#anyway i do think it says something that i beat every boss in dark souls but i have not beaten every boss in hk

[eldritch-elrics]

the other thing about dark souls is that i legitimately think hollow knight is a harder game

[cult-of-the-rizz]

soundtrack analysis bc the brain worms are worming rn

(disclaimer: I do not have a degree in music theory this is more just my opinion and verbally explaining the amv in my head to the class)

Kallamar first cuz i love that boneless freak

So, for all the boss fights, I imagine the whole track being like a summary of the fight as a whole.

As expected, Kallamar's track begins with high stress. Notes feel half finished, the beat is fast, we feel his panic in the initial phase of the song. Slowly, the Anchordeep choir comes in. The presence of the vocal/synth choirs in any song is evocative of holy power. I mean, Kallamar is a god.

Something specific about the Anchordeep choir that is interesting to me is how light the vocals are, as well as how the mixing imitates sliding between notes. To me, it sounds like someone who can't quite hear what they're singing and doesn't know that they're not dropping the note and instead sliding (me, I do this when singing with headphones in). It all feels so Kallamar-esque, like he's the one singing almost.

Anyway, after the choir solos for a bit, the fast beat comes back in to end the transition between initial and desperation phase. The final section of the Kallamar's theme is the most interesting to me in terms of a battle theme. In general I fell like boss themes pick up in the second phase when the fight becomes intense, but Kallamar's does the opposite. But at the same time, in game he becomes absolute hell with new combo attacks and faster strike speeds.

I think this is the Kallamar the Old Faith fears. Though his strength is multiplied by the crown, it seems that through the multitude of weapons he uses all at once in combat in addition to magic, Kallamar has always been powerful though cowardly. The stressful beat is slowed into calmer version. The squid is locked the fuck in.

Without the fast beat in this section, it actually makes it harder for players to balance the timing switch in his attack speeds. You can no long rely on the music that may time with his movements, instead you have to play attention to Kallamar's movements and combat tells. He's moving autonomously of everything around him, at his own pace which is lethal to everyone else. Kallamar makes the player relearn how to fight mid combat during his boss fight. He doesn't flurry rush like his siblings, Kallamar just becomes deadly quick.

(The only instance of this that comes to mind in terms of other boss themes is Dancer of the Boreal Valley from Dark Souls III. A boss that was intentionally created to ignore the attack pattern time signature that literally every other boss in the game follows. Her theme never has a climax and instead keeps you in perpetual suspense. The only way to survive the dancer is to watch her movements, specifically her steps as she strikes)

All of this to say, Kallamar would be absolutely insane to fight if he wasn't scared shitless of the red crown. Absolutely horrific. But Narinder bullied him growing up so we don't get to experience that (I know he's older, point still stands

[nillthirteen]

Ooh! About my previous ask about boss fights, I've just come up with another question for that, if you wanna answer it (For the DS one or future ER one.):

Which boss do you think has the most *awe-inspiring* presentation?

Oh I really like this actually!

SPOILERS FOR ELDEN RING AND SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE

Also word vomit below.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm not super sure to be honest, it's definitely a multi-way tie. That being said, none of the Dark Souls bosses really hold a candle in terms of presentation to any of the Elden Ring fights. Not played enough of DS3, DS2, or Bloodborne to rate any of them, so maybe we'll revisit the concept once I have.

The Midra fight is one of maybe three fights that actually made my jaw drop, due to my fascination with the lore, and the presentation does nothing to hurt that. The Consort Radhan fight did the same thing, but I still prefer the presentation of the original. He feels so much larger than life, and despite his huge frame, immense strength, and array of moves, you're still shown how he's a fraction of the man he was. To be honest, I think that mystique of imagining how powerful Radhan was is more interesting than what we're actually shown.

Anyway, getting off track. I think the lion dancer, because of it's fucking incredible animations, and how they sync with the music make it feel like a playable cutscene, and it's so damn cool. It's one of those magical moments in a game, where everything works together so well, it transcends everything, and becomes, as Noodle put it, "playable concept art".

But I do have one I prefer.

Back in January, when I was playing through Elden Ring for the first time properly, I finally reached Maliketh at the start of a 2 week break off school. I was so hyped to sink my teeth into the game and get all the way through, and I figured he'd maybe take a day or two to learn and finish. Problem was, he countered my build. Hard. I was a Greatsword user, and surprisingly fragile to any kind of status effect. Maliketh did holy damage, and given the speed of his animations, and my limited range of damage, if I got hit once, it was enough to kill me within a couple of seconds, plus it lowered my max health, so the next time would definitely be fatal.

I ended up having to learn to do the fight hitless.

This took two weeks.

I want you to imagine, for a moment, a young trans girl, sitting in a dark room, staring intensely at the screen as she does her tenth run of a boss in about an hour, desperately hoping she'll be able to beat it today, because she knows she won't get another chance for another two weeks, thanks to mock exams.

A young woman, going through one of the hardest points of her life, clinging to one of the few things that gave her a sense of accomplishment and joy. Something which had gotten her through some very tough nights.

Imagine, now, you are this girl. And you begin the run. You slip through every attack, weaving in and out, a cloaked figure swiping blindly, as you pick and choose the exact attack animations which take advantage of the gaps in an attack, punishing even when there's no window, finding your own opportunities to attack, dissecting every moment. You reach the second phase, your now massive, burning, and armored opponent, flinging himself from height to height, spinning about with the force of a helicopter, and you do not slow down. You keep pace, weaving and dodging as the healthbar slowly wittles down. In this moment, there is no divide between you and your character. There is no distance, to be bridged by story or setting. You note a small opening in the boss's swing, you risk it, make it, and land the killing blow.

In that moment, I experienced something quite unlike any other game I have ever played. The presentation had me fully enveloped, and worked in complete parity with everything. It was one of the most incredible moments I've ever had in a game.

In conclusion, Soldier of Godrick wins.

[asleepinawell]

hot off the triumph of my ng+ run of dark souls 1, i decided to finally go back to try and beat ringed city which i rage quit 2 years ago (read more because i rambled a bit) (obligatory note that this is all just my opinion, other people get different things out of the game and that's fine, etc)

i didn't quit over a boss fight, but over that stretch between the inner wall bonfire and the swamp where the devs were like okay turtle clerics, ringed knights, SIX harald knights on the stairs backed up by ranged, and then a goddamn swamp in a level that should have been a cool ruined city. and all of the hard damage sponge enemies respawn. so if you die you have to go through a ton of very slow hard fights again and it's tedious

this time i looked up where the bonfire was and just made a run for it. and then after trying the next part did the same thing again. it is just frustrating. i can't play for more than twenty minutes at a time without having to turn it off and find something actually fun to do

the whole time I've been thinking about what makes a soulsborne level actually good. i've never thought it was difficulty (and would argue that being known as "so so hard" becoming the core aspect of soulsborne has been the worst thing to happen to the series)

for me, the best levels depend on patience and observation, not extremely hard enemies spawning out of nowhere. the sign of a good level is that when you finish it, when you're out of the thick of it, you think "hey that was cool and i wouldn't mind doing it again someday". and you think that regardless of any annoyance or difficulty you had along the way

when you finish an area and just think "i never want to go through that again" then something went wrong

i think about tower of latria, anor londo, darkroot garden, tomb of giants, central yarhnam, and even the valley of defilement and yeah some of those were grueling but god were they cool and i will go back to them someday. ringed city makes me think i'd rather go mop my kitchen (which i did so i guess something good came of it)

similar feeling about boss fights. artorias and manus were challenging but i ended both fights being like fuck yeah i did it! and the fights looked and felt really cool. i felt like i was fighting a duel rather than waiting for the boss to stop ping-ponging off the walls shitting status effects so i could get in one hit

the first boss fight in ringed city (I'm up to the second one now but haven't done it yet) i was like oh good now i never have to do that again (i don't even remember it very well, just that i didn't enjoy it). i actually prefer easy fights that have neat atmosphere (moonlight butterfly) to harder ones that leave me frustrated and think the best ones combine elements of challenge and atmosphere

(artorias' primal screams still get me every time, the deceptive speed he can move with despite lurching around, his dead arm dangling, the trail of abyss corruption, the way i remembered all his attacks years later...god that fight was good)

anyway i love the series a ton and I'll just end with the fact i have beaten demon's souls about 5 times (3 ng+ iterations included), and dark souls 1 about the same number of times. i've been through bloodborne twice and am almost through a third time. elden ring i beat twice and it's kind of a mixed bag. and then there's ds3 which i beat once and have 5 new characters i never got far on (i did like it but felt no desire to replay). i don't think i ever touched ds2 again after beating it. to me that says a lot

[ohwyrd]

1, 12, and 25 for Old Iron King dark soul 2 🙏

God I’m about to sound so insane talking about the magma demon with the crusty aged textures thank you for sending me this character specifically. you opened floodgates that have been closed for like a year so strap in

1. Why do you like/dislike this character?

I like him because he’s a piece of shit asshole and a really good souls boss trope, Guy destroyed by the result of his own ambition and hubris. In a game with a ton of ruined/lost civilisations in it his is the only one completely run to destruction by its own ruler. Not even influenced by the shards of humanity or wtv he did that shit all by himself and immediately DIED and wasn’t even fully there to witness the ruin of his own kingdom.

or you could say it was worse that his spirit was trapped there even after death in the remnants of his failed ambition. either way there is something special about that to me. I hate this capitalist bastard

12. What’s a headcanon that you have for this character?

which one do i talk about.

going to say his marriage to Mytha was political (I don’t know about the whole mytha = princess of venn thing but I will believe it was either political for connection or political for “I’m marrying the queen of the area I conquered”)

HOWEVER anyway the main point of my hc is that while he never intended to, he did grow to love her at some point, before he got too distracted by this you know pursuit of power or whatever.

and yes he was also in love with his most trusted knight but Alonne was all “I must serve this duty for my samurai honor” or w/e and never noticed he thought it was normal

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

My first impression of this character was “I hate the hole in his arena” and “who the hell is this big demon (sexy)”

My current impression of this character is literally everything insane that I mentioned plus everything I didn't, which is fantasy style politics and speculation about his kingdom and how he built it and his relationships before they deteriorated. All random shit I overthought about when I was playing through the iron king dlc for the first time reading every description I could to make up for how hard the area was beating my ass. I think he’s tragic and a shithead who died unloved and in ruin and maybe he deserved it

[lumikinetic]

I may get dragged before a firing squad for this. But. I have a working theory that due to fromsoft's infamous Crushing Difficulty gimmick, a not insignificant portion of the fanbase is made up of the Competitive Esports Pro-Gamer Grindset brained crowd, and I'm not talking about the Git Gud™ people. The Git Gud™ people are specifically FromSoft elitists, so they are still invested in the games as art despite their hostility. The type of people I'm talking about can't even do that.

They don't see these games as fantasy fiction, they see them as the purest examples of high level play (fucking hate that phrase btw but that's an essay for another time), they see it as purely a numbers game, an opportunity to metagame and learn all the best strats and get all the best weapons and armour so they can say "heh, yeah I beat all three Dark Souls as a Deprived AND Bloodborne as a Waste of Skin! I can clear every boss in at most 3 tries and I know all the hidden areas and secrets to really maximise whatever build I'm working with!" Which is not inherently a problem, fromsoftheads who are still normal do exist, it's just that they do it without engaging with the world at all like they beat these games just to say they beat them so they can have some feathers in their cap and I just think yeah buddy you sure are a deprived waste of skin, you got that so right.

