#black and white checkered top

[jazz-kity]

hardest part of rejuvenation by far is coming up with pokemon nicknames this hatching aevium bronzor -> coming up with aevium bronzor nickname loop is goign to be my tomb

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. the husband and his wife

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[redsray]

Batkids playing any kind of board game but make it extra competitive because whoever wins gets to choose what Bruce wears for the next gala.

Bruce, in a sparkly top and skinny jeans:

Reporter: Ah, who chose your outfit tonight, Brucie?

Bruce: That'd be my eldest, dear!

Dick, behind him, full into the gala persona: Flattering, isn't it? He should wear it more often, don't you think, sweetheart?

Reporter, flushed: Oh, absolutely.

Bruce (to Dick): Get a new fashion style. Please.

Dick: Never.

Reporter: Who would be responsible for your wardrobe tonight, Brucie? It's certainly a statement.

Bruce, head to toe in a pink suit and Hello Kitty accessories: Gorgeous, isn't it? All the credit will have to be given to Jason, though, I'm afraid.

Reporter: Your second son, if I'm not mistaken?

Bruce: The very one.

Jason from across the gala hall, trying to not cough up his drink with laughter:

Tim, next to him: He's pulling it off, though. Little spins and everything.

Jason: Still ridiculous. That's Batman right there, Timbo.

Tim, snickering: The Dark Knight, huh?

Bruce, dressed in a collared white shirt, sweater and skirt, looking like he just came out of a light academia novel:

Reporter: Wow, Brucie. Who do we thank for that wonderful outfit choice?

Bruce: Ah, flattering, is it not? Tim's choices when it comes to fashion are wonderful, if not a bit simple.

Tim, nodding from behind him: Only the finest satin skirts. Charming, right?

Tim, to Bruce: Don't call my style simple, Mr. all I wear is black.

[Jason handing Dick $10 in the background because Bruce does, in fact, pull off a skirt.]

Reporter: Oh lord, what a gown! Who influenced your fashion choice tonight, Brucie?

Bruce, in a long green and black gown with gold accessories, nothing short of royal-looking: I fear only one person I know could choose an outfit as gorgeous as this one.

Damian, proudly next to him, in a smaller, matching gown: Only the most exquisite. You lot in this flimsy country cannot compare.

Bruce: Yes, Damian has a fine taste in fashion. He gets it from his mother.

Damian, quieter: Well certainly not from you.

Bruce, dressed in an elegant white dress shirt, long black pants and a corset with red accessories, a fan in his right hand:

Reporter: What an entrance! Anyone to give credit to for the wardrobe, Brucie?

Bruce: That'd be my daughter, she certainly shines with her choice of clothing.

Cass, grinning with a matching fan: Very pretty.

Bruce: Thank you, Cass.

Reporter: Woah, that's certainly new. Any reason for this choice of clothes, Brucie, dear?

Bruce, in a snapback cap, loose jeans and a band t-shirt, complete with rings and a chain around his neck: Well, all of my children are creative, but... Duke might just take the cake for this one, love.

Duke, losing his absolute shit next to Jason, Dick and Tim: You look great, B.

Steph doesn't usually go to galas, but she participates in the game nevertheless. If she wins, god help Bruce, because it's a gamble with her. He either ends up wearing a gorgeous outfit with eccentric and trend-setting accessories or literal checkered pyjamas. Worst yet, he has to say he picked it himself, since he can't directly blame Steph.

[megalony]

Just Hold On

This is my first time writing for Tyler Owens from Twisters, as I absolutely loved the film. I hope you will all like this.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: Tyler and (Y/n) head out together, just the two of them, away from the bustle of the team. But just as they're getting close to one another, a tornado blunders in their path.

(If anyone has any requests for Twisters I would love to hear them. Feedback is always lovely)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You wanna get out of here?"

That one sentence had been enough to spark adrenaline through (Y/n)'s entire system and have her heart working on overload.

It had been something she had been waiting, hoping, praying to hear since the first moment she started to tag along with the 'tornado wranglers' and found herself getting close to the leader of the group. Tyler Owens. The man whose face was on a thousand t-shirts, sold all around the country in every state.

The man who acted like a beacon, like a daredevil who was so eager to put himself into dangerous situations without care or fault. But underneath, there was something endearing and almost bashful. Underneath all the boysterous exterior, there was someone who cared more for the safety of others than himself.

