and ruin my reputation because he's upset that i wasn't ready for a relationship.

kai messaging mattia over the fact he believes he has uncovered 'my mother's facebook profile'. which will be debunked below.

very interesting that you decided to not only, try to uncover things about my identity after i politely explained to you that i no longer wanted to pursue a relationship, but that you're brewing up fake rumours just to try to get back at me for it.

onto the main claim. kai has been professing, that i, am infact a fifteen year old falsifying his age online. the reason he believes these claims are that, one, he found my mother's facebook profile. and two, that there was a photo on there of me, with the caption 'happy birthday kevin' posted onto the account. mattia has explained to me that this photo isn't here to be displayed as evidence, solely because kai sent the picture through instagram's vanish mode.

* this mode automatically deletes anything sent after the chat is closed.

mattia informed me that this photo was overall suspicious though as kai had blurred out the user's facebook handle. very odd indeed kai, very odd. i have no clue what this women looked like as there were no further photos, so until then, i don't know how i can debunk the woman not being my mother; appearance wise.

what reason do i have to believe this is motivated out of spite? before kai and i had become acquainted, i followed him through dylan, who had publicity posted about how his friend had created a dark blog. wanting to follow more creators who shared a similar interest, i followed him. immediately, kai had started sending asks about whether or not i was single. we had not talked nor even messages before, we had liked a few of each others posts and that was the max of our interactions. but i responded with a flirty remark, which i am now known for, but wasn't at the time. flirting was thrown back and fourth and after awhile i had realized i was no longer ready, mentally or emotionally for a relationship at that point in time. i still had full feelings for kai, yet kindly expressed my discomfort with a relationship. which he mutually accepted and that was that. i thought we were ended things on great terms, we both communicated and got our messages out of the way.

apparently this was not the case, as kai, without my knowledge goes to search for any sort of dirt he can find on me. which, i will be using a post by dylan to explain why i have reason to be swayed into the fact this was out of anger— i love dylan, and he's not included in these accusations whatsoever, but this post is important to view. do not drag him into this, please. i'm serious.

dylan admits to kai being able to ruin people's lives for fun. which is obviously, not a good look for him. he purposefully goes on the hunt for any information he can attach to someone. unluckily for him, he couldn't find anything worth exposing, so he restorts to making up lies about my age in an attempt to get some sort of revenge? as punishment for breaking his heart i presume. very, very mature after a breakup which i calmly and kindly let you know that i wasn't ready for anything further.

now, onto the rebuttal i have for his big accusation; me being a fifteen year old who's mother's social, kai sniffed up. my mother does not own any form of social media, she has an email which is technically not even a social app. ( this is used for her grad teachers, in order to contact her for reasons that will be explained ).

my mother hasn't had any social app for years, much less posts or takes photos of us to display whatsoever. my mother entered a relationship with a man, who at the time she didn't know was very, very anti-lgbtq.

* before anything else it's important to note that kai, believes i have a brother. i told him this in order to stray away any true information about me, as there are very few people i fully trust with the knowledge of my personal life. much less, someone who i just met at the time; i.e kai. kai had mentioned a friend of either his or his brothers being named 'hank' to try to also fit the lie of having a brother, i told him it was a funny coincidence that my brother had the same name. i do not have a brother, my sister and i are both trans— she being mtf, and i being ftm. she has given me explicit permission to disclose this, as i wouldn't ever dream of letting that information out without her word.

this leads into my main argument. my mother had been with this man for quite awhile, and had finally asked us for permission to give him the news, that we were both transgender and that he should know for the future of our family. he obviously, did not take this well. to keep details minimal for the safety of my family, i'll briefly explain some of the shit he's done to my mother. stalk, threaten, send unsolicited photos and dead animals to our home, try to get my mother to meet up - or find her location to meet up with her, and many, many more vile things. my family has been hiding, moving, and changing our identities ever since. my mother has wanted a healthy, safe environment for her children to grow up in without fear that their lives would be taken or in some way ruined by this man. we can't keep a house for more than a year before we're forced to go into hiding because of a message from him or some sick prank from somebody who knows about the situation. this is all i can say, as i don't want him to somehow get ahold of this post. which is also why i am withholding my families legal names as well as her ex's legal name just to be cautious. though it is never ever justified to lie to your partner, kai and i had barely talked and i felt pressured by the environment and excitement to rush headfirst into a relationship. causing me to hold back any truth to my personal life, excluding interests, stories, and stuff of that sort. which deserves an apology all on it's own.

now, where this fifteen, number came from. not a clue in hell, my sister, is sixteen but was fifteen at the time i was in a relationship with kai. i have no clue if this has anything to do with it, but he knew, as i told him i was celebrating her birthday through text. letting him know, the age she was and the age she was turning.

i live off the grid and always have. my legal name is not on here, my family or friends names, etc. my personality, all me, the stories or hobbies i have? true. my job? true. i express the true me on here while still holding back information that could cause my family into another year of hiding. my mother never has and never will have any socials. she barely uses her email out of fear, but has no choice as it's her only means of communication to her job.

another quick thing i would like to mention, to be truthful, as this is a post solely based on trust alone. as i have no physical evidence to back it up. i sent a photo to kai, letting him know it was taken when i was in middle school. i told him my mother put a filter over it, which is weird right? i just explained how my mother doesn't have socials, he's got to be lying, right? no, my teacher had taken the photo and she had edited on her photo to show our grandma, who she sent the image through phone messages. this was no lie, but it was a misdirection to try to get kai to believe my mother posted about me. i still didn't trust him and never fully did, so this was another. morally wrong, attempt to cover my true identity by lying to him about it. which, again, never right to lie to your partner. but i have a family to protect, it's hard to make friends and relationships online when you have to hide who you truly are your whole life. and i'm sorry that's been the case, though the information my mutuals privately know is all the truth. i've grown to trust a fair few, so thank you.

as a summary, these claims are total bullshit. i can provide more context or answers to any questions you may have, below, through dms, or through my inbox. this was once again posted before he could get his word out, as i wanted to make sure everyone knew what i had to say, in case he decided to 'expose' me while i was at work, or too busy to compile a rebuttal. thank you all for listening, you don't have to believe a word of this. as yes, my story does sound far-fetched but i have no way that i can verify it without putting my family in danger. which, i'd much rather lose my online status over a silly rumour than harm my family for another multitude of years. this is a rather short and rushed post though, as it's been bugging me for awhile and i just need to push it out.

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 18

Pairing: Eric Northman x reader

Warnings: mentions of unwanted touching and assholes thinking of rape (no sexual assault takes place beyond groping)

A/N: This is longish. I'm lazy and didn't edit. If anything is glaring let me know.

***

It was decided that you and Sookie would present as friends looking for a new church. You intended to play quiet and if necessary you would pretend you were the puppet Stan thought you to be until you escaped from your horrible vampire boyfriend. You thought he loved you. Sob. So on and so forth.

Part of you wanted to go with Stan’s idea. Hell, if there was a way to be rid of the Fellowship without it pointing back to the vampires, you’d jump for it in a heartbeat. They were the epitome of everything wrong with so-called religions. Standing behind their gods to justify their hate and prejudices.

You sighed as you pulled into the parking lot. A perky blonde signaled for you to park and you frowned.

“Why does she look familiar?” Sookie asked.

“That’s Sarah Newlin, the reverend’s wife. I’m not happy that it appears we were expected, Sookie. I doubt she greets everyone that pulls in the parking lot.” You clenched your teeth together. Your gut was telling you to just pull right back out of the parking lot, but this was still your best bet to find Godric. “Just be on guard.”

Sookie nodded her head then slipped out of the car with a grin on her face, ready to greet the Mrs. You followed along behind her playing timid.

“Hi,” Sarah exclaimed. “I’m Sarah Newlin. I saw y’all pulling in and thought I’d come out and greet you myself.”

Sookie walked right up to her and shook her hand. “I can’t believe I’m actually getting to meet you. My name is Heidi Merlotte. This is my friend Sylvia North. We’ve recently moved to the area and are looking for a church.”

Sarah shifted that smile to you and held out her hand. You took it gingerly and kept your other arm wrapped around your waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sylvia.”

You just nodded in acknowledgement.

“Well, you’re a quiet thing aren’t you?”

Sookie wrapped her arm around you and leaned forward as if sharing a great secret. “We moved to get Sylvia out of a situation, so to speak. She’s still recovering.”

You could almost believe the look of sympathy Sarah directed your way. She turned and motioned for you to follow her. “Well, follow me and we’ll see if Steve’s available. I’m sure he’d just love to meet you.”

“The reverend himself?” Sookie enthused. “That would be amazing.”

The two of you followed Sarah to an office where Steve Newlin sat behind a large desk. “Honey, we’ve got a couple of friends here looking for a church. Heidi Merlotte and Sylvia North.” You shuffled in and took the offered hand, nodding at his greeting before looking around the office. Sarah bent over to whisper something in her husband’s ear that you weren’t meant to hear. “They insinuated they moved to escape some sort of trauma.”