Now. I have tried DS3, Bloodborne and Sekiro, but, outside of Armored Core 6 (because all the other AC games are prohibitively expensive/unavailable lol), I am patently not a FromSoft Guy. I don't see the hidden magic behind the trademark difficulty and I'm probably not gonna ever play Elden Ring despite being told it's like the easiest FromSoft game BUUUUTTTTT I can still give a vague approximation of a handful of characters and what they're about. I know about Wolf's fear and the Doll's empathy and Gwyndolin's.... manipulation? I think? Anyway what I'm saying is fromsoft's storytelling is so pervasive in every moment even a dummy like me can pick up on the basic ideas and archetypes. These are people who took the phrase "you beat the game" waaaayyy too literally and now all games are to them is something to be beaten, a mountain to climb instead of long-form narrative fiction that you can't achieve in other mediums cause no one is gonna sit down for like a 40 hour movie or 2000 page book.

Maybe these are just words and I'm crazy maybe I've got something here but tl;dr a good 75% of my problems with videogames in general can be traced back to "esports sucks and we need to get competitive players out of here"

I think some of the best proof that most fromsoft fans are actually illiterate is this youtube short that has thousands of likes saying artorias would easily beat malenia. The whole point of artorias' story is that despite the legends making him out to be some great knight who gave his life to save the realm from manus, we find out that he kinda sucked actually and got wrecked by the guy he was specifically equipped to kill. The only reason the legend persists is because the one who actually killed manus was some nameless undead who the gods wouldn't want to give credit to as a great hero. Artorias only remains as a hero because of his already existing high status in the society of anor londo. He isn't even the final boss of the dlc named after him.

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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[mirror-to-the-past]

Okay, now I've finished-finished KH2, and like... I don't have *terribly* much to add (post-mortem edit: lie), since I was pretty much on the brink of the final battle when I last posted about the game, but DAMN. That was actually really sweet/heartwarming.

First off, holy SHIT that final battle was movie-like as all hell. The choreographed action and reaction commands... woah. I was such a dumbass during multiple Xemnas phases, though, it was a wonder I beat him first try. Buckle up for my dumbass endeavors, it's a trip.

That part where you're flying to his little throne thing and he's tossing buildings at you was fun, because I kept launching myself against his fucking barrier and getting repelled/damaged and Xemnas was all "why do you despise the void," over and over again. I was so confused, but just... kept trying like a bullheaded idiot until my health was nose-diving and Riku started healing Sora. Cue me screaming into the void like "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Started playing Marco-Polo when Riku would say "Sora!" every time his health dropped, and eventually found him on a building at the bottom of the map I was supposed to fling at Xemnas apparently? 😂

Two other cringe-fails on my end... when Xemnas was tasering Sora and you briefly shift into Riku to complete mission 'Save His Guy,' I was beating the decoy Xemnas to death like "DON'T WORRY SORA, I'VE GOT YOU," only to realize right before Sora bit the dust that you were supposed to walk up to the other Xemnas actively doing the electrocution and just... y'know... tap the reaction command. I'm sensing a common theme here...

And to top it off, on that scene that would Otherwise Be Really Cool where Sora and Riku are meant to deflect the lasers from Xemnas, I must've missed my chance for the reaction command, and it was really fucking hilarious to watch actually, because you have the action movie sweeping spiral shot, where Riku's Understood The Instructions, leaping around and deflecting everything like a ninja, whereas Sora was utterly stunlocked, and just sort of... standing there... getting hit over and over again... it looked so pathetic, haha.

Anyway, actual plot aside from me being bad at the game, and by plot I mean Sora and Riku just being the heart and soul of the cracked out finale, apparently:

(Although shout-out to Roxas for making me feel all weepy just by saying "Look sharp," I'm eternally sad. Someone free him.)

I just... I don't even know where to start, guys. Riku being angsty, "How am I gonna face everyone?" only for Sora to go "Like this!" And make the goofiest little face to cheer Riku up, and it WORKED. That was just... I cooed, y'all.

These faces (I tracked down the GIF because I was just appalled the animators in a 2006 game had them make goo-goo eyes at each other, Sora looking away like that is what gets me):

Xemnas trying to pit them against each other in his boss fight, but you know it just wouldn't matter, because of *course* Sora trusts Riku, he can't imagine thinking otherwise, and of *course* Riku was jealous of Sora in some aspects (which was addressed later, wooo), but it didn't matter, because he just wanted to be able to be with Sora over any misgivings he might've had about his self image.

(Side Note: What in the Sam-Hill did Xemnas mean when he said there were falsehoods in their hearts? Excuse me? Will that be expanded upon? What are they denying??)

And like... they literally ended up trapped in KH Hell-equivalent, and they were just... fine?? with it?? Just completely zen on the beach (I can't help but find it interesting that the realm of darkness is a beach like Destiny Islands, and wonder if there's some light/dark parallels about the trio involving that), staring out at the water side by side, fully knowing they could just wither away there, but it was cool, because they were together. "I've got something you could never imitate too," (Which was being Riku's friend, godDAMN Sora you're gonna make me cry 😭) says Sora, just chilled out as all hell.

For further laughs, in the post credits scene where and Riku and Sora were sitting on the Paopu tree, and Sora was like 'where'd the door to light come from?' and I was all excited like a kid paying attention in class or something "Kairi Princess of Heart ex-machina, she and her letter must have been tied to-" and then Riku poked at Sora's heart and was like "From here 😌 It's closer than you think," and then I'm over here, being a vaguely disappointed nerd, like "Oh, no lore. Just... Riku saying Sora is filled with light. They're just... still having a moment. That's fine." (And they were just looking and smiling at each other while the camera was focused on their faces, which is completely interrupted by Kairi running up, pfft- bless her for the tonal whiplash)

Edit: I also loved that credits clip of Sora walking through the secret hideout cave and running his hands along the drawings, you could see his eyes combing over the memories, it was so touching. I loved when he found the drawing him and Kairi made, because I thought of that KH1 cutscene of them as small children carving it out, and you could *see* it in his eyes that Sora had a "Look where I am now," kind of moment. I will never stop screaming about the facial animations for these games.

Anyway that ended up being longer than I expected. The boys are back together and they're mushy. Kairi still has abandonment issues and they'll probably just get worse from here. Someone, somewhere curls up into a fetal position every time a KH villain gives another darkness/light monologue with the dumbest sounding lines known to man. Maleficent's entire subplot this game was just her house-hunting. Michael Mouse acts like a war veteran, and it would be hilarious if post-Ansem the Wise (I missed hearing your voice, Christopher Lee RIP) explosion he starts having survivor's guilt too. Roxas makes me want to cry, and Naminé does too. The mystery of Kairi's Keyblade has not been answered. Nobody has told Sora about Castle Oblivion even though Naminé was Right There. Next time... on Kingdom Hearts...

I wish I could caption this in the KH subtitle font but I'm too lazy to figure out how zip files work at this hour so here's comic sans

[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

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.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites��� @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[miioouu]

Sakusa's Babysitter

Ok so here's part 2 of the Sakusa fic! You guys really enjoyed it and it made me so so happy!!

Warning:smut, age gap, sir kink...

      The next day, when you walked out of your room, everything was normal. The kids were still asleep, silence reigning in the luxurious house, nothing new. It's when you made your way downstairs, expecting the kitchen to be vacant as always, your typical nanny day was about to be disturbed. There's your boss, shirtless, sitting at the table, coffee in hand and sports journal in the other. You fixed your hair, tug down on your short sleeping shorts a little, if you knew he was here, you would've prepared yourself beforehand, and cleared your throat. As soon as eyes met your figure, a polite smiled reached your lips followed by a "Good morning sir. I didn't know you had the day off today, I would've gotten up earlier and made you your breakfast. Did you sleep well?"

      His response was mortifying. Accusing tone with a hint of teasing. Putting his mug down, staring right into your eyes, penetrating to your soul "Would've slept better if my sheets didn't smell like cherry blossom.... You know I prefer more musky, deep smells right? Did you change our typical products perhaps? Or is it something else?" An eyebrow raised, a malice curve to his lips, did he know? From the way he's speaking to you, so condescending, you were sure that he caught you. And you weren't really wrong. Feigning innocence and ignorance, you apologized, promising to change the sheets right away, and to prove that you bolted out of the kitchen as soon as you finished your sentence, you wanted to escape this thick tension.

      Finally in his dark room, you softly closed the door behind you, finally letting out a deep breath. But don't relax way too fast Y/n, you haven't even looked at his bed yet. It looked messier than usual, a weird smell in the room that you couldn't pinpoint, but you were sure it wasn't cherry blossom. Lifting the cover off, your mouth hung open... Did you leave that? In the middle of the wrinkled sheets, a pool of white substance could be found, you're not dumb, you knew exactly what it was, you just didn't know whose it is. And it's a dirty idea you're having tight now, really, you could've just chucked them in the washing machine and forget about it right? But your mind had a better plan, a naughtier one for sure. Your hand sliding along the mattress feeling the soft cotton, reaching destination, dipping a fingertip in the drying out liquid. Your heart was beating fast, loud, too loud ringing in your head. Your mind going haywire trying to convince yourself to get a grip and do what you were supposed to do, but your unconsciousness craving for more, what if you just...? And you should've thought twice before guiding your hand to your mouth, tongue swirling around your fingers, tastes so good it made your eyes roll back... It's his, you can tell.

      Too preoccupied tasting your boss, you didn't even notice that he was in the room all along, until a chuckle resonated in the large room. Your eyes went wide, your body froze, and your cheeks turned red in embarrassment and humiliation. That's it, that's the end of your dream life! "Can't believe such a dirty girl was taking care of my children.... Tell me though, does it taste good? Do you want more?" What were you supposed to answer, to say to that. You took to long, in his opinion, your mind too busy trying to decipher what's going on to give him a proper response, but you didn't need to now anyway. In an instant he was right before you, bent down and face to face, a malicious smile on his lips and you wonder since when does he smile like that. "I think you do, I can tell!" And with that you were pushed back, landing on the puddle wetting your thin shirt, feeling it stick to your skin. It should've repulsed you, but it only made the heat in your core stronger. The tip of his fingers, rough from years and years of volleyball, brushing alongside your thighs, going up, up, till they reached the hem of your shorts and sliding under, his thumb resting right between your thigh and your heat "You're gonna stay quiet for sir little one? Don't want my sons to wake up mmm?" You couldn't talk, only nod as he slid your drenching panties to the side, chuckling at your arousal. The other hand fast to push his sweats down his legs, surprised that a man like him wasn't wearing any type of underwear underneath, but that thought didn't last too long, because you were more worried about something else. Standing tall and proud, pink tip already drooling pre, and a prominent vein that you knew will make you see stars. The only things that brought you from you daydream is the sound of spitting echoing in the room, a liquid hitting your sensitive spot that made you whimper slightly.

      His eyes never once left yours as he sunk into you, observing your every emotion, from the wrinkle of your eyebrows, your lips parting to let out a soft whimper, a sigh of relief as he barely bottomed out, too much for you to handle all at once. He started with a slow pace, though already making you feel dizzy with all the passion he's pouring into it. Now that you think about it, you never once saw him with a woman, he always said he's too busy for silly rendezvous, that explains the zeal he's putting out. Gradually becoming faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside of you that made you saw stars. Your nails digging into his forearm for support, like your life depends on it. You broke your promise, a moan escaped you as you couldn't contain it in anymore, it's all too much it's all too good. Years of experience showing as he pounded into you, relentlessly to add, the man was showing off you can tell by the chuckle that left him when you struggled to breathe out his name as quietly as you can. The hand that was once on your hip moving up, lacing around your throat and giving it a good squeeze. Your eyes rolled back, your back arched, and the air hitting your hot wet back had you shiver with goosebumps, had you biting down your lips, but in vain, your screams had to be let out.