And (Y/n) wanted to be as close to him as she could.

It had been a bit of a surprise to find herself riding alone with Tyler in his modified, beat up truck, but she jumped at the chance to get away for a while.

It was a relief to escape the motel the group had been staying in. No more bonfires outside, no more strange, wild stories that got adapted and emboldened each time they were retold, depending on who told them. And going away from the motel saved (Y/n) from another night alone in her room, unsure what to do with herself.

Those words kept playing around in her head like a record as she sat in the quiet diner opposite Tyler. She wasn't sure why he'd asked her of all people to spend time with him this evening. There were better people he could be around, interesting people, his wrangler friends who never seemed to leave his side.

But none of that mattered now, because he'd asked her and here they were.

Her eyes lifted up from aimlessly staring at her drink to look at Tyler instead. He looked very relaxed. He was slightly slouched down to the left, one hand tapping quietly on the table beside his drink and the other hand drawing patterns on his thigh.

(Y/n) liked his shirt. She liked the black and blood red checkered button up he was wearing and the fact that he had the first three buttons undone. He also had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his lower arms and the veins that were popping up on his skin.

From the closeness, (Y/n) could also see the few scars littering his skin. She could see little white lines slashed against the top of his arms and the deeper white and baby pink scars on his hands that looked like they would have hurt some time ago. She hadn't noticed them before.

From looking at Tyler and seeing all the YouTube videos, everyone would assume he came out of each tornado unscathed. But the scars on his skin gaveaway that he was still human, he still cut and bled and he had indeed been in quite a few scrapes over the years.

"What're you thinking so intently about?" His quiet, gritty voice brought (Y/n) out of her thoughts and she found herself dragging her eyes up from his arms to look at his eyes instead.

Those pastel green eyes looked unusually wide today. (Y/n) watched his eyes narrow a little as his head tilted at an angle so he could look her up and down in a way that had her stomach turning to mush. And his eyes creased when his lips curved into a low smile that had his cheeks puffing up at the sides.

"Just… just thinking about the chase today, and if it will be the same tomorrow." It seemed like a plausable excuse considering today's tornado had been low level two.

Tyler said those were the better ones to drive into or drive through, as the wind speed was lower and therefore made it easier not to get sucked up into the whirlwind. As much as he liked to drive and run into danger head on, he also seemed to enjoy playing it safe in some ways. He knew when a tornado wasn't safe to go into or when it was time to take shelter rather than run into the winds, as it were.

"And there's me hoping you'd be thinking of me." His tone was playful and his forming smirk was enough to make (Y/n) raise a brow as she took a sip of her drink.

"Why didn't you want to stay at the motel tonight, with the others?"

(Y/n) pushed her drink into the middle of the table so she could fold her arms together and lean forward. Her head inclined as she waited patiently for Tyler to debate the question and think of an answer.

He sat up a bit straighter in the booth, his left hand still quietly tapping away on the end of the table while his other hand shifted to curl around his glass instead. He looked more natural like this when he didn't wear his hat. Although his hat did suit him increadibly well and it gave off a good image, it was still a good chance to see him with his short blond strands roaming free and shifting through the winds when they were outside int he night air.

The diner they had come to was quaint, seemingly in the middle of somewhere and nowhere at the same time. There was a small motel to the left, much smaller than the one they had come from twenty miles down the road. Across the street there was a twenty-four hour store next to a gas station and there was a few scattered houses in the distance. It seemed like a small, compact little place settled right in the middle between two large towns.

Tyler glanced around the diner. He hadn't been here before, but he remembered it was here when they drove past at least three times in the last week. That seemed like a coincidence, a sign telling him he had to stop here at least once and check it out.

There weren't many people here. A young couple at the far end. A mother and daughter the other way. A few workers and one lonesome person at the bar having a few drinks. It was quaint, quiet. Just what they needed after days of chasing tornados and being surrounded by noisy but loving friends.

"Sometimes it's nice to get away." Tyler reached out for his drink while his eyes remained on the girl sitting in front of him.

"What are you getting away from?" She spoke before she could think better of it, but Tyler didn't seem annoyed by her question. Instead, his smirk shifted into a funny half smile, half pout that crinkled the end of his nose.

"Everything… the cameras, the questions, the noise. What about you, what are you getting away from?"