Steve made a sound of agreement before gracing you with that megawatt smile he was so famous for. You settled into your chair, content to let Sookie do all the talking. She always chattered when she was nervous anyway.

“Sylvia and I met in church actually, but we left when we discovered that the pastor was…well he was…” Sookie trailed off dramatically and you managed to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Homosexual?” Steve suggested.

Ugh, just when you thought you couldn’t hate this guy more than you already did. What an ass. “A sympathizer. He was a sympathizer,” you said before he could say something else that made you want to punch him in the face.

“Now see, that really makes me mad. How can you claim to love God if you love something God hates?” Too late. You wanted to punch him.

“Well, given Sylvia’s history, we know just how horrible vampires are,” Sookie added after a pause and you wondered what she’d heard in the asshole’s head. “No one will ever convince us that they have any sort of control. They are just evil.”

The Newlins’ attention turned to you with her words. You’d curse her, but this was the plan. You unbuttoned the top button on your shirt and pulled it open to show Eric’s marks. Normally you just wore one, but he’d given you a couple of extra the night before to add to your story. Once they’d seen, you buttoned your shirt back up as if you were ashamed.

You cleared your throat. “He was my boss. He was nice enough at first but then he started catching me in the backroom and feeding. He glamoured me into thinking I enjoyed it. That he loved me. I didn’t know until he came to my house one night and Heidi caught him doing it. She told me everything and helped me escape.” You reached over and grabbed Sookie’s hand. “She saved my life. I truly believe that.”

When you finished with your fantasy, you bent your head forward and wiped away a non-existent tear.

“I am sorry that such a horrible thing happened to you. But that’s what we’re here for is to help people like you. None of this was your fault,” Sarah’s voice comes.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” You kept your head down so you didn’t have to meet their gazes again. Frankly, you were tired of looking at them.

Steve clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s take a little tour, shall we?”

A tremor of unease crawled down your spine. You were pretty sure the Rev. Newlin’s job description didn’t include giving tours to the peons. You looked up at them, attempting to appear upset instead of untrusting. Sookie and you followed the couple out of the office to what you assumed was the door of the sanctuary.

Steve stopped before opening them and turned to face you. “Now, be careful when I open the doors.”

You arched a brow. “Careful?”

He grinned. “Sometimes when we open these doors, so much love comes flowing out it just knocks you right over.”

You were pretty sure that was the flood of bullshit actually.

“We’ll be sure and brace ourselves,” Sookie responds with a chipper smile.

When they opened the doors, you were actually impressed with the sight that greeted you. The large wall of windows at the back of the church allowed sunlight to flood the sanctuary. It was quite a stunning display. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? I just love this room. It just seems to glow in the afternoon light,” Sarah said, obviously meaning every word.

“It’s just so inspiring,” Steve added.

Sookie fidgeted beside you and you knew whatever the reverend was thinking, it wasn’t pleasant. You reached over and hooked your arm with hers.

He looked between the two of you. “Say have you two ever been to a lock-in?”

“A l-lock-in?” Sookie stuttered out.

You gave your brightest, fakest smile and channeled your inner Sookie. “Not since I was a kid. Gosh, those were good times.”

“Well, we’d love to have you join us,” Steve offered.

Whatever he was up to, Sarah didn’t like it if her body language was anything to go by.

Sookie tugged at your arm. “We should go home and get our stuff so we can do the lock-down.”

You looked down to cover your smirk. They were definitely behind Godric’s disappearance then. You understood Sookie wanting to get out of here, if she’d confirmed that, but in all honesty you were the best option for getting Godric out of here without causing a scene.

“You have plenty of time. The lock-inisn’t until tomorrow. Besides, we haven’t finished the tour yet,” Steve said.

“You wanted to see me?” a voice interrupted and Sarah only looked more concerned. A large bald man came to stand by the Newlins. He was obviously their muscle.

“Oh good. Heidi, Sylvia, I’d like you to meet Gabe, one of my aides,” Steve introduced.

Gabe shook your hands while running his gaze over both of you. He licked his lips and you wanted to kick him in the nuts. Maybe later. It would give you something to look forward to.

“Gabe will be joining us for the rest of the tour,” Steve said, patting the other man on the back.

The tour continued far longer than necessary. “I’m sorry but we need to be going. I don’t like to be out after dark,” you said.

“Oh there’s just one more thing I want to show you. It’s a very special part of the tour. Most people don’t get to see it. My father’s tomb.” He sounded entirely too happy about that.

“Steve, are you sure?” Sarah asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I just don’t see why we need to go down there.”

“Not to be rude but I really don’t want to see someone’s grave,” you said.

Steve looked at you. “You have to see it. You can really feel his spirit down there. It’s the cornerstone our church is built on.” He opened a door that led down a steep set of stairs. Creepy basement. Check. And probably no windows. Perfect place to keep a vampire.

Sookie grasped your arm. “Sylvia?”

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked.

“She’s a little claustrophobic,” you lied.

“Well, at least take a little looksee so you can say you saw everything and you can make an informed decision,” the reverend argued.

“But we’ve already decided to go here so I don’t think it’s necessary,” Sookie said, her voice shaking. “We should go, Sylvia.”

“No,” Steve said. “Gabe!” Steve dived for Sookie and Gabe came after you. He grabbed you from behind, crossing his arms over the front of you, copping a cheap feel as he did so. Fucker. Irritation and Anger flooded through you and you knew Eric would pick up on it. He wouldn’t give you long before he came in after the two of you.

It wouldn’t take much for you to get free and to free Sookie as well, but you wouldn’t get a better opportunity to explore the basement. You feigned fighting and let the asshole carry you down the stairs with a firm grip on your breast.

You heard Sookie fighting behind you. “A little help, Gabe. I think the fucking banger’s on V,” Steve yelled.

“Quit fighting, Heidi. You’ll only get hurt,” you called and heard the commotion die down. At least she trusted you enough to do what you said.

They carried the two of you into a storage cage and locked you in after taking Sookie’s purse and searching both of you. As soon as they were out of sight and you heard the door shut upstairs, Sookie turned to you. “I sure as hell hope you have a plan because that Gabe guy is a total asshole.”

You hummed in agreement and pulled your lockpicking tools from your hair. They looked like barrettes and bobby pins to the untrained eye. “My plan is to find Godric before Eric gets here to rescue us.”

“You seem sure he’ll come,” she said, sounding surprised.

“I am. And if he doesn’t, I’ll get us out. Don’t worry about it.” You moved over to the gate to see the best way to go about getting the two of you out. The chain link configuration complicated things a bit but you’d figure it out.

“You’re always so sure about things. I wish I was like that.”

“A little bit of uncertainty makes life exciting,” you said with a grin before grabbing the gate and shaking it to see how sturdy it was. Keeping your grip you leaned against it. “Little god, little god, it’s time to go home,” you said in a singsong voice. Godric would hear you if he was anywhere in the basement.

“Little god?”

“Long story,” you assured her and shook the gate again. “Good news, the gate is designed to keep people out, not in. Also good news, I’m not completely human.”

“What’s the bad news?” she asked.

“This will be loud.” Unfortunately, the only top to the cage was the ceiling so there was nothing above you to grab onto. Instead, you grabbed onto the chain link beside the gate and used it to swing your body at an angle so your feet hit right where the lock was. You repeated the action two more times before dropping down so you could check the lock.

“Little god, I’m not leaving without you. I know you like me too much to let me die,” you said distracted as your focus was on the gate. You’d definitely done some damage but you decided to keep your feet on the ground and see what kind of damage side kicks could do.

After the second kick, you heard the door upstairs open. “What’s going on down there?” Gabe. Good.

“Nothing,” you called back even as you kicked again and the lock gave way. You grabbed the gate and pulled it shut as his feet thundered down the stairs.

He glared at the two of you before finally settling on you. You had no idea what Sookie looked like behind you but you were giving your best evil grin. “What are you up to, you little bitch?”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” you taunted, waiting for him to get closer.

“You’re not a lady,” he said. “You’re just some vampire’s whore.” He licked his lips and looked you over again as he pulled keys from his pocket. When he caught sight of the lock, he frowned and moved forward, “What the hell?”

Once he was within striking distance, you slammed the gate forward so it cracked him in the head and shoved him back. You didn’t give him time to recover before you attacked with punches and kicks. He got a couple of hits in as he tried to take you down. To regain the upper hand. But you weren’t about to let that happen. Finally, you got in position to put your arm around his neck. You kept the hold up until he dropped to his knees. When you would have continued until he quit breathing, a hand dropped on your shoulder.

“Enough.”

You looked to Godric. He wasn’t your sire. You had no loyalty to him, but he was a friend. You released Gabe and took a step back. Your gaze ran over the little god. Other than being paler than usual, he looked good. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. That was all the invitation you needed to wrap your arms around him.