       The man is smart, he knows how to use his brain, but also his mouth "Didn't you promise to keep quite? I don't like it when you disrespect your sir.... Apologize to me right now" He waited for two seconds, his hand teasingly getting tighter, too tight to speak properly, and when you took your time to actually answer him, he stopped all movements, pulling out and ready to walk away, but you couldn't let him slip like that. As soon as his fingers left the already bruising skin of your neck you spoke, you begged, you cried for him to stay, to not leave you, promising him that you were so so sorry, and it genuinely surprised you when you saw a smile on his face, a rare one as he came back. Relief washed over you, but you didn't have time to savor it, he slipped inside you in one swift movement, his thrust sloppier but more intense than before, how is that even possible? And to make sure you won't break your promise again, he leaned in, slowly, almost hesitantly. His eyes bore into yours for a second before fluttering shut, for the first time, he locked his lips with yours, making the whole experience much more intimate than it was before. And you couldn't complain. Not when your entire body was shaking, your soul trembling from within with excitement and pleasure. Not when the knot kept getting tighter and tighter, threatening to break at any moment now. It's when his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue massaged yours sensually, his hands caressing you so softly like you're as fragile as porcelain, contrasting with the movements of his hips, furious and goal-oriented, the goal of breaking you apart, that you finally reached your high. Your back creating a perfect curve again, arching into him, you chests collided, he could feel the fast beating of your heart. Your nails dagger on his back, sinking into his skin is what triggered his climax, he painted your walls a warm white, the same you saw earlier this morning on his sheets.

       You wanted to stay a little longer, catch your breath again and melt into his touch, but your boss had different ideas, ones that broke your heart into thousands of pieces. When the words left his mouth you couldn't help but feel... empty? Disappointed? But what did you expect from Sakusa Kiyoomi other than "Go get a shower and dress properly, the kids are going to wake up soon"...

Tags: @iheartkuroorin @psychedelicwh0r3

[orange-waterfalls]

Boss Battles

Google (blue) x gn!reader

(there’s a 2 week guarantee on soul-currency for fics. this probably took longer, so u get your soul back im so sorry anon idgsfyurgfre)

A/N: this took so much longer than it needed to I had FINALS and PROJECTS and well I mean a social life kjsgdrjgu but it’s done! I’m so sorry! Maybe this is why I’m losing followers HA anyways. Google’s your bestie and he don’t know how to act. He’s mean, we know that. Bit of an unrequited crush on your part, sorry. The title refers to him helping you with boss battles because that’s how you bond! I think the games are Hollow Knight, one of the Dark Souls, and Alien: Isolation and I’ve only played one of those so. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Boss Battles

Googleplier had been busy trying to figure out the quickest way to destroy mankind when he felt a presence in his general area. He opened his eyes, glancing up to see someone looming over him with this weird smile on their face. 

Less of ‘looming’ and more just ‘standing’, but it was startling nonetheless.

“... hello,” He greeted as politely as he could manage.

“Hi, Gregor.” The person formally known as Y-backslash-N responded.

“No.” He dropped the nice act.

“Griffin?” They tried.

“No.”

“... Grey.” 

“That’s just a color. May I help you?” He sighed.

“Well, it’s not about how I can help you, but more about how you can help me,” They said, confidently. They paused for a second. “Wait, is that what you said?”

“I think it was, yes.” He raised an eyebrow as they dropped their shoulders.

“I… need… your help.” They sighed

“With what?” He got to his feet. They took a step back from him.

“Games.” They said simply. He fought the urge to groan in annoyance. 

“What kind?” He crossed his arms.

“Oh, you know… a few.” They tapped the tips of their fingers together. Google rolled his eyes, debating it in his head. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyways. He thought games were… fun. Sometimes. He locked eyes with them again.

“Alright, let’s see.” They smiled and walked over to the PS5 in his area. He sat back on the comfy chair Oliver had gotten him (too comfortable for his tastes, honestly) and waited for the other individual to set up whatever they were doing. They handed him the controller after getting to their account and opening a game.

“I can’t beat the Nightmare King.” They said bitterly. He scoffed.

“Nightmare King. Bit overcompensating, eh?” He smirked. They scowled at him and faced the screen as he started the fight. He was slightly startled when it began gets hit, gets startled when he loses two lives, gets hit again, tries to run and gets hit a third time. He dies. He looks to the individual beside him, who has a smug smile on their face. He glared at them for a moment, before turning back to the screen.

The battle flew by, and the King exploded into flame in game as he won the fight. He smiled, feeling kind of proud. He will admit that he does enjoy games every once and a while. He turned to them, and now their eyes were seemingly glued to the screen, jaw on the floor. They slowly turn to him.

“Close your mouth, kid.” Google said, exiting out of the game. They snatched the controller out of his hands, mumbling something about a “smug bitch” and searched for another game. He’d started calling them kid, he wasn’t particularly sure why. It just felt like a nickname that wasn’t too affectionate, and it was nicer to say than some others. He had a specific vendetta against “chum” and he wasn’t sure why that was either.

They opened the game, handing the controller over to him once more.

“I’m scared to do this battle because I almost died on the last one. And guess what? No revives. You die, it’s over. I have to restart the game,” they explained calmly. Google raised his eyebrows. They’re trusting him with something like this? “No pressure.”

He cleared his throat and turned to the game. He spent the first minute or so of the battle getting a feel of it. The types of attacks and whatnot. He then spent the next minute figuring out the controls. The next five he spent on the actual battle, until he defeats the enemy and it falls to the ground, curling in on itself and disappearing into the air. He opens his mouth to speak.

“You’ve played this before.”

“I assure you, I haven’t.” He gave them the controller back. They triggered the final cutscene, both sitting in silence through it. He had no clue what was going on, so he felt absolutely nothing, but they seemed a bit emotional, so he let them be. They both turned to look at each other at the same time, when the credits started to roll. “Anything else you want me to do?” 

They inhaled sharply and exited out of the game. They found the third one much quicker than the others, and this one Google recognized.

“That’s supposed to be difficult, isn’t it?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, well, so were the last two. You’ll be fine.” They grumbled and handed him the controller again.

Nothing, I repeat, nothing could have prepared him for this game. He was actually, legitimately scared of the alien. It learned. It paid attention. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was on the verge of breaking the controller with how hard he was holding it. The thing passed in front of him as his character hid under a desk. He leaned as far back as the chair would let him and held his breath. It walked away. He let it out, just as he was stabbed through the stomach by it from behind. He jumped and clutched at his shirt, looking down at his torso, just in case. 

“The voice actress should get a fucking Oscar for this stupid-ass game.” He wheezed and turned to the person beside him. They were shaking with panic, but had an unhinged smile on their face.

“‘That’s supposed to be difficult’, he says,” they giggled maniacally. He narrowed his eyes at them, offended.

“Hey. Fuck you, that thing is goddamn intelligent,” He defended himself as they continued laughing, slightly fearfully but still entertained. “I need a break after that.”

“Well… we could… always… play something together…” They suggested softly. Google sighed and looked at the xenomorph on the home screen. He then concluded that literally anything is better than that.

“Yeah… yeah, ok.”

--

You really wanted to beat yourself up for managing to form a crush on the homicidal robot, but he didn’t seem so homicidal when he was picking berries in Don’t Starve Together. Granted he took quite a bit of joy out of the fighting games, but who didn’t? Sometimes you wanna brutally murder video game people and that was ok. Healthy, even!

How did this happen, you’re smarter than this? Why not one of the other ones? Oliver was sweet! Lee was charming! Elliott was… well, he was Elliott. But really? The original? Absolutely tragic. You need to stop watching those ‘I can fix him’ type of romantic movies. You can’t fix a primary objective, reader!

“You’ve been kinda quiet,” he commented after a bit of playing in silence. You sighed and saw him look at you from the corner of your eye.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You didn’t have the confidence to tell him about anything yet. He didn’t make any other comment, so neither did you. A little bit more time passed and you yawned.

“Bedtime,” He claimed, getting up and taking your controller from you. You sputter your disapproval.

“No! I’m fine, I’m not even t--” You cut yourself off with another yawn. He raises an eyebrow as you give him a guilty look. “... tired.”

“We can play some other time,” he said with a shrug. You slumped over and looked off to the side.

“But I caught you in a good mood today…” you mumbled. He paused and turned to look at you.

“What did you say?” He asked. His voice was very monotone, so you could never really tell what he was feeling when he asked. Right now, you didn’t know if he was angry, confused, or straight up just didn’t hear you. You shrugged. He stared at you for a moment, then turned back and turned the console off. You stood up, stretching, and headed for the exit.

“See you later,” You said, smiling. He acknowledged you with a nod and you closed the door behind you. 

You ended up at your front door almost instantly, and suddenly remembered that you are friends with an eldritch entity. And have a crush on a homicidal robot. Life of a main character. 

You open the door, stepping in with a heavy sigh and heading for your bedroom.

“Yoooo!” A voice shouted from beside you. You jumped, clutching your shirt. You slowly turned to the culprit. Bingiplier was in the middle of your house.

“Bing…” Your voice shook just a bit as you watched the android. Bing was… different than the Googles. Um… G-Bots. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you seemed sad.” He shrugged, suddenly holding a basketball and twirling it on his finger.

“What? I haven’t talked to you in like… months.” You commented, getting distracted by the spinning object.

“Yeah… uh, see…” He laughed nervously, “that’s funny, because–” You snatched the ball from him, startling the android. He blinked at your glaring eyes.

“Have you and Wilford been low-key stalking me?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew the boys had the absolute best intentions, but they were stupid and creepy about it. Bing’s overdramatic scoff told you all you needed to know.

“Nooo!” He looked away. You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. His expression turned guilty. Kind of like a dog who tore up a pillow. “Yeeeah…” You rubbed your face and made your way to your room. You could hear Bing following you, but you couldn’t be bothered to tell him off. 

You walked into your room, immediately flopping facedown on the bed. You couldn’t exactly breathe, but you didn’t remedy that until it started to hurt. You turned your head to see Bing standing beside the bed. You closed your eyes. You heard the bed shift, opening your eyes back up to see Bing sitting down now.

“Talk to me, babes.” He said, uncharacteristically soft. You huffed.

“First of all, don’t call me that.” You weakly pointed at him. He tilted his head a little. You sighed. “You ever… get a crush on someone you shouldn’t? But… you can’t just make it go away and you don’t wanna ruin anything so you just… stay quiet?” He nodded like he understood.

“Ryan Reynolds.” He said. You snorted.

“Seriously?” You couldn’t help smiling.

“I know! He has a wife! And children!” He whisper-shouted.

“No, I-everyone has a crush on Ryan Reynolds, that’s not what I mean.” You closed your eyes again.

“iHasCupquake on YouTube.com?” He suggested.

“Bing-” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Unus of Unus Annus formerly on YouTube.com!” 

“... you have a crush on Unus?” You turned to look at him in disbelief. His eyes widened and his face flushed orange before he turned away.

“...n…no…” He lied, pathetically. You rolled your eyes and laid your head back down on the bed. “uh, what about you? Who you crushin’ on?”

“... googleplier…” you mumbled

“What was that, I didn’t catch it.” He leaned in real close, cupping his ear with one hand,

“Googleplier,” you repeat, louder than necessary.

“Just kidding! Heard you the first time, haha! Wow, you’re fucked.” He plopped onto his side on your bed, resting his cheek on his hand.