Tyler had been more than intrigued when (Y/n) joined their group. She didn't strike him as the chasing type. The type to go willingly into danger, looking for fun and trouble and answers to nature's mysteries. But that wasn't to say he wasn't happy that she had joined them. She had insight, she had instinct when it came to the changes in weather and the wind patterns and her curiosity for these natural disastrous phenomenon matched Tyler's.

"I'm not, I'm just following your path."

"Right into danger," Tyler twirled his index finger around in circles beside his head with a wicked grin that could make anyone fall to their knees. "You must be crazy."

"Must be." (Y/n) murmured in agreement. There had to be some part of her that was mad or deluded to do this, to do what the rest of Tyler's team was doing. Following him into the line of danger simply because they all believed in him and what he was doing.

But (Y/n) knew it wasn't just a strange, crazed part of her brain that let her follow Tyler's lead, wherever that lead. She knew the other reason she had stuck with them for so long now was because she couldn't will herself to leave. To leave Tyler. He had her heart in his hands and she didn't want it back.

(Y/n) found herself starting to become lost in her thoughts again until Tyler suddenly pushed forward in his seat and leaned over the table. He picked up his glass and downed the last remnants before tapping it against the table with a wide grin.

"Shall we?"

It wasn't clear whether Tyler was planning on getting back in the truck and going straight back to the motel, whether he was thinking of driving around for a while. Or maybe he had it in mind to walk around here first and delay their return. (Y/n) wasn't sure, but she nodded her head and went along with him, she was fine with whatever he chose.

She shuffled out the booth and moved to walk by his side, realising they were close enough that their arms were brushing together.

When Tyler held open the door that chimed a bell, signalling their departure, (Y/n) dipped her head and headed out in front of him.

Their steps fell back in sync as (Y/n) followed Tyler's path towards the truck that was parked across on the left, near the quaint but rather grimey motel.

She was about to try and strike up another conversation until Tyler moved. Without looking her way or breaking his stride, his left hand reached out for her hand. He moved slow, testing the waters as he took her hand in his, meshing their palms together and slowly entwining their fingers together. Giving (Y/n) ample time to pull her hand away and back out if she didn't want to.

But he dipped his head down when he felt her fingers squeeze his hand with intensity and she held to him just as tightly. He began to glide his thumb over the back of her hand and ticked his head to the left, a small but sincerely genuine smile plastered across his lips as he looked at her.

The silence between them was comfortable and seemed to speak volumes in itself. (Y/n) found that one of them- she wasn't sure who- had moved even closer so that their arms were now pressed flush together and if she really wanted to, she could lean her cheek on his arm.

She could feel his thumb gliding over the back of her hand every now and then and she tried to stop herself from squeezing her fingers against his hand too often. Their steps slowed down as they approached the truck as if they were both trying to drag this moment out and make it last into an eternity. Not that they couldn't make this evening stretch on if they got in the truck, they could take a longer route to get back. They could drive somewhere else or drive around aimlessly if they wanted.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what to do when they reached the red truck that was hidden behind layers of dirt and caked on mud and flecks of grit. She had one mind to reach out and open the passenger door and climb up, but that meant letting go of Tyler's hand, and she really didn't want to do that.

Instead, she opted for turning so her back was against the door, allowing her to look up at Tyler instead. She found her back pressing back on the door and she hoped there wouldn't be an outline or an imprint of her frame on the door when she eventually pulled away.

Her head tilted back to get a better look up at him and her heart leaped into her throat when Tyler stepped forward. Their hands stayed tangled together. Tyler's right hand pressed against the roof of the truck, allowing him a good angle to look and lean down into (Y/n)'s view.

His head inclined down until they were impossible close, less than half an inch of space between them. All (Y/n) had to do was turn her head and their noses would brush and their lips would touch. She was so close to those red lips that were curved into a smile, not a grin.

Not his usual smirk or that cheeky grin that meant he was going to do something rash or make a joke or try to enlighten the situation and make fun of what they were doing.

The look was kind, caring and seemingly thought out, rather than rash and impulsive.

"Can I?"

(Y/n) barely heard his words and she wasn't quite sure why he was asking when she knew she was at the point of smiling up at him. If she didn't want him to be this close or get any closer, she would have backed away or given him a shove by now.