He returned the hug. He moved his nose near your neck and inhaled. “You smell like my child.”

“Mates.”

He held you at arms length and looked at you in surprise. “He’ll come for you then. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. I figure we’re about out of time.” You gestured to the cage. “Godric, meet Sookie. Sookie, Godric.”

Sookie gave him a smile and a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

His mouth set in a firm line and his gaze settled on you. “You brought a human with you to rescue me?”

“She’s a little something else, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not particularly, no. Especially considering what this one would have done had you not been who you are,” he gestured at Gabe.

“Speaking of, you should let me kill him. He groped me.” Reminded of the earlier incident you moved over to the prone form and nudged him so he was laying on his back. Then you kicked him in the balls as hard as you could. “Asshole.”

Godric’s lips twitched. “Feel better?”

“Much.” Sounds of a fight came from upstairs. “Eric.”

“Yes. I am here, my child. Down here.”

In a flash Eric was there. He stopped in front of you first, holding your arms as he looked you over. “I’m fine.”

He nodded once before turning to his maker. “Godric,” he said almost reverently before kneeling in front of him.

The moment was interrupted by Sookie’s laughter. The three of you turned your attention to her. She had a hand over her mouth as she tried to quiet herself. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just Eric is all respectful and kneeling while you hugged him and called him little god. It’s just funny.”

Eric got to his feet and gave you a look. “Of course, you did.”

“What? Godric likes my hugs.”

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #eric northman x you #impossible #series

[exquisitley-obsessed]

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Two (carlisle cullen x reader)

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: Long

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is part two of this request because it was so highly requested!! Thank you so much for the love and support!! I’m back re-reading the twilight series so if you have any requests just send them my way<3

MASTLERLIST

“I’ll see if we can sort this thing out.”

It was the last thing he had said to her with a small and yet reassuring smile before he turned and walked through those pale doors and apparently, y/n’s life. She hadn’t seen Dr Cullen since the day of the accident. Hell, she had barely seen his adopted children. Spring was warming into summer, the sun glittering down through the immense greenery and the Cullens were never around when it was sunny. 

Bella and Edward were getting closer with every passing day. He had taken over their morning ride together, stopping by in his silver Volvo to pick Bella up, every so often flashing a smile at y/n as she climbed into her own less flashy car. Edward was kind enough to leave Bella to y/n after school, considering they both finished with gym. It was precious time for the pair as they recounted their day and filled each other in on gossip, none of it proving to be that interesting. Well, apart from the budding romance between Bella and Edward.

Despite y/n’s secret complaints every time Bella disappeared from a study session or cancelled a trip to Port Angeles, she knew her prejudice came from no genuine malice toward Edward. After all, he was lovely. Since the day of the accident his attitude towards y/n had done a 180, before he had never so much as spared her a glance and now he smiled at her in the corridor, even sat next to her in English, the only class they shared together. He made little conversation, most of it was inquiring after Bella but it was nice to have made a new friend.

It just seemed unfair. They way he had spoken in the hospital made it seem as if something would happen, perhaps an apology gift or an invitation to their mansion up in the woods. Something. Edward’s cordial behaviour was pleasant but in no way satisfactory. Y/n wished in every spare moment to see the doctor again, and when she wasn’t wishing to see him she was imagining what it would be like to see him. Maybe he’d pick the Cullen’s up after school or maybe there would be some big event in town which everyone went to. It was a silly thought since the Cullens were rarely grouped with ‘everyone’. So her mind of drifted to the idea of herself being injured, dragged into hospital only to have his face, angelic and flushed in light hovering above her.

“Stupid.” She muttered under her breath, dismissing the thought instantly. Bella threw her a glance, “Forgot to carry the one.” Y/n lied as she smiled and looked back down at her barely touched maths homework. All this pining and obsessive thinking made her feel so little and insignificant. She felt like a student with a crush on their teacher, and in many ways she was. Every time his name or ivory face rolled into her mind a small voice in her head protested.

She hated that voice. It was the one that reminded her she was only a junior in high school. The one that mocked her, told her that he was an adult with a job, a medical job that must have demanded a couple of years of study pushing him into his late twenties. What doctor has time for a high school student with a crush. A crush that was so overt she couldn’t even talk to Bella about it. Bella who had quickly grown into becoming her best friend, Bella who was dating Carlisle’s adopted son, Bella who was currently packing her things into her bag with haste.

“Where are you going?” Y/n hated the small whine in her voice and tried to play it off with a smile. She wanted to be happy for Bella and Edward and deep down she was, they were just a reminder that she was getting nowhere with her own crush and, most likely, never would.

“I’m running up to Edward’s to pick up his Bio questions. I forgot about them and he offered to help.” She smiled, oblivious to y/n’s anguish.

They were camped out in Bella’s room, a strange sounding CD playing in the background as they finished off their schoolwork. It had become a bit of a ritual to spend time with each other doing insignificant things. Bella was nice like that, never desperate to go anywhere or really do anything, happy to stay inside. Plus Charlie liked having y/n in the house, he was always asking her questions about her parents, grateful Bella was able to make such a good friend so soon.

“M’kay.” Y/n followed in suit, shoving her unfinished problems into her bag. This was her cue to leave. “How is Edward by the way?”

“He’s...fine?” Bella smiled wryly through her lashes, “Why are you asking?”

“Oh, it’s just, you always fill me in on your gossip but never actually tell me how he is.” Y/n smiled back as they both padded down the stairs.

“He’s fine. I think. His family’s a bit nervous about us actually.”

“Oh.” Y/n tried to make her voice sound as inconspicuous as possible, hiding her feral craving for more information on the Cullens.

“Well...it’s mostly just Rosaline, you know the blonde one.”

“The gorgeous one.”

“They’re all gorgeous.” Bella sighed.

“You got that right.” Y/n muttered under her breath. Pale hair melting into pale skin - the human equivalent of snow.

“Anyways,” Bella sighed not hearing her, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yup!” Y/n called over her shoulder as she hopped the fence between their two houses, pulling the keys out of her pocket.

A loud engine revved distantly followed by the squealing of car tires as a silver blur flashed down the street before halting in front of them. Edward. He was out of the car quickly, a broad grin stretched across his cheeks. He was smiling at Bella, of course. Y/n was happy for them, smiling to herself as she pushed her keys into the door.

“Hey y/n!” His voice was both silken and broad.

“Hey!” Y/n spun around shooting him a grin, “How are you, I haven’t seen you for a while.” It was nice now that she was able to actually carry a conversation with him, that they weren’t just strangers.

“Yeah weather’s been nice, Carlisle took us up this trail in the mountains. It was beautiful.” Edward said his name so casually and yet the word stunned her for a minute. It had been so long since she had actually heard it said aloud.

“Oh,” She murmured, her breath somewhat stuck in her throat. His eyes were careful, assessing her despite his broad welcoming smile. “Well you owe me,” Y/n relaxed back into the conversation, “I’ve been taking over Bella runs to school.” His laugh was loud and rare.

“Hey!” Bella half-protested tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “I didn’t realise I was such a burden to you guys.”

“Aw, it’s okay.” Y/n smiled, her keys feeling slippery in her fingers, “You make up for it with good conversation.” Y/n turned back to the door, mentally preparing for her night of microwaved meals and algebra.

“Y/n,” Edward’s voice surprisingly called out, “I’m running Bella up to mine for some biology questions but I wouldn’t mind if you came. I’ve got that first edition Hardy I was telling you about in English.”

The offer was most shocking to Bella who turned, utterly stunned, to gawk at her boyfriend. Y/n felt as though she had just been slapped as her heart lurched, sure her and Edward were chatty but the fact he was now inviting her to his house - the Cullens house. She did a quick mental calculation. On one hand she was invading Bella’s privacy with Edward but it was him who offered the invitation, on the other hand, well she might just see him. If it were anyone else y/n would have politely declined and been happy with soggy potatoes and Pythagoras, but she felt completely and utterly compelled to accept. The mere chance that he might be there in that house was enough for y/n to waltz her way into the back of Edward’s silver Volvo.

***

Edward drove like a maniac and somehow, that made sense. Y/n gripped the edge of her seat as she glanced out the window focusing on the never ending blur of blue and green. The conversation was casual and somewhat stilted but y/n couldn’t even try to care, her mind was already there in the Cullens house. She pictured popping into Edward’s room to grab the book and bumping into him, or the scenario where he was in the kitchen, or what about seeing him as he comes home from work, wearing the same pale shirt and tie.

Y/n hated how obsessive her mind was. But it genuinely felt as though she couldn’t help it, as though she had no control over her thoughts whatsoever. A small knot had twisted its way into existence in her gut and what was worse, they had already arrived.

“You guys can stay for a bit,” Edward got out the car heading into what can only be described as a mansion. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s out.” These seemed to ease something in Bella but had the opposite effect on y/n. Trying not to think about it y/n was quick behind Edward and Bella who had loosely interlocked their fingers as they walked in.