“Thank you for that, Bing.” You tried to glare at him, but failed. You were too sad to be angry.

“I’m sorry, kid.” You snorted once again and squinted at the android.

“I’m older than you.”

“I can’t think of a gender neutral term. Friend. Pal. Comrade.”

“Captain.”

“Chief.”

“Indie game protagonist.”

“... I’m sorry... friend.”

“Yeah… me too.”

–

“Well, that was tragic,” Lee said after Google’s guest had left. He turned to look at the green android, who was sitting smugly on the couch, feet on the coffee table.

“Excuse me?”  He asked. Lee raised an eyebrow.

“Only have one friend and you kick them out after not talking to them for two weeks? Tragic,” He sighed. Google narrowed his eyes.

“I did not kick them out. Humans require rest,” He said, impatient.

“They would have told you if they wanted to go home,” Lee countered.

“They may not have.”

“They’re an adult.”

“They lied to me about being tired.”

“Because they didn’t want to leave.”

“So, I made them for the sake of their own health!” 

“You could have let them sleep over.” Google opened his mouth to retort again. He didn’t say anything because he knew Lee was right. “Precisely.” He gave Google a shit-eating grin. The blue android growled and sat down, facing away from his “brother”. He closed his eyes to try and calm down. But he started thinking.

He didn’t talk to his friend a lot. Nor did he spend much time with them. He knew that humans usually required a lot of affection to thrive, but they were an acception. They didn’t need affection, and he didn’t want to give it. They complemented each other well for that reason.

Unless… they didn’t need affection because he didn’t want to give it. They could adapt pretty well. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. They hung out every once and a while and they always seemed happy to be with him, but… maybe this was a one-sided relationship.

He did like them. He did. He just… couldn’t express it like his brothers. Physical affection was foreign to him. Maybe affection in general. He… wasn’t human. That much was clear. Maybe they needed a human. Maybe… maybe they didn’t need him.

“Oh boy, he’s spiraling,” Oliver called out. Google opened his eyes and whipped around to look at him. The yellow android squeaked and hid behind a chair.

“If you wanna rebuild your relationship, you’ve gotta put in the effort, asshole,” Elliott claimed.

“How so?” Google snorted.

“Almost everyone has a main love language. Mine is quality time. Elliott’s is receiving gifts. Oliver’s is physical touch. Bing’s is words of affirmation. Your love language is acts of service,” Lee explains. Google is taken aback by the statement.

“N… No, it’s not,” He argues weakly.

“Oh? Because you refuse to give Oliver hugs, but will water his flowers without being asked when he’s away?” Lee looked Google in his eyes. Oliver smiled at the blue android. Google heard fans start whirring to cool his processor down.

“That’s not–” He started.

“Or because you refuse to do anything nice for Elliott, but always clean his room when he’s had a bad breakdown?” Lee took his feet off the coffee table and leaned closer to Google. Elliott laughed.

“You–” Google balled his hands into fists. He wanted to be angry, but how could he when they’re right?

“Or because you will not say one nice word to Bing, but you learned how to do skateboard tricks for the sole purpose of helping him perfect them? Is that why you think it’s not?” Lee tilted his head innocently like he hadn’t just shattered Google’s worldview.

“... so… what do I… do?” Google gritted out.

“Well, they like it when you help them with their video games, don’t they?” Lee puts his feet back up on the coffee table. Google steeled himself and walked out the door. The other three androids sat in silence for a moment.

“Does he do anything for you, Lee?” Oliver piped up. Lee snorted.

“Nah, he hates me,” Lee sighed.

“He sat with you yesterday and watched the video you asked him to,” Elliott pointed out, turning the TV on and the volume up. Lee blinked, thinking about it. Then, he smiled.

“... he did, didn’t he?” He whispered.

–

You had woken up in the middle of the night, feeling a strange air to your bedroom. You thought maybe Bing was still there for some reason, and turned the lamp on to confirm. Bing was not there. However, you did stare down Google, who was currently watching you from the edge of your bed. You didn’t particularly enjoy the android Blair Witching you, and cleared your throat to express this thought.

“Google,” you greeted. He nodded in response. “What, uh… whatcha doing?”

“Waiting.” He said.

“For?” You asked.

“You to wake up.”

“Why?”

“So we can… play. Games.”

“... why?”

“... it has come to my attention that I have not been such a good friend as of late, ignoring you in favor of doing other, less energy-consuming things. But you are a mortal and a human and you should be able to live a nice, fulfilling life, and you seem to want me to help achieve that. I cannot give proper physical affection, but I have been informed by the other G-Bots that my love language is acts of service. I consider this to be an act of service because I am helping you.” He explained extensively. You blinked, processing the words in your mind, considering it was 1:00 am and you really wanna fall back asleep. “... unless you don’t want me to.”

“No, I-That’s fine… just… can we do it later? When I’m supposed to wake up? Like… noon?” You rub your eyes to try not to collapse right there.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Sorry.” His shoulders dropped a little more each time he started a new sentence.

“It’s… fine, just… give me a few hours…” You yawn mid-sentence. You fall back down, making yourself comfortable in the bed.

“Um… what do I do in the meantime?” He asked. You snorted.

“Well you could make yourself useful and lay down so I can use you as a heater,” You joked. You then felt the bed dip. You opened your eyes and turned.

Yup. There was Google. Stiffly laying on his back, eyes wide open. His skin had an orange glow and there was a noise emitting from him. Of course he had a heating feature. Why not?

You sigh and scoot a little closer-not too close, you know he’s not comfortable with that- and just take the warmth that’s given to you. Your last thought before falling back asleep is “Google’s such a good friend. My best friend.”

You didn’t realize that you’d mumbled that out loud, and Google heard it. He turned his head to look at you and respond, but you were already asleep. He closed his mouth, looking back at the ceiling. Your words echoed through his mind for another two or three or 50 minutes until he could fully process the gravity of your words and the responsibility placed upon him.

He was a good friend. Your Best Friend.

For the first time in a long time, Google really, genuinely, smiled.

--

I got a notification for Visit Yancy in the middle of finishing this up so I have an idea for an angsty fic GSDYUADFG

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

[wandering-travesty]

Call Me By Your Name

    You weren’t sleezy. That was just a word idiots used to try and pull you down to their level. Yes, your hair was slicked back. Yes, your eyeshadow was dark as the night. Yes, your suit jacket barely covered your chest. Yes, your nails were painted black and sharp as daggers. But, no, you weren’t sleezy. You were dressed for your job. What was your job? Well, that was a bit more complicated….

 “I need you to get close to him.” Erwin said coolly, stubble covered chin resting on his strong hands.

 “I’m sorry?” You asked, genuinely hoping you had too much wax lodged in your ear canals.

 “You heard him.” You met the glare of the midget standing behind your boss.

 “Okay, smartass, I did. But you can’t be serious, boss! He’s beyond dangerous. Shouldn’t someone like,” you gestured in Levi’s direction, “one of the Ackermans take care of this? I’m not discounting myself or anything, but fucking with a Yeager is basically a suicide mission.” You were actually shocked Erwin asked you to do something so important. More so, dangerous. You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a death sentence. You’d lost enough comrades to know that.

 “Listen, he’s the key to taking down the Marlian Syndicate.” You knew that, but still, this seemed out of left field. “The Ackermans are strong, yes, but they lack a certain…”

 “They’re not ready to whore themselves out. Just say that, Smith.” You understood now. The Ackermans were cold blooded killers ready to strike at any moment. However, they were awkward and completely inept at things like lust and heated and frankly revolting rendezvous. That was how he wanted you to get information for him.

 Erwin wanted you to fuck the leader of the Marlian Syndicate.

 “I wouldn’t use that wording exactly, but your assumption is correct.” Levi couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, but Erwin continued to stare straight into your soul. He was the leader of La Peste Eldienne (The Eldian Plague) for a reason. Strong, debonair, charming, and slightly insane. He could down a beer in one swig, sip a martini all night long, or abstain from alcohol completely. Whatever he needed to do, he did. He murdered, sent the idiotic young and the hopeless old to their deaths just the same, and could absolutely wine and dine a stranger until their clothes practically flew off their body if it was for the cause. You needed to be like that. Especially at a time like this.

 “I’ll do it. And I’ll do it well.” You assured your boss and his partner. Yeah, this would be easy. You could go low as the scum you were about to completely fuck over. You had been climbing up the ranks as of late, so this would be easy as pie.

Before going on your little date: you made a mental note of the main players you would have to deal with. The list you had went something like this:

Porco Galliard: Complete idiot. All brawn, no brain. Basically a bouncer with a fancier jacket and a higher salary. No worries about him doing anything funny.

Pieck Finger: The sweet little thing they kept around for good reason. Part of you wished you had to deal with her instead. She was witty and had a surprising amount of control over the shipments of cocaine and ammunition that went on about the city. Her pretty face and calm demeanor hid her true genius. She was one of the more concerning figures at tonight’s gig, but also one of the one’s more willing to hear you out before killing you.

Colt Grice: Basically a smarter but weaker version of Galliard. He was really only part of the Syndicate to learn from the best and become a great mafioso one day. You had high hopes for him, despite yourself.

Bertholdt Hoover: A freakishly tall mix of the last three members of the gang. So sweaty and shaky he wasn’t allowed to handle guns under any circumstance. That told you all you needed to know about his threat level.

Annie Leonhardt: Tiny, quiet ball of rage and skill. Could murder you in an instant, but would only do so if ordered. Not a concern unless someone else found you out, or you didn’t like being glared at all night.

Reiner Braun: His personality changed with the passing minutes. Could be calm and almost kind, or could snap your neck like a twig in his giant ass hand. He was a wildcard, and a dangerous one. Though he was obsessed with following orders and being the perfect little soldier boy, so you didn’t need to worry about him if no one told him to start shooting.

Yelena: Even more freakishly tall than Hoover. Also freakishly obsessed with the gang leader and his “master plan”, whatever the hell that was. Maybe you would find out tonight. Anyways, she would only do anything if you threatened the boss in any way. If you did your job right, that wouldn’t be an issue.

Eren Yeager: Easily the most brash and idiotic member of the gang. His problem was that he was trigger happy. In this business, trigger happy meant dozens of dead innocents piled up on the club floor in an instant. You had to be careful around him. Unlike most of the others, he would kill you without thinking.

And the top dog. The man of the hour. The man you had to seduce:

Zeke Yeager: Think Erwin but with more wit and charm. Not to mention more of a sadistic mindset. His favorite game was cat and mouse, seeing how long it took before he had a good excuse to have someone drawn and quartered. His expertise was slow torture that the victim didn’t even really know was happening before the barrel of the gun was already pointed to their temple. And you had to fuck him so stupid he leaked confidential information.

 The only other issue with Zeke was his habit of sleeping around. Yes, he was a tramp by most standards. A harlot with exotic tastes. You had heard stories of him seducing women and men alike, and god only knew what they did once he succeeded. What that meant for you was he would be hard to impress.

 So, you were here to beat him at his own game. And if you were found out, his younger brother would most likely shoot you on the spot. That was, if one of the others did it first. Or even worse, Zeke decided to be a tried and true asshole and torture you to death. The options were endless, and you hated them all.