Taking her time, y/n absorbed what was probably the most beautiful house she had ever seen. Wood and glass flowing from wall to wall in eccentric shapes and patterns. Artwork y/n would never understand slung across the walls. A grand piano, smooth like silk displayed in the corner

“Oh, y/n.” Edward called her back to reality, “I’m pretty sure I left the book in the kitchen, I was going to bring it to you tomorrow.” Y/n was taken aback.

“Wow, thanks Edward. You really didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, “You’re free to get it, Kitchen’s just up the stairs and to the right.” Y/n smiled at him gratefully before heading up the stairs. Partly to leave Bella and Edward in peace, partly to admire the home interrupted. She took her time going to the kitchen, admiring the way the Cullens lived. Of course they lived somewhere like this.

Once in the kitchen, y/n spotted a worn copy of ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’ waiting for her. Picking it up she thumbed through the first few pages noticing small faded scribbles in pencil - it would be nice to have a look in Edward’s mind.

“Y/n.” 

All he said was her name and yet she knew in an instant who it was. Snapping the book shut and spinning around, there he was. His trousers were dark and tucked into them was a crisp shirt, white as skin and unbuttoned slightly, the sleeves rolled up to display his forearms. They looked like marble, pale and stony and completely solid. His silver hair was swept away from his face, his eyes a golden brown similar to Edward’s. “How did you...” he trailed off, his voice soft and distant, not a hint of anger.

“Sorry Carlisle,” Edward appeared out of thin air behind her. She took note of how he never called him ‘dad’. “I thought everyone was out. I brought y/n and Bella up to collect some things for school.” The two Cullen’s stared intensely at each other, something passing between them in that look.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n blurted after a moment, feeling as though she had intruded, “I’ve got what I came for,” She held up the book, “I can head back now.” She attempted a half-smile not meeting Carlisle’s eyes.

“It’s fine.” He said almost too quickly. His voice quiet, meditated. “You’re no bother to me.” The way he spoke, it was so elegant and unlike anyone in town. “I see you two are friends now after the accident.” Edward and y/n shared a glance.

“It was no big problem really.” Y/n felt herself melting into his presence, now more confident to steal looks at his unwavering eyes, fixed on her. “Just a scratch.”

“Still,” A smile had warmed into his stony cheeks, evidently comfortable himself as he busied himself with a folder already fanned out on the counter top, “Edward’s behaviour was unacceptable. He did apologise?” Carlisle leaned on his forearms, his smile widening.

“Yes...I did.” Edward groaned, y/n couldn’t help but giggle. He then turned to her, “You should’ve heard the verbal lashing I got when I came home.”

“Edward.” Carlisle warned, his smile dropping disapprovingly. Edward held y/n’s gaze for a moment before slowly reaching Carlisle's stare, again something seemed to pass between the two. “Did you say Bella was here?” Carlisle swiftly changed the topic.

“Yeah, I best go find her.” Edward added, the two easing the tension with expertise. “Before she falls down two flights of stairs and through a window or something.” He muttered.

“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Y/n agreed.

“Me neither.” Carlisle added distantly causing y/n to flash a smile at him. Edward bounded out of the room, distantly calling Bella’s name as he began his search. “Good book.” Carlisle commented.

“Yeah when Edward said I could borrow his first edition I was in shock to be honest.” Making conversation was disturbingly easy.

“You can take anything you want from our library, it’s full of first editions.” Carlisle said without thinking, “It’s sort of a...hobby. For us.” The way he said ‘us’ made y/n shiver, he knew that him and his family were exclusive, outsiders. Us and them, and y/n couldn’t figure out what side she was on.

“I have a feeling this one will take me a while but thanks. I’ll keep your offer in mind.” She smiled without thinking.

“It’s nice to see Edward’s making friends. We’ve been here a few years now and he’s only just branching out.”

“Well, ‘making friends’ is a bit of an overstatement,” She leaned back against the counter top, comfortable, “Technically me and Bella are the only two people he’s talked to outside of his own family. And I’m pretty sure he’s only putting up with me because I live next to Bella, that and your...verbal lashing.”

“It wasn’t that bad, honestly.” Carlisle chuckled to himself.

“Thank you though, nonetheless.” He eyed her carefully, his golden orbs flitting across her face and, unless she was mistaken, for a moment they glanced down her body.

“Your cut cleaned up perfectly.” He spoke into the silence, “No scarring at all.”

“I don’t think I would’ve minded a scar. At least it would be a conversation starter.” He laughed, it was softer than Edward’s, more rounded and from deep within his chest.

“Ah yes, then you could tell everyone about the time you walked into a car door.”

“Technically, I think the car door walked into me.” He laughed again and y/n’s chest swelled with pride. She was doing it, holding a conversation with him at ease. “It feels like ages ago now,” She pondered aloud, “And it’s really how Edward and Bella met. Funny that.”

“Yes.” He agreed, his eyes holding hers a second too long before he turned back to his paperwork. “Well,” He cleared his throat, “Best get back to business.” Almost like clockwork Edward and Bella appeared at the stairs, giggling to themselves about some inside joke.

“Yeah uh, I’ll see you around.” Y/n shot him a tentative smile. He didn’t say anything in response but his eyes were conveying an emotion she couldn’t quite comprehend. She already knew that look was going to stick with her.

“You ready to head back y/n?” Edward asked as he sidled into the kitchen. From behind him Bella shot y/n an apologetic look as if she were sorry for leaving her with Carlisle. How little she knew.

“Of course.” Y/n smiled at Edward.

“Okay, just head down to the car I’ll be down in a sec.” With one last smile at Carlisle y/n skipped a little to meet up with Bella before the pair headed downstairs. It wasn’t until they were far out the house and near the car that Bella started a conversation.

“Sorry for leaving you there.” She half-smiled.

“Don’t be.” Y/n tried not to smile too much.

“Carlisle’s lovely isn’t he?” The question caught y/n off-guard, it took her a minute to realise Bella was speaking of him as a fatherly-figure.

“Uh, yeah.” Y/n stammered, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks. Bella noticed and went to say something when she realised.

“Y/n, your book?”

“What?” Y/n was confused again before realising, looking down her lap was empty. Completely devoid of all 19th century classical text. “Shit, be back in a sec.”

And with that she was out, jumping up the house steps two at a time. When she was in the house though she slowed down again, afraid of the mere thought of falling and damaging anything within the house. As she moved through the house she became aware of somewhat raised voices.

“What game are you playing?” It was Carlisle’s voice, not angry, not anything. It was completely monotonous. It was wrong to eavesdrop but it felt like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand it was rude to eavesdrop, on the other she was already stuck behind the corner of the kitchen and had no idea how to walk into the kitchen naturally, especially since the conversation had already begun and the Cullens would know that she must’ve heard some of it.

“I’m not doing anything.” Edward’s voice was soft as well. The pair arguing without arguing.

“What you’re doing is dangerous.”

“You’re so happy for me and Bella. Every time I enter a room all I can hear it you’re praise of approval. Why can’t you let yourself be happy.”

“Edward-”

“I’m being serious.”

“I don’t need this right now I’ve got paperwork.”

“If we were to live life your way you’d quite literally be doing paperwork for eternity.”

“The smell Edward. Even I have only so much restraint.” Whatever she was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. Y/n was brutally offended. Surely, surely he wasn’t talking about her. Mortified, y/n tugged her shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelt like her mother’s washing detergent and y/n’s cheap perfume from Christmas. The statement had knocked her so off balance she wasn’t quite aware of Edward stalking in her direction. Hurriedly, she paced down three steps before walking up them as if it were the first time.

“Y/n.” Edward exclaimed loud enough for Carlisle to hear. Y/n looked at him, trying to mask whatever emotion she was feeling.

“Sorry. I forgot the book.” She smiled, hoping her eyes didn’t give her away. Edward said nothing, just disappeared and returned with the Hardy, gently passing it to her before leading her downstairs. Did he know she was listening?

The drive home was silent.

next part

requests open <3

Tag list:

@itsshelbygates​

@quixoticcat​

@pluckastarfromthesky​

@flirtygerty​

@sadbean18​

@nialeesato​

@the-fall-guardian-fox​

@thechangingcolourswithinthewoods​

@lazy-girl82​

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@originalsoulcollector​

#twilight #twilight imagine #edward and bella #edward cullen #Bella Swan #carlisle cullen #cullen #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen x you #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x y/n

[yellowocaballero]

Human Relations Snippet: Tim teaches Jon the internet and odious goats are sacrificed to the cult of Bezos

There’s no reason for this to exist. I was rereading a bit of HR and I saw a throwaway joke about Jon wanting to buy Martin a Portal Gun. I started wondering about how that would even work. The answer is, obviously, a 200 year old man squinting at a computer screen wondering why there’s so many horny singles in his area. I get possessed by demons easily, so I took three hours out of writing my daemon au and wrote this instead. Bon Appetit. 

(Edit, quick clarification: I think that Jon would refuse to use the name for the Beholding that Smirke made up, and although all of this exists in my head and you guys don’t know this, there was a lot of tension between Jon and Jonah’s ‘circle’. So Jon hated Smirke and thought he was a hack. He uses Smirke’s terms to others sometimes for ease of understanding or in deference to Jonah (:/) but I think that mentally he mainly calls the Beholding his own name, The Witness. It rings of that personal and intimate connection Jon and the Beholding has. Anyway, onto the story.)

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him. 

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him.

Peter Lukas was right on almost nothing, Jon thought disgruntledly as he slammed his laptop shut - including in his taste of men, company, philosophies, men, patron deities, professions, and men - but he was right in his proclamation that the internet was the degradation of society. Not that he hadn’t sacrificed his morality and sold out, feeding his patron through something called “incel forums” and “Reddit”. Between him, Jonah’s “Excel spreadsheets” and “TurboTax”, and Annabelle Cane’s ridiculous “MMO guilds”, the Society was filling with computer geeks. Jon could always read the wind: he had to keep up, and quickly. 

Besides, Martin had kindly educated him on how it was almost unheard of for a young man like Jon to not understand how to work that Goggle thing. Giggle? Martin was very streetwise and was one of the most insightful people Jon had ever known, he was definitely right. 

Which is why he had to buy him this “Portal Gun” that he wanted. He had even shown Jon the website! And if Jon was in desperate times trying to navigate these confusing webpages entirely with URLs he memorized, then he would take desperate measures!

“I’m going down to the Archives,” Jon said, slithering off the couch and clutching his laptop to chest. Jonah had bought it for him. He appeared surprised that Jon was using it. “I may not be back for a while. I need...a book.”

Jonah didn’t look away from his own infernal machine. It seemed he was on that ‘Excel’ program again. Was it one of those ‘video games’ he kept hearing about? “Do I want to know what you were doing on that laptop.”

“Reading Wikipedia,” Jon said immediately, and somewhat defensively. Jon had discovered Wikipedia in 2001 before promptly funding it and throwing his weight behind its development. He had spent a solid five years convinced a computer was a kind of electronic screen that let you read digital Encyclopedia pages, like in Star Trek. He’d seen Star Trek. Georgie made him. “Did you know that -”

“Yes, yes, have fun. Haven’t you read that entire site already?”

“Not even,” Jon said defensively. “I can’t just sit and read through entire Encyclopedias anymore, Jonah. We know more things now.”

“What a way to describe the last two hundred years,” Jonah said, not even looking away from his computer. “We know more things. Never change, Jon.”

“You’re the one who never changes,” Jon grumbled. But it was a weak comeback, and considering his brand new delightfully short stature somewhat untrue, so Jon breezed out of Jonah’s office with full knowledge that he’d think of a better comeback halfway down the steps to the Archives.

In fact, it wasn’t until he was at the door, and by then he felt stupid for losing a point against Jonah anyway. He easily opened the door, stepping inside and quickly bee-lining for Sasha’s office. Her burgeoning powers were wonderfully flowing in the shape of access to and understanding of technology. He had never seen such gratuitous breeches of privacy as she casually committed. Every day Jon was validated in his decision to save her from the Stranger. A balance, an equal yet opposite Archivist from Jon, would be invaluable. Not that Jonah and Jon weren’t their own yin and yang, but Jonah’s powers were paltry and out-of-date. Mind reading and spying through iconography was so 1960. They needed fresh blood. 

Sasha had been a wonderful choice, and Jon didn’t regret choosing her to act as saviour. Most of the time. Some of the time she -

“She’s not in.”

Jon’s fist halted in front of the door, about to sharply rap on her office door. He turned around to actually look through the bullpen, only to see that Timothy was sitting in his chair chewing a sandwich. Somehow angrily. Definitely suspiciously. 

“Are you sure?” Jon asked dubiously. “Because you’ve lied about this before.”

“Because you should stop coming down here and bothering her.” Timothy balled the saran wrap in his hand and dunked it in the trash can, somehow undoubtedly giving the impression that he wished it was Jon’s head. “Just bugger off.”

Someone was in a snit. Normally Timothy wasn’t this hostile. Jon had thought that learning his name might make him less mean, but it did little to help. But when Jon looked around he didn’t see Martin, and a quick check assured him that both Sasha and Martin were having lunch at their favorite deli and engaging in that plotting hobby they both enjoyed. Timothy had elected to stay behind, stewing in his own angry and paranoid juices. 

He would have to do this with Martin out of the Archives...and he really wanted to take care of this now so Martin would get it before the weekend...and it wasn’t as if Jon was scared of this boy he was one hundred and seventy years older than…

“Uh,” Jon said intelligently, “can you help me with...something…”

Timothy’s face twisted in a novel combination of surprise and disgust. “What,” he sneered, “your evil fear god or whatever can’t figure it out for you?”

“I don’t need others to think for me,” Jon said stiffly. It was something he’d had to say far too many times. “The Witness is less helpful with...troubleshooting...look, do you know how to work a computer?”

Timothy stared at him blankly. “Like, at all?”

“I’m trying to buy Martin this toy he desires,” Jon said desperately. Fuck it all, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to Tim’s desk. He pulled a little bit closer, placing his laptop on Tim’s desk, and ignored the way the other man leaned away. “But whenever I try I keep on seeing alerts about hot singles. I’m not interested in young women, I just need to buy a ‘Portal Gun’. Do you know what a Portal Gun is?”

Timothy continued staring at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly involuntarily, so quick that he may not even have noticed, one corner of his lips was ticking upwards into a smile. 

“How many credit card scams have you fallen for?”

“Absolutely none,” Jon said, very quickly. He pulled out his credit card, placing it on the table. He knew a credit card was involved, although he didn’t know how. “What do I do? Do I swipe it? Is there a port?” He picked up the laptop and squinted at its sides, looking for a port. “I wanted to ask Sasha for help, since she’s the expert in hacking, but surely you know the basics?”

“I mean...I can’t, like, code, but yeah, I can work Amazon.” Timothy carefully opened the laptop, watching the display light up. He effortlessly navigated to an icon on the screen, clicking it open. 

“That’s not right,” Jon said urgently. “You’re supposed to press the E.”

“I do not want to know how many toolbars you have,” Timothy said bluntly. “We’re using Chrome. That’s another way to look at the Internet.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I got a grandmother, we can do this.”

Jon perked up. “So you’ll help?”

Went unsaid: even though you hate me?

“Whatever,” Timothy grumbled. Jon decided not to press his luck. 

Jon decided that he liked the Chrome better than the Internet Explorer, because it was simpler and Google was on the first page. Tim rapidly typed on ‘Amazon.com’ into the search bar and easily scrolled through the very busy and picture filled page that immediately popped up. Why was everything so fast? Maybe this was why the young people had no attention span: these pages just came up immediately. No flipping for indices for finding anything in phone books. 

“Right. What was it, a Portal Gun? Like from the game?”

“A board game?”

“Video game.”

“Like on a VHS…?”

“Right.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Sasha said that you’re one of the most famous sociologists and anthropologists in British history.”

“I am extremely intelligent, Timothy, and I won’t abide any insinuation otherwise,” Jon said curtly. “I cannot be expected to keep constant track every time there’s another - iPhone or whatever. You have teenagers in your family, correct? Do you always know what they’re talking about? That’s, what, a twenty year age gap? Multiply that by ten.”

That shut him up. Timothy sighed again, much more aggressively, but he clicked the white bar and typed in ‘portal gun’ anyway. “Right. Not fucking apologizing, but right. I still don’t fucking know what ‘Twitch’ is.”

“It’s a brief spasmodic contraction of the muscle fibers,” Jon said helpfully. “Fascinatingly, this phenomenon was first observed in frog’s legs before I was even born in 1780, by Luigi Galvani. Erudite man, by the way, but he couldn’t hold his liquor. It was the birth of the study of bioelectricity, although the exact mechanism of muscle contraction eluded scientists for years.”

“Never mind.” Timothy sighed again, the perfect mix of aggravated and long-suffering. It seemed to be the man’s two favorite emotions. “My grandmother has a PhD and she still can’t figure out her cell, either. We had to get her a Jitterbug.”

Amazon, as Timothy explained, was a kind of shopping mall, except you could pick out what you wanted by its picture and have the shopping mall pack it up and send it to you. Jon didn’t quite understand why people preferred this to just going to a shop yourself, seeing as you could get it immediately instead of with a three or four day turnaround, but Tim explained that Amazon was cheaper, had a wider selection, and didn’t make you get off the couch.

“Oh,” Jon said, finally getting it, “this follows the economic model of large scale businesses underpricing their products to undercut smaller businesses in the area, driving them out of business until they hold monopoly over the market and can raise their prices without worrying about staying competitive.”

Timothy stared at him. 

“I mean,” he said, “I guess?”