 So there you sat, ass perched on a bar stool, sipping on a gin rickey and waiting for your opportunity. The room smelled strongly of tobacco, rum, and cinnamon. At least you would die surrounded by what you loved, you thought, laughing grimly to yourself. Men and women danced to slow songs you faintly recognized. The air buzzed with haughty laughter and upper class small talk. You barely had any idea how to interact with high society shitheads as high and mighty as the ones Yeager surrounded himself with. You weren’t often sent out to jobs like this. You were like Levi, born in the slums and never taught how to properly behave. You knew what you had to, much like your knowledge of the goings on of La Peste Eldienne. You knew your gang traded drugs, ammunition, and whatever else was a hot commodity at the time, but nothing other than that. You were actually quite glad to know nothing, since that made you a pretty unimportant person to rival gangs. Not as many death threats and kidnapping attempts came your way, unlike the ones Erwin, Hange, and Levi got every day. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts on the gang hierarchy.

 “Excuse me, miss. The boss wants to chat with ya’ real quick.” A man with greasy hair and green, catlike eyes softly gripped your shoulder. Considering what you knew of Galliard, you figured that grip wouldn’t be soft for much longer if you didn’t do as he suggested.

 “Oh, alright. Did he happen to mention why?” You were genuinely curious. Porco didn’t offer you any solid answer, but there was a reasonable explanation.

 Zeke wanted to get his rocks off. Parties could be interesting, with the right people, of course. The right people hadn’t happened to show up that night. You, on the other hand, seemed interesting. To be frank, you were gorgeous. Even from a distance, he could tell there was something behind your eyes that spelled trouble. He loved people like you. Vicious, cunning, witty, all hidden behind an uninterested and bored demeanor. Those were the people he wanted around him. The best examples were Pieck, and surprisingly, Levi. They seemed to be completely different people than the ones hiding behind their eyes, and Zeke loved to see how long it took to break them down. Well, he was a bit kinder to Pieck, but you and Ackerman got the rough treatment.

 “Zeke, what the hell’re you doin’?” Eren pulled him out of his rather disgusting thoughts of…things better left unsaid.

 “I’m going to talk to a woman, Eren. What does it seem like I’m doing?” Zeke had a sharp tongue and quick wit, which he didn’t spare even his brother from.

 “I get that, but why that one? She seems…shady t’me. I wouldn’t let ‘er get too close, y’know?”

 “Eren, please be rational.” Zeke held a palm out in front of Eren, as if to physically stop his train of thought. “You and Yelena will shoot at the first sign of danger, so inviting this lovely woman to join us for a harmless chat isn’t a danger in the slightest.” Zeke reassured his brother, neglecting to tell him his true intentions. He was sure that would just make him more upset and skittish, which was dangerous for everyone there.

 “’Kay, boss. Got the dame ya’ asked for.” Porco trudged to the brothers’ secluded table with you in tow. He had kept one hand on your shoulder and the other right above your ass. The two main reasons being: one, he didn’t want someone so seemingly important to escape his grip, and two, you had a nice ass.

 “Ah, thank you Galliard…you can let her go now.” He gave Porco a knowing smirk. He let you go immediately and walked away, cheeks slightly reddened. Zeke didn’t want someone else touching his new toy.

 “I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but did you need something from me? That man made me leave my gin at the bar and I would like to finish it at some point.” Oh, Zeke was going to love you. You weren’t flighty or scared in the slightest. He knew you had seen some serious shit. Not to mention how you cared more about your alcohol than a dangerous mafia boss and his younger brother ordering you over to their table. You were attractive and relatable. What a catch.

 “My apologies, Galliard tends to be a bit, how do you say, brutish. Feel free to order something new and sit down with us.” He gave you a smile that told you it wasn’t a suggestion. This guy was already just as bad as everyone had told you. He hailed a waiter over to the table. You knew that wasn’t some kind gesture, rather a show of how much power he had over everyone there. His long, thick fingers and suave smile also showed you how easily swayed you could be by dashing looks and raw power.

 He held himself like a king but talked like a philosopher. At the same time, he was down to earth yet still slightly condescending. You never knew where you stood with him, and he liked it that way. His flaxen hair was parted down the middle, and unlike most of the men there along with yourself with their hair hardened with pomade, it was fluffy and moved as he gestured wildly when he spoke. He tended to talk with his hands, once again drawing attention to just how attractive they were. His face was indescribably beautiful. His eyes were like stormy oceans cascading with passion and intrigue. His lips looked soft and plush with a wonderful roseate hue. His beard was well groomed and framed his sharp jaw perfectly. His gold rimmed glasses had a habit of hiding his eyes when thrown into direct light, which often happened with how he talked with his whole body. The way he constantly made direct eye contact with you had you lost in a daze of desire and fear. Was this all some sick ploy to get you to slip up and get everyone you loved killed along with yourself? Or was he seriously that interested in you?

 Eren was quiet most of the time, unless Zeke spoke to him. He didn’t like you. You were too similar to Zeke for his tastes.

 “Say, Eren, could you pass me a smoke?”

 “Oh, so you do have vices. See, you never ordered a drink for yourself, so I assumed you were a man above pleasures of the flesh.” You flashed a toothy grin at him, signaling that it was just playful banter. You two were both rather good at that.

 “My dear, the more you get to know me, the better you will understand just how enthralled with earthly pleasures I am.” He winked, and it sent you to the moon with want. How could a man be so gorgeous, charming, dangerous, and sadistic all at the same time? And why did you have to deal with it? You needed him out of his right mind, but it seemed like that could never happen. Whether it came from alcohol, drugs, or sex. You planned to use a mixture of all three. As you continued your playful jabs and taunts at each other, you found your opportunity to seal the deal. One sniff of the white stuff and he was putty in your hands.

 “Now you know, Mr. Yeager, gin isn’t my only vice.” You kept your usual sly tone.

 “Oh really? That is quite the interesting thing to say.” He matched your energy perfectly. This was too good.

 “Have you ever happened to try, well, what do they call it these days? Well, I tend to call it blow. Snow, stardust, snort, sugar, crack, whichever you prefer, I suppose.” Oh, how brave of you to mention your own trade to your top competitor.

 “Why, yes, I have indeed partook in snorting blow. Is there any reason as to why you’re asking me that right now, darling?” You wished he would stop with the pet names. Or rather, you wished you would stop loving them so much. It felt dirty to enjoy your enemy’s company to this extent.

 “Well, I was wondering if you might like to sneak off and try some of my personal mix.” You leaned in close, covering the side of you mouth with your hand. Eren wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’d mess with your plan, and you couldn’t have that. Especially not with his slippery ass trigger finger.

 “Your own personal mix, eh? Don’t tell me you’re involved in the trade, now.” He leaned in just shy of touching your lips. “That wouldn’t be very good for either of us, sweetheart.” That’s it, you were fucking this man if it was part of your plan or not. The entire thing could go south, and you’d still want this man’s dick in your mouth. You didn’t really care anymore. He was too hot to handle, and you were this close to cracking under the pressure. Zeke was right, you were fun to play with.

 “Not at all, I just happen to know the right people.” You grinned at him, knowing you technically weren’t lying. It was your own little inside joke, or so you thought.

 The next thing you knew you were in Zeke’s penthouse, smashed up against the wall with a hand around your neck. By all accounts, this is what you wanted, but it was also quite the opposite.

 “Dearest, I find it insulting that you think I would fall for that pitiful act.” He had you figured out from the moment you walked in. Zeke Yeager never forgot a pretty face. He’d wanted to have you naked in his bed for months, and here you were, all helpless and needy. You were adorable, thinking you could get whatever you wanted from him.

 “Smith was a fool to send anyone, let alone a little minx like you.” You hated how good being insulted by this bitch felt. How did he make it so that your panties got wetter every time he called you a different synonym for whore? It was so awful and so amazing.

 “I’m the slut, yet you’re the one actively trying to fuck me? Do I have that right?” You quipped the best you could from under the pressure of his strong hand.

 “Alright then, we’re both sluts. But the difference between us is that I admit it, yet you pretend to be this perfect little princess in order to fuck powerful men like me.” His grip on your neck tightened as if to add injury to insult.

 “Don’t insult me,” you had to catch your breath between each word, “I fuck men ten times more powerful than you.” But, god was it worth it. You figured he might slap you or otherwise reprimand you, but no, the bastard just smiled wide. What a fucking asshole.

 “Maybe to you.” He widened his cheshire grin. “Maybe you think Erwin’s more powerful. That he has a bigger cock and sucking it will get you further in life.” He pushed you further into the wall. “Or maybe letting Ackerman smack your ass will earn you some cash. Or having Zacharius sniff around your cunt instead of your neck will rise you up the ranks, hmm?” You just grimaced at him, knowing none of it was true. “Or maybe,” he let out a chuckle, “letting Zoe do whatever the hell they’re into will get you more coke and gin.” He was mocking you, ruthlessly, with no signs of stopping, and without letting you get a word in. You were starting to see black spots in your line of vision.

 “Well, fucking with me will get you much more, angel.” He finally let your neck go, letting you fall to the ground, left to look up at the devil in front of you.

 “You fucking suck.” You glared at him, not necessarily trying to hide how much you were enjoying this. As it happened, you weren’t some innocent angel. No, you weren’t a sadistic maniac like Zeke, but you knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t necessarily vanilla. As if reading your earlier thoughts, he bent down to your place on the floor.

 He slapped you, and it wasn’t gentle.

 “You’re a sloppy whore on your best days, now get up and strip.” Well if worst came to worst, you could say that you got him where you wanted him…just not exactly how you wanted him, or with a guarantee you would get what you wanted out of him. Honestly, you felt kind of flattered by his attention and apparent need to fuck you.

 “God, do I have to do everything for you, sweetheart?” Apparently you had been standing around catching your breath too long for his liking. He had made quick work of his own jacket, shirt, and dress pants, leaving him in a black pair of boxers. You hated admitting how magnificent he looked. He was muscular, but not in the same way someone like Reiner or Erwin was. Every single limb on him was lengthy and wiry, thus the bruise marks forming on your neck. While on the subject of length, from what you could see, it applied to his cock as much as it did his other appendages. If it looked that good through the black fabric, you couldn’t even dream of what it would look like out in the open, slapping against his defined v-line and abs.

 You hadn’t even noticed him getting closer to you, completely forgetting about his earlier demand turned complaint.

 “Not only are you a harlot, you’re a useless one, as well.” He came close enough for you to smell the hints of smoke, pine, and black tea that wafted off of him. He started playing with the collar of your shirt. “But damn if you aren’t a pretty one…” He said that more to himself than you, clearly not being comfortable complimenting you. He saw you as a toy, a pawn in his game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world.

 You decided that would be your last deep thought as he began to undress you. Nimbly moving his fingers down each button of your dress shirt, until it came completely undone and bore your chest to him. You were by no means flat, which seemed to entertain the man in front of you.

 “I knew you’d be the perfect slut for me.” He groped your breasts through your bra, hands greedy with the clear goal of making you yearn for him. “Perfect tits, soft skin, pretty face, nice ass, strong will. Yeah, you’ll be fun to break.” He gave you one of his signature smirks, making you want to crush his windpipe and deepthroat his dick at the same time.

 You shrugged your top off your shoulders and let him snake his arms around your chest to undo your bra and expose your tits to the cool air of the room. He didn’t waste time kissing your filthy mouth, and instead skipped straight to your sensitive neck. He slowly dragged his soft lips down your throat, kissing his way over to both sides and under your jaw. He licked and sucked at any area that made you gasp or let out some embarrassing little noise you tried to desperately to hide. He hated how you hid, he needed you to need him, to want him at a level beyond human comprehension. He wanted to destroy you, do break you down to your most animalistic and pitiful form. You were strong, that was for damn sure, but he wanted to fix that.

 He took all this into account as he began nipping at the tops of your breasts. He moved from one to the other with no clear pattern. He dragged his tongue down to your right nipple, only touching the tip of his tongue to it, making you shiver in anticipation and let out a small whine. Yes, that was the progress he wanted to see from you. He swirled his tongue around it, slowly making his way to the center, harshly sucking it into his mouth. He pulled his sinful mouth away from you, leaving a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He quickly made his way to your other nipple, doing the same and driving you just as wild.