“This explains why my Alexa project was successful so quickly,” Jon mused. “With a lack of competition or alternatives, consumers are more likely to accept the dramatic invasions of privacy as normal. Normalizing intrusions into privacy took ages, but my early efforts paid off very well. The Ring doorbell was even better, along with the line of security and home protection systems. We’re now working on live streamed 24/7 surveillance to social media platforms.”

Timothy stared at him further. 

Finally, he said, “Alexa was...you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, baffled. Who else would it be? “I gave Jeff the idea and convinced him it would be profitable. I didn’t understand the whole mechanics of it, but once I gave Jeff a vision from the Witness he was eager to implement the divinely inspired spyware.”

Timothy continued to stare. 

“The evil fear god controls Jeff Bezos.”

“He thinks I’m a prophet, actually,” Jon said helpfully. “I let him become Cardinal of the imaginary cult in exchange for funding some of my more esoteric programs. Had him sacrifice a goat and everything, it was great.” At Timothy’s alarmed look, Jon was quick to elaborate, “It was the most evil goat you’ve met in your life. Morally odious.”

“...for my sanity I’m going to pretend that you said none of that.”

In retrospect, although Timothy had worked at the Institute for a few years, it did take quite a bit of time to acclimate to the fact that the Avatars permanently shaped the shape of human existence in order to better feed their gods. Jon knew better than anyone: when humanity made gods, and gods made man, and man made gods...the feedback loop could self-perpetuate for years. Eternity, if needed. 

But they had no luck on ‘Amazon’. With Jon’s eidetic memory he was able to easily pick out the one that looked most similar to the one that Martin had showed him, but all of the little toy guns were for someone named ‘Rick’. Then Timothy took twenty laborious minutes explaining the entire plot of ‘Rick & Morty’ to him, which Jon patiently sat through. 

“I think young people today deeply enjoy explaining media,” Jon said, once Timothy finished telling him the funny jokes. “I’m very interested in your interests, Timothy.”

“You are so fucking condescending. And please call me Tim, you’re sounding even more like my grandmother.” When Jon brightened, Tim - Tim! - quickly said, “This does not mean we are friends.”

Granted, Jon had never once in his life gave a shit about making friends, but he felt as if he should be making more of an effort with Tim. He was a sort of supernatural brother in law, wasn’t he? Although Sasha perhaps Sasha was more of a favored niece. At least, he would be, if today’s generation found some morality and stopped living in sin. 

Good lord. Now he was sounding like Jonah. Georgie used to joke that he was born in the wrong generation - he should have been born a 17th century Puritan instead. Jon found it a very funny joke. Jonah did not. 

“Are there any other shopping websites?” Jon asked finally, after Amazon failed them. He’d have to call up Jeff later and complain. “Or is this the only one?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s check Google.”

Quickly and efficiently, yet with many lightning fast detours, Tim found another site called ‘eBay’ - pronounced ‘e-Bay’, not ‘ehbay’ - that listed off exactly what they needed. They weren’t under the toy section, instead listed as something called ‘cosplay’, but Tim seemed highly resistant to explaining that one, so he dropped it. 

They picked a likely looking white toy gun that looked the most similar to the one that Martin had liked and Tim talked Jon through punching in the numbers on his card into the website and sorting through the billing and shipping information. Tim helpfully took down the numbers on his card to file later. 

“And...done!” Tim said, pressing a button and leaning back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was ten times as complicated as I thought it would be,” Jon assured him, “but also much more fun. What else can you buy online?”

“Oh, god. What can’t you buy.”

Jon brightened. “Can you buy books?”

“Old Gertrude used to buy Leitners on eBay,” Tim said dully, “so yeah, sure, why not.”

Jon stared at his computer. He carefully navigated the mouse to the big red x and clicked out of the internet browser. “That’s enough of eBay, then, I think.”

Guess he would have to stick to buying Leitners in person. It was no good buying fucked up books from sketchy sources. Always stick to people you trusted, or at least trusted to be themselves. Mikaele was Jon’s favorite supplier since the kid Leitner disappeared, and they had a pleasant working relationship. Mikaele shared his grandfather’s stories about the history and culture of the Maori, and Jon told him which of his haunted artifacts would be the most helpful in the imminent apocalypse. 

“Well,” Tim said finally, gently pushing Jon’s laptop away, “that was...something, great bonding session with my local supervillain, please run back to Elias and bother him instead.”

“You were very helpful, Mr. Stoker,” Jon said, as professionally yet paternally as possible. Tim was six years older than his body, so he’s not sure how it came off, but the touch of grey at his temples helped with the dignified air. “And as soon as you start acting like a man and propose to my Archivist, you’ll make an excellent brother in law -”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jon spun around in his chair to see Sasha and Martin standing at the door, holding doggy bags and looking somewhat flummoxed. Probably confused at the sight of him and Tim having a civil conversation, which admittedly had never happened before. Possibly also confused at how completely mortified Tim looked. 

“Who said anything about proposing?” Sasha asked incredulously. “Tim, are you -”

“No! No, god no!” Tim stood up quickly, holding his hands out as if he was placating a raging bull. “Nobody’s been saying anything - I would never do that to you -”

“Oh,” Sasha said frostily, crossing her arms and letting the bags swing, “would you.”

That was a domestic Jon should stay out of, even though he definitely caused it. He and Martin sidled away in tandem, huddling near the back of the Archives as Tim frantically pled for his life. 

Sneakily, Jon glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye. He looked happy. Happy, and just as stressed as he always looked - Jon had never known Martin when he wasn’t constantly stressed out, and he was more than aware that it was his fault. 

He looked good, too. Really nice, broad jawline that gave his face a friendly round shape. Just friendly and round in general, it was really handsome. His hair was as nicely short and ruffles as ever. The big glasses were super stylish, and really framed his face well. Really big, broad hands. Jon, who had always been so poky and tall and thin and gaunt, like some kind of haunted scarecrow that lurked through the corners of time, was envious. He wanted some of that softness and gentleness. Really, he wanted some of Martin’s -

“So what were you and Tim doing?” Martin asked. “I didn’t know you knew he existed.”

“You told me his name,” Jon said anxiously. “I don’t forget the things you tell me, you know.”

Martin smiled shyly and him, and Jon found himself smiling back. “It’s pretty good for my ego to hear that I have something to teach the immortal genius.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as Sasha yelled in the background, “I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Really?” Martin teased. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh,” Jon said, watching the yellow fluorescent light cast Martin’s dim smile in soft relief, “I can think of a few things.”

#my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #archivist!sasha #martin blackwood #sasha james #mild homosexual activity and massive old man activity inbound #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im posting this at an awkward time so prep for a lot of self rbs

[dallonm-archive]

[image description: a wideshot of the san francisco skyline, tinted orange by a sunset. Above the skyline, in a white serif font reads "REVELATIONS, REVELATIONS." in all caps. below, in lower caps reads "update #2" /end id]

Revelations, Revelations | Update #2

Hey besties! I've got a funky little RR update

I've had a little bit of a love hate relationship with this book in the last two months but I am loving it right now! I think my struggles came from how I didn't really accept that this book is Hard to write. like it's complicated! and it's set in another country in another era like idk what to tell you! And accepting that was such a weight off my shoulders because I'm not putting the blame on myself. I also was really stuck in part one's problems and I had to be like <3 bestie <3 abandon it til post draft editing. So right now it's like:

Part one: I see it as a little stray cat in an alleyway that I kneel down in front of like pspspsp :) and then it hisses and bites me because it is actually a feral raccoon. Definitely not where I want it to be but like I can fix him

Part two: super fun!! A lot of deeper (and messier) elements are introduced here and I feel like the story's ~vibes~ have clicked. It's a lot of fun and it's getting complex. Whilst there's conflict going on in part one there's definitely this false sense of stability and then part two hits all of them like a baseball bat

My drafting has been much more chill and non linear too, just writing the scenes I want to and then connecting them together. I've been focused less on rich prose/descriptions and more on prose that explores character and it's been very refreshing! I love my flowery prose but I think it's easy to get caught up in. I'm also no longer going to do chapter by chapter updates, both for plot privacy but also because this story is very delicate both in content and the drafting process and I don't just want to expose the bare bones of that, you know? So I'm just gonna do some sectioned rambles and talk about a couple chapters under the cut!

also no longer doing multiple taglists because i can't keep up so! general taglist, ask to be added or removed! ; @kowlazovdi @avi-burton-writing @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @ezrathings @aetherwrites @radiomacbeth @bijouxs @bookphobe @haldimilks @alicewestwater @bookpacking @shaelinwrites @onlyganymede @theelectricfactory @write-like-babs @oceancold @veiliza @sidhewrites @wolf-oak @oasis-of-you @coffeeandcalligraphy @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @keira-is-writing @flip-phones @svpphicwrites

Only major change to report is I switched to alternate POVs instead of multiple chapters at a time in one POV because I'm insane <3 I had a lot of fun braiding POVs in Life Cycle of Massive Stars and wanted to try it here and it works much better! Though at this point I am simply ignoring the existence of part 1 because it really was the guinea pig part LMAO i experimented so much with structure and form and now it's a mess but it's <3 a future problem <3 i'd rather have one messy part than a whole first draft that's behind on my growing ~vision~ of the story.

[image description: a slightly purple tinted photo of two arms extending from the top and bottom of the photo, cropped to only show their hands. Their index fingers touch. in the middle, in a white serif font reads "dorothy" /end id]

Not a chapter, I had a lot of trouble with Dorothy in part 1 but I still love her so instead y'all are getting a mini character ramble! I felt really bad about her for the longest time because I've only been writing her since last summer whereas I've known Felix since like 2018 so there's naturally an imbalance, but I Do Not like that!! And she's really taken her time revealing herself, but I am ~fascinated by her.

I feel she's best summarised by this disillusionment for her life but mostly herself, because she's framed her whole identity by illusory perceptions of other people: a mother she doesn't remember, a girlfriend she breaks up with every six months but still shares a bed with, a twin brother she hasn't seen in person for four years and still sees as a teenager drenched in religious manipulation. It's a lot! She assumes that she feels dissatisfied with her life because she's without her twin, but then Felix returns to her life and shockingly this does not fix all of her problems??? She also doesn't know how to be alone, which definitely will not get better after Felix returns oop

The day her brother decides to leave, Dorothy is home alone.

Her San Francisco apartment is hollow like a hungry stomach. Three days ago, she drove Jolie to the airport then came home to cover the bathroom mirror with towels. On the first day she took an extra shift at the book store, drove through Sea Cliff at sunset, bumped into Mona on the stairwell and joined her and Margot for wine and slipped out when they began arguing over rent and office interns, started then discarded a portrait of a fictional girl and slept from two to five in the morning. On the second day she worked and spent an extra hour designing a window display on science fiction that she put together on the third day. Cut and painted a rocket ship on cardboard that she’ll have to scold kids for tugging, then get scolded herself by their mothers.

The day I finalise a design for their apartment it's over but I call this trick Trying To Get Around The Fact I Made Characters In Their Earlier Twenties Live In San Francisco (cw: drowning)

The apartment is nicer than her, but it’s been home for three years and they get $100 off rent each month because Jolie tends the garden and looks just like the landlady's daughter that drowned in the Pacific.

I don't think I've talked about Jolie much here which is funny because she is probably the most well-received amongst my friends! They love her so much and it's because she's a hot but slightly toxic lesbian smh, I'm like no seriously she does some fucked up things and they're like you promise?? Some funky facts:

Her real name is Jolene and she hates it except when the Dolly Parton song came on, that gives her a god complex

We are going to ignore how I accidentally named two characters after words for beautiful and pretty in French we are going to pretend it was intentional because when this gets published a uni student could get some good analysis out of that in their Intro to Literature class

She joined the cult with her mother at 13 and left as soon as she turned 18 LMAO. She was Dorothy's only connection to the "outside world" and the only reason she was able to leave

Her dream job is gardener/florist! We get it I watched Bly Manor last November. She's also a bartender

would probably have this on her car /j

[image description: a close up of a car sticker of a frog above "MILF" in green caps. below "MILF" reads "Man I Love Frogs" /end id]

Dorothy and Jolie have always been on and off and building tension but Dorothy realises this can't keep going when Jolie gets into a barfight at work and Dorothy feels Insane because she's the only one concerned?? (cw: blood, mild violence)

“You’re lucky it’s not broken.” She angles Jolie’s face, hand under her chin. Even with red blotted around her nostrils and lips, mulberry lipstick smudged, she still smiles like her bruises are a trophy. It’s a surprise she doesn’t dwell on it: it’s just some blood, doll, nothing to worry about. She didn’t even strike that good. Her technique was all off. If she shows her face back here I’ll just teach her how to punch properly. The worst part is over and I’m a big girl. Do I look upset? Am I crying? When they drive home, she’ll ask to stop and see if she can get free cigarettes or beer by holding her nose and making herself cry. She’ll probably ask Dorothy to hit her so it starts bleeding again. But she’s quiet, leans against the basin and lets her dab damp towels on her face. It doesn’t take long to clean up. It was just some blood.

“Nursing,” Jolie says.

“What?” “You keep saying you want to go to school but don’t know what for – nursing. You’re too good at taking care of people.”

That ending is like Top Three dialogue lines that made me really Concerned for how this character arc is gonna go :) but don't worry about it y'all. I do think Jolie genuinely loves Dorothy but that does not mean! the relationship is healthy!

Basically I love her a lot now that I know her better and I am excited to see where she goes! I think the biggest part of her arc is motherhood/daughterhood and TBH as a recently realised trans dude it took me a Minute to feel entitled to write her story? But being a cis woman shaped my life for two decades and getting to navigate that and being a daughter from a perspective that's totally distanced from myself is very helpful. It's about the inherent admiration and pain that comes from being a mother's daughter! (cw: blood, diet culture/disordered eating)

She lies next to the table and presses her forehead to the glass corner and imagines what would shatter first: the glass or her skin. And she imagines being a girl again, with French braids and too much baby fat in her cheeks and being picked up by a mother before the blood stains her hands and then her dress. She’d tell the mother she just wanted to read her magazines, the dog-eared articles about divorce and top tips for menopause and the benefits of eating half a grapefruit before your calorie-counted meals. And the mother would just brush the bangs out her face, press a pack of thawed peas on the wound and let her choose between the band aid with hearts or the band aid with flowers. And maybe the mother would know she did it for attention because they both know a daughters cry slices oxygen like glass to skin, but she’d still detangle her curls in the evening and kiss her forehead goodnight and serve her breakfast in the morning with half a grapefruit – the other half on her own plate, untouched and left to rot.

[image description: an orange firework exploding against a black sky. across the photo, in a white serif font reads "the last 10 hours of 1986" /end id]

This is technically two chapters, one in each POV and they close part one! Title is v explanatory and they're meant to be framed like a countdown - my plan was for the scenes to get shorter as it gets closer to midnight and that didn't really work but? The twins def get messier as the countdown goes down and THAT is what we like to see. This is also the only end of a part where the twins are separated but don't worry about it hehe :)

Dorothy

This chapter is like the First Time Dorothy does something for herself and. Good for her!

She’ll publish poetry under a pen name and horror short stories under another. She’ll paint indigo mountains and magenta oceans and not care when the colours stain her clothes. She’ll teach Felix how to blend acrylics and he’ll teach her how to remember piano notes and they won’t argue about who abandoned who. When Mona and Margot break up, she’ll go down to comfort Mona or Margot and then kiss Margot or Mona. She’ll move out and tell neither of them. She’ll find a landlady with a dead daughter and get a discount on an ocean view apartment with wall-length windows. Isaias will move in next door and they’ll have weekly dinner parties with wine that costs more than $10. She’ll go vegan. She’ll be so in tune with herself she won’t need to read magazine horoscopes or pay $50 for a psychic reading that assumes she knows her grandparents. She’ll know when she’s happy sad angry and why. She’ll take portrait commissions so she can afford a therapist. She’ll love her life and ignore that there’s no space for Jolie because she wants there to be. She’ll need nobody except herself. She’ll try and make things with Jolie work. She’ll kiss a random girl at midnight to see if it’s any different. She’ll go home after the countdown.

I had the revelation (aha) of Isaias and Dorothy as besties and I am OBSESSED! I love Isaias but struggled with his role so I'm really happy about this. Like he practices calligraphy and writes poetry titled after his favourite plants is he not the ideal character!! Hoping this will make it easier to learn about him so we can get that fun content

Felix

Felix's is fun because he makes the best decision of his arc but also the stupidest fucking decision of his arc. He truly has the range NOBODY is doing it like him. Here's a part that mirrors the excerpt above because even when they're apart Felix and Dorothy are like hmm we Will Be Intrinsically Connected (cw: drug, vomit and sex mention sorry he's going through it!!)

Two hours before midnight and Felix is alone in the bathroom. The party he abandoned synths through the ceiling. He plays Love My Way on his Walkman. Highest volume. Eyes closed. Imagines 1987 and decides he’s going to be honest about everything and nothing. He’s going to tell strangers at bars that he studies Literature at Stanford. He’s going to date a girl and pretend he has parents to introduce her to, that he grew up on a farm in Ohio and was secretly raised atheist, lie about what lies his parents told him. He’s going to grow out his hair and and blend cyan on his eyelids and send polaroids to his father with no return address; burn his fingertips on a candle flame like Michael will burn the photos of his son. He’s going to adore himself. He’s going to quit smoking and start jogging. He’s going to fuck Pacific Heights husbands whilst their wives sleep in the master bedroom and maybe they’ll angrily call him when they’re served divorce papers and hang up when he laughs. He’s going to get promoted to Assistant Manager and not care that his job is dead-end. He’s not going to kiss anyone at midnight because he doesn’t want to. He’s going to flush the cocaine because he doesn’t want it. He’s going to stare at his reflection until it moves for him. He’s going to vomit in a minute. He’s going to pierce his right ear with a sewing needle.