 “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to make more noise, darling.” He teased, sounding genuinely annoyed with you.

 “Well, maybe if you did a better job, I would be louder.” You had discovered your talent of keeping up with his smart mouth, and you used it to your advantage. You wanted to rile him up; to get a rise out of him. As previously stated, you didn’t want a vanilla little love making session, you wanted to fuck.

 “Alright then, if you’re so keen on keeping quiet,” he put his rough hands on your bare shoulders, pushing you back onto the ground, this time on your knees, “how about I stuff that mouth?” You hated how good he was at turning you on.

 He pulled his dick out right in front of your face, letting it lay on his toned abs, just as you had envisioned it. It was easily 10 inches long, 5 inches thick, with a slight upturn that could drive you insane if it hit the right spots, which it would. It was flushed pink and dripping pre-cum; it was pretty.

 “Well, are you just going to gawk at it or are you going to make yourself useful, slut?” The sweet pet names were out the window, swiftly replaced with the most debasing insults he could think of. To avoid any more of his smart ass remarks, you took his thick cock in your hands. You slowly stroked it, taking in exactly how big it was. You moved your plush lips closer, giving it a few small kitten licks to test the waters. You kissed the head and gave longer licks up the side, earning a grunt or two from the man above you. As you began to swirl your tongue around his tip, his strong hand came down and pushed on the back of your head. It wasn’t gentle, forcing you to take him down your throat. Considering his size, it was no shock that you choked on it at first, but he kept his hand on your hair, forcing you to stay on him.

 “That’s it, sweetheart, keep that dirty mouth on fat cock.” Tears starting pooling in your eyes as you struggled to breath around his length. “Aww, are you actually crying?” He cooed, taking sick pleasure in mocking you. “How pathetic of you, darling.” His words send shockwaves of shame and pleasure down to your core. You abhorred how badly you needed him inside of you. As he let out a low moan, he pulled you off his cock, tugging your hair just enough to make you even wetter.

 “Alright, angel. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, so we’ll leave it at that.” You coughed a little as he bent down to your heaving form.

 “Really? That’s a shock.” That was your genuine reaction. You were far too fucked out to be a smart ass at this point.

 “Yeah, you’re not the first to make that observation.” Much to your surprise, he picked you up bridal style, barely breaking a sweat in the process of getting you to his bedroom. Though the lights were on, you couldn’t take in many details, your cock drunk state making it difficult to process anything other than the warm, bare skin of the monster you tried so hard to vanquish.

 “Now, lets get these cute little panties off, hmm?” You had forgotten him taking off your pants in the heat of the moment. His menacing figure loomed overtop of you, slowly sinking down to your thighs. He placed licks and kisses all over them, leaving a few bite marks along with them. You moaned louder than before, feeling too blissed out to care about your pride. You felt large, tepid fingers hooking themselves between your legs and into your panties. He pulled them to the side, wanting to really take you in. Despite his lust for power and dominance, he much preferred giving head to receiving it, especially when it came to women and their soft, tender pussies. You were no exception to this rule.

 “Goddamn you’re fucking wet.” You looked up at you, making you lean your head back to avoid his gaze. “You must like me more than you care to admit, sweetie.” Just after saying this, he ran one long finger up your dripping slit, coating his fingertip in your slick. He looked at it shimmering in the low light of the room, grinning before taking it into his mouth and tasting what your cunt had to offer.

 “You taste like heaven. Surprising, considering what a nasty girl you are.” Unlike you, he could keep that smartass act up for hours on end, no matter how lost in your sex he was. He landed a chaste kiss to your throbbing heat before flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up the middle. He began to devour you, making the lewdest noises you had ever heard in the process. You felt amazing, and disgusting, and just about every other emotion you had ever felt in your life. He was a god at eating your pussy, feeling no remorse in having his lips and beard dripping with your juices. To hell with the burn marks he left on your thighs and the burning sense of guilt you had for moaning so loud and creaming all over the face of your greatest enemy. Shame and guilt were for foolish children with no place in the world, Zeke wanted to enjoy every last second of destroying you.

 As he continued to lick and suck at your most sensitive spots, you began to feel your stomach tighten, signaling your closeness. Zeke noticed as well, taking note of your erupting moans and groans and tugs at his silky hair. He moaned on your clit, the vibrations sending you over the edge. You came all over his face, arching your back of the soft sheets and making you scream his name. He kept his lips attached to your clit as you came down from your high, keeping you ensnared in his trap of bliss.

 “God, you moan like a fucking whore, you know that?” The way he insulted you felt disgustingly good, especially coming from such a obnoxiously handsome man.

 “And you eat pussy like a god.” The veil of hatred came off in one foul swoop. You couldn’t hold back how you truly felt about Zeke Yeager. You were in love with the way he treated you, and spoke to you, and ate you, and soon enough, fucked you. He was so damn good, and you just hated to love and loved to hate him.

 “Oh, do I now?” He let out a low chuckle, taking pride in how helpless and stupid he had made you. “Does that make me your god, pet?” It wasn’t a real question. He knew the answer, and he loved that answer: yes.

 “Now, how about I partake in some earthly pleasures and fuck your brains out, sweetheart?” He questioned, moving his arms up to rest on both sides of your head. His face was right above yours, lips hovering over your breathless, panting ones.

 “Yes, please.” Your eyebrows scrunched together as you grew impatient and needy as all hell. Zeke had a sinister idea. God was a nice term, but he could think of a better one.

 “How about you beg daddy for it?” He was such a disgusting pervert, and he relished in it. You mustered all the strength you could in order to speak.

 “Please fuck my pussy, daddy.” That was all he needed to push himself inside your tight heat. Your walls clenched as he thrusted balls deep inside of you, not caring if you needed to adjust or not. Luckily, you didn’t, despite his size.

 “Fuck yes, angel. You’re so goddamn tight.” He thrusted into you with reckless abandon, using you more than making love to you, which is exactly what you both wanted. Your walls clenched and throbbed as he brought you to orgasm once again.

 “Cumming all over my cock, sweetheart? Such a dirty whore.” He teased, continuing his motions, hitting your g-spot over and over again without much issue. His dick was perfect, reaching every inch of you that made you scream out in pleasure and overstimulated bliss. All of this for a few bags of cocaine and bullets. You weren’t even thinking of that as he pounded into you, getting rougher and sloppier than before. He was getting close to his own high just as you were about to reach your third. No one had ever made you feel like this. You never wanted to let him go. Fuck everyone you cared about, this was too damn good to throw away.

 “Where do you want my cum, slut?” He asked seconds before climaxing.

 “Wherever you want it, daddy.” That was exactly what he wanted to hear. You had been molded into the perfect toy for him, even if it was just for the moment. He had debased and perverted you, like putty in his hands. You thought you could just waltz in there and take what you wanted from him. But no, instead you were writhing around on his bed with his fat cock filling up your pussy while you screamed for your daddy. You were filthy, slutty perfection. He quickly pulled out of you and shot his cum on your stomach and chest. Noticing you were still squirming around, he pushed his thumb to your clit and rubbed circles as two of his fingers entered you and hit your sweet spot.

 “Come on, slutty girl, cum for daddy.” This time felt different than the others. You were completely out of your mind with pleasure and lust, and he was hitting just the right spots. You came around his fingers, squirting your juices and ruining his sheets. As if he could sense it, he had moved his face down just in time for it to reach his mouth, coating yet another layer of your cum on his beard. He licked his lips, savoring you taste and the blissed out, fuck drunk look on your face. He wished he could keep you like this forever. No, he would make sure to keep you like this forever. You were going to be his for the rest of time, no matter what it took. Even if he had to play the long game and pretend you had a choice in the matter.

 “Well, sweetheart, I’m afraid you have to go home empty handed. I’m sure those tarts will just pat you on the head and congratulate you for trying your best. That’s why they’ll never surpass me, and that’s why you will come crawling back to me.” You couldn’t respond, too disappointed and drained to say a word.

 “I have a shower that I recommend you use.” He looked down at you, your eyes hazy and barely focused on him. You were completely exposed to him. You looked beautiful. “In an act of civility, I’ll let you sleep here tonight. On a different bed, of course, considering the damage you’ve done.” You laughed at that, and he followed suite.

 “You know Zeke, for a monster, you’re not too bad.” You looked at him, admiration clear in your eyes.

 “You’re not too unbearable either.”

[prose-for-hire]

So wrong it’s right

Part 2 // Part 3

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: (Sorry if I make a mistake, English is my second language) Will you make a story with a somewhat villain reader (but shes not exactly evil) that keeps helping Angel out because she likes him and in the start he wont trust her but one day they kiss and Angel becomes confused about how he feels? I hope that makes sense. If I didn’t explain it well please don't feel you need to write it you can ignore this.

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Violence/fighting. Swearing.

A/N: This is the kind of fic I LOVE to write. I enjoyed myself with this one !! 💜

You weren’t well-liked in LA. The ‘good guys’ hated you, trying to stake you at any second and the ‘bad guys’ despised you. Both felt this for the way that you made decisions based on how you felt. No allegiance to good or evil. No atonement or evil plotting. You served neither the powers or dark forces. This was a fluid and extremely ambiguous way to live, which brought suspicion with you wherever you went. But you were nothing if not authentic to your beliefs. You just weren’t really sure what those beliefs were yet.

In any case, you didn’t much care for world domination nor did you hang out in particularly damp underground hovels that you wouldn’t even bury your dog in, let alone spend precious years of your un-life.

LA had a certain draw to you, it was a hub. A beating heart of life that helped you thrive in a way you had only dreamed of when you really were alive. But most importantly, it wasn’t a backwater little town. The type that always seemed to harbour Hellmouths. They seemed a little boring to you anyway.

Yeah, it holds all the supernatural power hotspots you could wish for, but at what cost? Everyone knew everyone’s business and there was such a large amount of demons concentrated in one area it was hard to navigate without bumping into several ex-lovers. Not to mention there was a higher chance of a Slayer on your back.

Now, just because you weren’t ‘evil’, that wasn’t to say you lived in the light. For one, you couldn’t. You would die… again. But also, you weren’t exactly chafing at the bit to do as the powers said. They couldn’t simultaneously damn you to hell when you got dusted whilst enticing you with some long-winded and ultimately unnecessary prophecy that gave you the one thing you were scared of. Hope.

You didn’t have a soul, and you didn’t care for gaining one. Not through a curse and even less through fighting for one yourself. This is why one vampire didn’t like you. He didn’t trust you and definitely never cut you a break.

The fact was, he barely looked your way. Unless you were stood in his path. And you had, a few times. He was convinced you had some ulterior motive but had little time for you until you turned into a bigger threat.

That was, up until the last few months. You had started to catch his attention more and more. You had been fighting, again. In the back room of some seedy bar. Trading blows, neither of you holding back. The real threat long since dusted. It was just gone three in the morning, a time you liked to be home. Just in case of a freak early sunrise (you had heard horrible things of whole towns of vampires wiped out suddenly).

You were fighting, hard. He never left it. He just couldn’t walk away. You were after the same stupid vampire. Yes, you had been after him because he owed you a large sum of money and around five Siamese cats, but the end was the same. You twisted from his firm grasp, throwing him over your head. He landed but didn’t stay down. He ran at you, pushing you back and slamming you against the door. Almost through it. He grabbed a stake and flipped it up in the air before expertly catching it, looking back in your eyes.