Felix at the end of part one: I give no more fucks!!! I am going to do whatever I want!!! Life is too short!!!

Felix at the end of part two:

[image description: screenshot of a tweet by @/idksomedumbshit. the tweet reads, "i can't mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one boys" /end id]

I do think it's iconic that this time last year Felix was a repressed Christian boy and now his dream is to be a homewrecker THAT is growth. I also got to write Felix and Jolie which was fun because they do Not like each other <3 but they respect each other <3 but only sometimes <3 They have their first little bonding moment where Jolie pierces his ear in their bathroom but then Felix says something to piss her off so Jolie is like hmm okay time to chose Violence. This dialogue is funny because Felix does not really hate himself at this stage Jolie just knows she's gonna fuck him up by saying that !! My life would be so much easier if these twins had a normal relationship with the concept of being a twin but also this story would be very boring

The needle pierces his skin and he doesn’t feel it. Only the tequila swirling behind his eyes. The sting of the light-bulb. Jolie speaks again, “but she looks just like you, doesn’t she? Not the same of course, but enough to see each other in each other. That’s the worst part, right? To see the person you hate on the face of someone you love?”

[image id: a photo of the ocean with cliffs in the background, tinted orange by sunset. in the middle, in a white serif font reads "1/10/1987" /end id]

This chapter is so CUTE and also my first successful attempt at a different form that I can consistently keep in the narrative <3 I really like the idea of a fluid novel form that's adaptive to how the character's perception of the world would change which? Idk how much I can maintain that but this definitely follows it. I need to fine tune the execution but the concept is shots and transcript from a camcorder recording and playing with what the camera sees/doesn't see. The title is what the tape would be labelled, and on 1/10/1987 (american dates throw me off omfg) Beau takes Felix to a seaside town for his birthday and yes it's gay <3 but it's also just a lot of stupid dialogue which was very refreshing because I overthink dialogue so much I always think it has to have deeper meaning when sometimes its like....characters can sometimes...have Fun together. They are simply displaying Relationship Dynamics!

BEAU: Okay, give me a second…(the camera zooms on Felix) There we go! Right, okay, so it’s Saturday, January 10th, 1987, what’re doing out here today?

FELIX: What is this, an interview or something? You sound like a TV host on those morning shows.

BEAU: Oh my God no they’re so annoying, don’t compare me to those.

FELIX: No but I can imagine it perfectly. You’d just be all (holding a pretend microphone) Gooood Morrrning from sunny San Francisco! My name is Beau Teixeira and—

Beau: (laughing) Shut the fuck up!

I love this chapter a lot because you can definitely tell that their dynamic has Shifted but also! They are still just friends being friends and I really want them to just kiss already but also I love the natural progression of friends to lovers....falling in love and not realising it and then suddenly it all makes sense...

BEAU: You wanna try filming? It’s easier if you hold it on your shoulder. Like this. Put your hands where mine are.

[How their fingers whisper against each other. How Beau’s cologne smells of lime and tangerine. ]

Beau steps back into view, runs a hand through his curls. Leather jacket flutters in salted wind. Behind him the sunset flickers over waves like a candle flame. He smiles at the camera.

BEAU: I think you’re a natural! You’re definitely gonna be first choice for cameraman on my shitty morning show.

[How Felix smiles at him.]

(cw: next paragraph talks about the AIDS crisis)

Whilst this is a Fun And Cute Chapter there is more depth to it since the last time we see Beau and Felix before it is the first time they open up about the AIDS Crisis and their fears surrounding it. I have a lot of complicated thoughts about writing this part of history that I could write about all day but it boils down to the fact that "so many queer stories are centred around queer trauma and tragedy and queer people deserve to read stories centred around love and happiness" and "with a queer novel set in 1980s SF it'd be just as bad to completely ignore what happened" are two things that can coexist. I definitely think stories centred around the crisis are necessary (recently read The Prettiest Star by Carter Sickels and highly recommend! Also has a similar camcorder function and an emphasis on preserving. Also made me cry) but shouldn't be the default, especially in a story that if published would have a queer readership, so whilst it's something I want to explore I want to do it in a way that ultimately celebrates queer happiness, love and life. Definitely way more that could be said about this and the function of queer trauma in queer narratives but! Both Beau and Felix feel a need to not only capture as much as possible, but to capture it specifically with the intent to look back in the future, as well as a general We Are Going To Try And Find Happiness Wherever We Can. Also feel like a lot of Beau's character clicked whilst writing it which was very fun!

[How Beau wouldn’t say where they were going but cracked before they left San Francisco because he had too many stories to tell: five year old burning his tongue on café tea, six year old falling into waves and being unbothered, seven year old plucking chrysanthemum petals from stranger’s gardens. How Beau has an orange car freshener and missing headrest on the passengers seat. How Beau drove a longer route because it was closer to the coastline. How Beau played Pet Shop Boys’ Please and knew the words to every song. How Felix realized that he did too.]

[image description: a man and a woman sit next to each other on a bench. the photo is taken from behind them. in the background, you can vaguely see water, hills and the golden gate bridge. across the image, in a white serif font reads "everything the same about dorothy and felix" /end id]

Little title explanation: part 1 has two chapters, "Everything Different about Felix" and "Everything Different about Dorothy" which introduce their relationship + impression of each other after not seeing each other in person for four years (and also how they have images of each other in their heads that are false but they're attached to and it's really not helping the whole complicated twin relationship thing but don't worry about it) and I'd like to expand on that in part two so! An attempt was made. This takes place the day after the above chapter on the twins' actual birthday, the first one they're celebrating together since they were 18 and the first one in the "outside world" so it's a moment!

I'm not happy with how this chapter came out but I think it's just because it's an important one to me! Partly because it helps cement the idea that in spite of their complex relationship, Felix and Dorothy never stop being twins and they never stop loving each other even on the days they dislike each other. But mainly because: these are two adults who lost their childhood to trauma and they finally have the freedom to live their life and! Sometimes that means living for the inner child that never got to be a child. As a certified Adult With Childhood Trauma having a chapter like this was v important because trauma never leaves you but that doesn't mean you can't be happy!! Also it's just. cute. They run around San Francisco, bake a really shitty birthday cake, talk about whether or not San Francisco is real, I want what they have. There is underlying conflict because hoo boy there is Shit simmering rn! But it was nice to have this and the previous chapter as just like. Two little golden moments you know. Calm before the storm if you will

Midnight. Dorothy lies on a mattress on the floor in an apartment in San Francisco. Her brother’s head in her lap. “You know what’s crazy to me? Nobody ever asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. That just wasn’t something we were allowed to think about. I know it’s depressing, I just think about that a lot.”

Felix keeps his eyes on the ceiling. The clock ticks. “Well, what do you wanna be when you grow up?”

“Astronaut, of course.”

“I was gonna say astronaut.”

“You definitely weren't,” she says. “Besides, I already claimed it.”

He looks at her. “I was thinking it. Before you said it, I claimed it in my mind.”

“That’s not how it works. I can’t read your mind.”

Felix sits up. “Wait, you can’t? Gee Dotty, some twin you are.” He grins. So does she.

Usually I am like. I don't think they would care too much about the twin thing. But I also think they would definitely joke about it, like if someone asked a stupid question Felix would be like "well of course we can read each others minds, dont you know how twins work?? like right now my twin sister who is my twin is thinking about giving me, her twin brother, $200" But lets end this on an excerpt where Dorothy doesn't give him $200 but she does think Oh How Did I Spend Four Years Without My Brother

(cw: death mention + missing persons mention, plane crash + boating accident mention)

Dorothy is used to his presence, has been for a year: coffee stains on the table, cupboards left open in the kitchen, clustered ashtray in the living room, hair gel and Jazz aftershave behind the bathroom mirror, Queen or Bowie or Alphaville sifting from his room. His voice. How he always knocks on her door to say goodnight. How he weaved himself into the ecosystem like air but tonight she watches her brother do nothing but breathe and she remembers waking up every January 11th in 1983, 84, 85, 86, and chucking a towel over the bathroom mirror. How she told strangers at bars that she’s an only child; or that she had a younger brother, but he died in a plane crash or a boating accident or went on a hiking trip and never came back, was likely immortalised as a John Doe in Oregon or Nevada records. How she went four years without coffee stains and open cupboards and goodnight knocks and Queen or Bowie or Alphaville renditions when he forgets that she exists in this space too. How hollow those four years were.

And that's all I have to share! I'm not sure when the next update will be, but I much prefer this format of talking about the story! If you read this far I love u <3

#revelations revelations #atlastracking #writing update #i wrote most of this update at 5am so ignore any typos god bless