There was almost a flicker of danger. A flicker of all the stories you had heard of Angelus. There was something there, some kind of feeling and it got you excited. Up until this point, his face had been pretty unmoving every time you saw him. The stake dug into your chest, directly over your unbeating heart. You couldn’t help but enjoy the way his eyes scanned your face. Moving from your lips to your eyes and back again. He was so close you could just lean in and… no. Eye on the prize, you tell yourself. You would settle for a quip charged with at least a little sexual tension. On your end, at least.

“You gonna keep waving that thing around or are you going to actually do something with it?” You bite, breathing heavily a smile on your face. You didn’t need to breathe but it was still a habit.

“Why’re you here, huh? Why are you always around when something bad happens?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Now I’m never getting those fucking Siamese” You muttered as he scowled at you. You were going to threaten him one more time before staking him. He rolled his eyes, you were worse than spike. At least he had a soul. Wanted one. You were content with your lot and it bugged him to no end.

“You know, I think I might enjoy this” Angel said stoically.

“Watch out, you don’t want to get too happy” You teased with a smile, everyone knew about Angel – word travels fast even here, “Or maybe you do. You might be more fun, to be honest”

These was the last words he expected to hear from you, you were younger than him by a mile. He was used to vampires pretty easily going down. He moved his arm back, directing the wooden stake straight for your heart. In the same second, you changed into your vamp face and propelled your head forwards. Your hand twisted his wrist trying to knock the stake from his hand as you propelled your ridged forehead towards him. Headbutting him with all of your strength.

The stake pierced your skin, but luckily (or unluckily it still hurt like anything) it was stabbed into your left arm which made you yelp. You yelped almost as much as Angel in his surprise as his nose started to bleed. It was enough to stun him, letting you run off with the stake still sticking out of your arm as you took a short cut to your destination.

Angel walked back to the hotel slowly, pinching his nose and wiping the blood on his sleeve. He took the long route back, not wanting to have to tell the others that he had lost in a fight with a vampire who was probably half his age. When he returned Cordelia rushed over to him, helping him to sit down. The entire team was there, waiting up for him. Fantastic, now he would have to tell them.

“Oh, uh, Angel?” Fred asked softly, “This was left for you – on your desk”

He turned and there it was. The stake that had been embedded in your arm the last he saw you. You must have travelled fast to get there before he did. He took it as an act of aggression, especially when he read the note attached.

‘Until we meet again, sweet Angel’

“Is this your slayer friend?” Fred asked, looking down at the floor. She had taken somewhat of a shine to Angel and may have been a little jealous. She had just learned what a slayer was.

“She’s a little more dramatic, a little less with the subtle” Cordelia stated, knowing for sure that the person that brought it was not Buffy. Not at all.

“Yes, I recall the young woman is about as subtle as a brick” Wes chuckled softly, reminiscing over his brief stint as a watcher.

“No. it wasn’t her” Angel confirmed, turning and scowling, “Wes, I need everything you can find on a vamp. Name’s y/n”

“Y/n? Are you sure it is wise to, um, shake the hornets nest so to speak. They’ve done little to actively harm-” Wesley said quickly. A slightly sheepish look on his face. You had met him and helped him out several times. You often crossed paths late night at the occult book store. You weren’t afraid of losing your credibility over a little light reading.

Your intelligence was often what gave you the upper hand over many demons you came up against. Wesley was strangely fond of you, although he knew from word on the street you could be mean if something was in the way of what you wanted. He was pleasant enough although spending too long with him gave you an Englishman-induced headache. He does prattle on so. And, that phrase had been unfortunately transferred into your brain from listening to him for too long.

“Apart from, that they’re a vampire who brutally kills to eat and always seems to be in every bad situation we’ve been in recently” Angel snapped, “I want everything. By tomorrow night”

“What are you going to do?”

“Kill them”

It had been several more months and Angel had seen you several times in that period. He had yet to make good on his promise. The tension mounted, peaking every time you became close. Your back and forth riling you up, making you begin to pine for his attention.

He had noted that you had common goals, evil tended to get mowed down in your wake. Which, he couldn’t exactly complain about except that your personality was simultaneously infuriating and intriguing.

But he maintained that he didn’t like you. The way you danced through life, with no guilt. Very little self-reflection. You wouldn’t join him and that was enough, in his eyes for you to be against him.

This evening finds you on the hunt for a backstreet dealer, one that could find you an item that was particularly hard to find. Especially now Angel had a snitch on the inside, the deliveries were starting to slow. Dust couldn’t drive trucks.

You arrived at the meeting place, a dingy alleyway despite you specifically asking to meet somewhere that didn’t smell like something had died there. You had a very sensitive sense of smell.

“You got the stuff?” You asked, gesturing with your head for the demon to open the briefcase. But he snatched it from your grasp and the boss stepped from the shadows. This meant something more sinister.

“You helped him. We saw you” The scaly man with an impressively tailored suit accused.

“What?”

“Angel” He confirmed. Bad things happened to people who didn’t side with the boss. You knew this.

“I don’t pick allegiances, I told you. I’m just me” You assured them, eyes on the briefcase.

“You’re with us or you’re with him. Choose.”

“Fine.” You shrugged, the man nodded approvingly. It had been easier than he thought.

“Good, glad that you’re-” You spun into a kick, hitting his jaw which made him shut up. You hated people who gave you an ultimatum. You, for this very moment only, were on Angel’s side. Fists flying, feet connecting with hard bodies. You fought against them, hard.

More of them started to turn up. As if there had been a call. They started to surround you. You were strong, but not that strong. Your un-life flashed before your eyes. There was so much you had left to do. I mean, you had never even been to a virgin sacrifice. Never properly feasted on St Vigeous. You hadn’t even found your anti-soulmate.

You were almost ready to give up. And then he turned up. Your guardian angel.

Angel assessed the fight, realising you had been caught up. Not realising why it broke out. You fought beside each other, but traded insults with your ally. You found yourself waiting for these interactions with him. It made you smirk. This was the way you flirted.

You enjoyed this back and forth. He was starting to make you feel alive again. Begin to… hope.

The fight was finished and now all you both were was surrounded by dust. You took a breath. In name, not in action, recovering from the fight.

But he grabbed you by your shoulders, you had taken your guard down. He slammed you into the brick wall. The contact almost made you shiver as you smiled wide. You opened your mouth to speak, he was expecting it and spoke first.

“Don’t” He warned, frustrated at the way your eyes danced despite his threat.

“I’ve been waiting for this for months” You smirked, leaning closer to his face. There was barely an inch between you.

“Huh. Your death?”

“We’re already dead, baby, I’m looking more for the spice of life” You teased before leaning in and finally catching your lips with his. This had been all you had been thinking since you had first met him. The tension had reached its crescendo and you had to act.

It was an urgent kiss, you were willing him to reciprocate. His action beforehand made the adrenaline pump around your body harder. Want him more. There was danger harboured deep below the soul he cared for so deeply and it called to you like a moth to a flame.

You wanted him. You enjoyed every side you had seen so far. You didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to admit the tension in the air when you were around each other.

His lips didn’t move at first for those agonising moments. And then they did. All at once. His lips moving and fiery against yours, now fighting you for dominance. You tasted so good to him. A hand gripping your upper arm tightly with the other sliding up the curvature of your neck.

You slid your hands between the fabric of his shirt and his leather jacket, grasping at him. Your fingers snaked around him, exploring unchartered territory. He felt so good, you wanted him closer.

You found yourself almost preferring the feel of this more amiable touch to the harsh blows you had exchanged previously. He pressed you further into the wall, wanting more.

But all too quickly, his lips started to falter and you felt him start to pull away. He started to think too much into it. Comprehending the implications. You felt too good to him. You were a distraction, a sinful figure that strayed him from the power’s path. You almost whined as he pulled himself from where he had been pressed flush against you. He had to fight himself to remove his hands from you.

Your hands slid sadly from where they had been exploring his lean form. You felt yourself pouting slightly, which is a feat when you have fangs like you did.

His face had changed during your kiss, as had yours. Your vampire forms released as the tension did. Your more animalistic forms finding each other so appealing. The kiss a revelation, in some sense a curse. But again, he was used to that.

He pulled back, his face the picture of shock. It was the most emotion he had allowed you to see. So many contradictory emotions flashing behind his eyes. It had felt wrong, but oh so right to kiss you that way. He wanted more. He wanted to get as far away from you as possible.

You watched him in his turmoil, not able to hide the way you enjoyed seeing his face this way. You reached with your hand to trail along the distinctive bumps of his forehead. You couldn’t help it, you had suddenly begun to soften for him. Against your will. You wanted him to want you deeper than you had realised.

He realised that his vampire face was showing. He winced away from you, and you scanned over his face. He switched back immediately. Masking it.

He was ashamed. You frowned, your own vamp face still there. You embraced all that you were. You scanned his face, trying to show him that he could be himself with you. But he didn’t read that from your face.

He stepped back, all contact with him now gone. His eyes still trapped in yours for a moment. Your back was still pressed against the rough brick, your arm still outstretched for him.

But he just ran, jacket whipping around him as he kicked up his dust on way out of the alleyway. As if a magician through a puff of smoke, he was gone.

You eventually moved yourself from the wall, leaning to take the briefcase. You shrugged, dusting it off from the ash that had been left from the fight.

You walked slowly with your items, thoughts beginning to spin. Finding yourself lacking something deep inside that you had not realised you had been missing for so long.

[wifflum]

Playing Mortal Shell after 300 hours of Elden Ring

Mortal Shell is like a cheap souls-like, but it seems relatively high budget. I'm barely into it but it seems fine-- it's full 3D and looks good, and the boss I fought was pretty much just another Elden Ring boss.

There is a very, very major problem with it, though. The developers are stupid.

Since the game came out there have been complaints about dodge inputs getting eaten, where you press the dodge button and nothing happens. Like a vending machine "eating" your dollar and giving nothing back, the game "eats" your dodge input and gives nothing back. This happens some of the time, but in combat it's maybe every fifth dodge. This happens because the developers are stupid.

They, for some reason, prioritized being able to start sprinting soon after holding down dodge, over having a longer time frame for the game to detect that you want to dodge. Like sprinting is a panic thing that has to be responsive, rather than a "from point A to point B slightly faster" thing. They basically gave the city busses nitrous so they could drag race-- that's the design choice in another context.

Now that could just be general bad design, but here's how I know the developers are actually dumb, because this other thing is a logic and reason issue. When the boss I was fighting does tiny, minor movements, like getting his weapon up out of the ground, it's a major impact to your character. So, this boss will move backwards slightly and his shoulder blade will bump you, and your character goes flying backwards. And this is an actual attack of the boss, this backing up thing. So the developers, if they could, would take people bumping into each other on the subway and make those devastating acts of violence that get people killed on a regular basis. This is intentional design: the accidental part of design where you get hit by the wind up of attacks, they put in intentionally. They added hit boxes to innocuous movements, just because it's a thing that tends to happen in other games.

So the dodge thing is enough by itself to say fuck this game, I mean really. But there's other stupid ass design choices that also make you say fuck this game. Plus the game relies very heavily on parrying, which is not Sekiro fun parry, it is Dark Souls unreliable parry. And there's no block so the dodge thing is actually a pretty serious problem. Anyway, that's Mortal Shell so far. Cheap not in appearance, but in brainpower devoted to the design.

Edit: Some other gripes. So when you lock on to an enemy, your movement slows to a crawl. I guess this is to make it more like a duel? But the game is now going so slowly that enemy behavior has to be designed around this, and the vast majority of the enemies you fight early on will just walk up to you with like grins on their faces to try and justify this moronic behavior. They walk up very slowly, and you kill them in 3 hits. Then you go the next enemy and they're just walking up too, so you kill them in 3 hits. Now if an enemy has walked up slowly like a dipshit long enough, they will do an attack. That there, is the design for common enemies. That should tell you a lot.

Interspersed among these common enemies are big enemies with spears, that will just launch attacks immediately with no dipshit phase. They delay attacks in a way that made me instantly think of Elden Ring, and if the parry were something I were good at it'd be an easy home run thanks to that game. But instead I try to dodge and you can imagine how often I die just attempting that broken feature. I did have to parry nonstop in order to beat the boss I mentioned earlier, so if I go back I'll have to just parry everything, because it's not actually super hard.

[estellaelysian]

It burns (Ethan x MC)

A/N: This is super self indulgent and doesn’t lead anywhere so proceed on your own risk

**********

The alcohol scorched down his throat as he let his mind wander in the memories of the day, which seemed too distant now that it was over. Evening shaded into night beyond the red-brick walls of the bar – which were lined with numerous neon signs, the glow spilling onto nearby tables and people. Ethan chased the shadow of Alishka as his mind jumped from one moment to the next in all those where they had interacted with each other over the day. The image of her deep green eyes, wavy brown hair and full lips remained forever etched into his mind, giving him warmth like an eternal flame would.

It was late when he made it to this bar – Russo and Dale – but it was also when he found Boston the most loveable, shimmering in the glow of night, her streets thrumming with life and beating hearts and cheerfulness. He had taken an unnecessary walk from the hospital to his destination, wanting to feel anonymous in the dull crowd of people who were walking down the street. The permanence of the aged buildings, the restored Victorian row-houses surrounding English-style corners and the glowing yellow street lamps in South End seemed to give somewhat of a reassurance to his bruised and tired soul as he weaved his way among the sea of strangers. Walking wearily past dark shops, while the sky turned to a deep blue-black above him, he tried to find solace in the anonymity.

But now, at long last, when he found himself alone again, the unease returned, stronger than ever. He took a sip of the amber liquid, then another and then a third, but nothing seemed to ease him as he listened to the determined thud of a bass from the neighboring dive-bar. The foolish chatter around him did not drown out the rising voices inside his head – her voice and his, as they had argued in his office long into the afternoon.

That one argument had been enough to disrupt the entire balance he had built with the same woman whom he had disappointed today. But it was a mutual disappointment. She had been irrelevant to.

Shaking his head, he took another sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he stared – quite intently – at the marble counter in front of him. It was amazing really, that the woman from whom he drew his strength could also be one of his greatest weaknesses. That was exactly why he had retired to his old office in the afternoon. He had lost focus, so instead of looking into patient care, he thought drowning himself into paperwork would help.

But indeed, it had not. Did it ever?

His mind, like a blissful dog scampering back to its lamppost, seemed to be stuck at the argument – making assumptions about the way she sounded, acted, spoke – no matter how much he tried to distract himself. Everything blurred around him, as if he had tuned out from his surroundings.

Why, he thought, was it so necessary for her to be insistent about things that did not matter to him? To latch onto one subject and stretch it until his patience snapped?

Or had he been truly unreasonable this time?

Oh dear God…

He swirled the gleaming liquid in its glass slowly before taking another sip, intent on numbing his brain, only that it refused from being so. Over and over again, her voice tortured him from deep inside; calling him out on the stubborn asshole he was before fading, only to return for the millionth time.

But wasn’t that the point of tonight? To get as far away as he could from the hospital, go to a bar in South End, and let the alcohol ease his pain and anxiety.

The door opened and someone stepped in, bringing together a cool Boston breeze and faint traces of wildflowers. Though his senses seemed unnaturally sharpened at this point, his eyes remained glued to his glass. But just a few seconds later, he found the woman right beside him, the scent of wildflowers much more perceptible.

Green flashed in his mind, deep and comforting, as he connected the scent, almost instinctively, to the one person it reminded him of.

Hold yourself, Ramsey.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the woman flag down the bartender and order a rainbow colored cocktail before turning away for a moment or two.

‘Quite the pain-relief, isn’t it?’ she asked in a mellifluous, sweet voice which fell like honey onto his tongue.

He could swear it was Alishka’s voice, but maybe he had dived too deep into the alcohol pain-relief. He had started imagining things.

Sensing that she was probably still expecting an answer, he nodded before looking straight at her.

And almost immediately, thought of Alishka Roy, even though he had put up a boundary between him and those insistent, maddening thoughts.

He didn’t realize it at first, but that smile – he would recognize it anywhere, anytime, no matter how detached he was.

But Alishka?

Nonsense. He was losing his mind.

‘I should’ve guessed my boss would come here after the much-exhausting day he faced at work today. It would’ve atleast saved me the time I spent wandering about.’

He raised his eyes to her face again. This was not an illusion. She was real, he thought, as he glanced at her hot coral lips which now wore an amused smile. He was not dreaming.

But why would she feel the need to wander about for him?

Do you really need an answer for that, dimwit, his mind chided.

‘Ofcourse you’d follow me here too,’ he said bluntly, battling away the sweeter responses, raising the glass to his lips.

‘You are not my boss outside of work, Dr. Ramsey. It is my freewill to do as I want to once I step outside the hospital.’

He looked up at her again, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. ‘Says the woman who bothers me all the same, inside or out.’

She made a dismissive wave, an easy laughter leaving her. ‘You’ve got a horrid sense of humor,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is why everyone is terrified of you, even now.’

The last two words stung with an unimaginable burn, questioning the character he had spent years to build.

‘What do you mean, “even now”?’ he asked, the words coming out much more defiant than he wanted them to.

She smiled a benevolent smile as the bartender dropped off her cocktail, which smelled strongly of Pernod. Raising the glass up to meet her lips with tantalizing slowness, she said, ‘Even now, when they’ve learned that you can love something, someone more than medicine. Wholeheartedly.’

He choked on his drink involuntarily, but she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. ‘And yet, at the same time, you can manage to be incredibly bitter to that someone.’

She took a long gulp of her cocktail, and again, before he could respond to her grievances, she said, ‘But anyway, I am not here to discuss that.’

Play pretend, he thought.

‘And why exactly, is it that you are here?’

‘Same as you. Pain-relief. My boss can be a real bore sometimes,’ she answered with the faintest traces of a smirk.

Let’s hear it now, shall we. ‘Who is your boss?’ he asked, going along with her little game.

‘Some world class, renowned, grumpy attending diagnostician.’

He liked how she complimented him and got a dig at him in the same sentence.

‘He seems to have a stressful job,’ he said, looking over the glass to her heavenly features, painted in the neon glow of the bar.

‘That he likes to imply. He is good at what he does.’

He nodded, trying to contemplate her answer, thinking that there would be traces of sarcasm in her answer, but found none.

‘Cheers to that,’ he said, clinking her glass with his own, their fingers brushing slightly, setting his body ablaze with the kind of fire that raged through forests. It was the closest they had got to touching that day, morning apart.

He finished the scotch in one long sip under her watchful gaze. Torture or bliss, there was no answer.

Though dulled by the excesses of the alcohol, he felt anger rise inside his body at the men who made glances in her direction, from a distance or even as they passed her. She seemed to draw much more gazes today than she did usually.

What exactly was it? Her rich brown hair, inching down her back, or those emerald eyes that gleamed with cleverness? And why, every time, did his jealousy had him to do things which he shouldn’t have been doing?

He didn’t know.

What he did know, was that he wouldn’t let those men even get near her.

So he raised a hand to her face, smoothing away stray strands of hair and tucking them behind her ear.

If she was surprised, she did not show it, but a lovely blush spread out on her cheeks, spreading down to her graceful neck and uncovered shoulders. She eyed him with a raised eyebrow, and he willfully ignored all the ideas that look gave him. Tonight was different. Even if they left the bar together, they would part ways almost as soon as they were outside, walking down in opposite directions.

Tonight they were fighting, even though it was different.

Even if he had to have his heart tugged and pulled and then torn, tonight was different.

Her emeralds met his sapphires, curious and bewitching.

He wished he could kiss those perfectly painted lips and ruin that makeup.

‘How about we make a deal then,’ she asked, setting down the glass on the paper napkin that was left on the shiny marble counter. ‘Tonight, let’s forget everything. Let’s forget that you are my irritating boss, let’s forget that I am a – what did you call me? – ah, bothersome resident. Let’s forget those men staring down at me from the opposite corner of the bar. Let’s put a pause on this battlefield, even though I am sure I can outwit you in every way, and let’ go home together.’

That was a tempting offer.

The suggestive tone and the desire burning plain in her eyes ignited his need for her.

How could he not resist her, even a single night?

His voice came out dusky when he spoke again. ‘Let’s put them topics to bed, and go fuck on the roof.’

Just to say that we did.

She smiled. ‘I’d rather your body than half of your heart,’ she said, quoting the song back to him, her voice the sweetest he had ever heard it to be.

Ethan blinked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her that he was far from fighting or if he wanted to claim those lips, right now, right here.

Then he saw, over her shoulder, a man whisper something to another before looking at her neck. He felt disgusted as his gaze traveled lower and lower. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to punch him in his filthy face, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, not betraying a single of the feelings he was feeling at that exact moment.

‘Let’s go home then,’ he announced, rising at once and reaching for her hand.

He led her outside into the cool crisp Boston night and she only felt justified in flagging down a cab to the way home, though it wasn’t that far away.

They could’ve walked there.

But then he wouldn’t get to do as he willed right in the cab, as he decided he need not waste a single minute of the time he had been gifted, by incidence or co-incidence, all the same. He failed to keep his hands to himself in the darkened cab, momentarily being illuminated by headlights and taillights of the passing traffic, as he crowed her into a corner, evoking soft moans. He watched her, bathed in red light, her sequined top glittering as the light shifted against her profile. Her eyes met his and he lost his sane, his coherent thoughts reducing to a small compass in his brain. Her lips commanded his attention, and he pressed his lips against them, evoking a gentle sigh as their breaths mingled. Her soft fingers grazed his rough beard as her hand rested against his cheek.

The music masked their muffled whispers and moans, but he could feel the drivers eyes, moving with unnecessary regularity, from the road ahead to the rearview mirror.

Even in the elevator, they stumbled, failing from keeping themselves from touching each other. The button to the thirteenth floor was pressed before he felt the soft pressure of her lips against his own. Her tongue was cool and sweet and tasted of Pernod.

‘Alishka…’ he managed to say between the kisses. ‘Why do we fight at all?’

‘Because we are …’ a little giggle. ‘Both … very stubborn …’

A few seconds later they stood at his door, which was unlocked with haste and shut close with a loud bang. The moment they stepped inside, he dipped his head and closed his lips over hers.

‘Nothing makes sense without you…’ he murmured into her ear, proceeding to tug her tight against him.

‘Then accept your defeat …’ she returned immediately, making a quick work of his shirt buttons. ‘But then again, we’ve called a temporary pause on this battlefield, haven’t we.’

Albeit reluctantly, he agreed. ‘We have.’

He led her to the bedroom, helping her out of her clothes before easing her down on the mattress gently, deciding the bitterness and pain had been enough for the day. The night had to be different.

Slow, gentle hands grazed the newly exposed skin with caresses too soft, before he leaned down on her, gazing into her eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers.

‘I love you.’

She giggled again. ‘I love you too.’

**********

Kudos to you guys if you made it out of this chaotic mess my brain put together. I honestly don’t know how this happened, but I guess it’s just me after a full, very real college day with loads of note-taking.

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