The feeling of Tyler's lips on hers was something (Y/n) had been imagining for a while now, and something that beat every thought and expectation she had.

She could feel Tyler trying desperately not to smile against her and distort the kiss. And his hand tightened around hers while his other hand moved to cup the side of her face and incline her head more to meet his touch.

When her lips parted, it felt like Tyler was trying to take the little air she had in her lungs and she found herself gasping against his lips, desperately wanting his touch but also needing air.

Tyler's lips curved into a lighthearted smile when they finally pulled apart and their temples rested together. He began to smooth his thumb along the curve of her jaw and up towards her lips that tasted like cherry lip balm. Their noses brushed and when he sucked in a few breaths, Tyler couldn't resist leaning back down for another kiss.

He felt (Y/n) push off the truck and mould their chests together, leaning into him just enough to nudge him onto his back foot and push them both away from the truck. She didn't want to get in the truck yet. She didn't want this moment to end, and neither did he.

"You know, I've-"

Words formed in Tyler's mind like a whirlwind. Everything he wanted to tell her, to say that he had been in agony wanting to kiss her for days, weeks, now. He hoped she felt the same. He wanted to make tonight last into an eternity and stay in this little bubble they had created together. He wanted to continue kissing (Y/n) until the world ended.

But none of those thoughts made it past his lips when something caught his attention.

A shift in the atmosphere. A change in the wind. A very harsh chill collided against his back and almost knocked him off balance.

The wind made goosebumps rise on his flesh and had the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. And another gust of wind sent chills down his spine and made him feel every little speck of dust and grit that rose from the floor and scuttled through the air and knocked against his skin.

Tyler's hand paused, cupping (Y/n)'s cheek and his fingers slotted tighter into the grooves of her hand as he tilted his head back to look up into the night sky.

It felt familiar. It felt daunting.

(Y/n)'s hand clutching his shoulder brought Tyler back and he looked down at her to find that she wasn't looking at him. His name fell past her lips in a dry whisper and Tyler turned to look over his shoulder to find out what (Y/n) was so intently staring at, although he had a gut instinct that he already knew what would be behind him.

A tornado.

A gust of wind circling through the air, picking up in the atmosphere, creating a whirlwind that was mounting and doubling in size.

Why now? Why tonight? Why right here? Right when things were finally going well, when Tyler was finally about to have something different in his life, someone different who wanted him just as badly. They didn't want or need a force of nature interferring tonight, but it was too late.

The tornado was getting closer. The wind was picking up and it was moving across the road in a sporadic pattern that was shifting and changing every second. If Tyler tried to drive through that they would get picked up and ripped apart into oblivion. There wasn't time to try and drive in the other direction, they couldn't outrun a tornado, they could only follow and drive into them.

Tyler's hand dropped from (Y/n)'s face to grip her waist with a sudden desperation while his wide eyes stared around them, trying to find the best place to be. Where was the best place to hide? Did the motel or the diner have a cellar?

The diner had a window on every wall, it was more glass than wall and that wasn't good. Hiding in there meant being close to broken glass and tables and chairs would go flying.

The motel was one story, not like the one they were staying at in the next town which had two floors and a lot more rooms than this. It wouldn't be a safe bet either unless there was a cellar or a storm shelter in the grounds. The shop and the gas station didn't look to be much better and Tyler didn't want to be anywhere near inflammables. The storm could knock things over and rip up the gas pipes. Fires could start and they would go up in flames.

"We have to help them."

He wasn't sure who (Y/n) was talking about for a moment until she used their tangled hands to point towards the motel.

People were starting to rush about. A woman was trying to hurry her daughter towards a car. She was never going to drive through this, their car would be taken from the road and they would never survive.

A quiet "Come on," passed Tyler's lips as he turned on his heels and started to run. He kept his hand tightly tangled with (Y/n)'s, keeping her as close as he could so he didn't lose her in the chaos that was about to ensue.

He felt her other hand curl around his bicep, making sure they stayed tethered together so nothing separated them.

"No, no stop!" Tyler waved his free hand out in front of him, desperate to get the woman's attention as she tried to lift her daughter into the car. "You can't drive in this, we need to find shelter."

He reached out for her arm, not attempting to move or drag her away from the car at all, but just to try and show the desperation he felt and make sure she understood they were only trying to help.

The woman eyed him carefully, tears already falling down her face as she held her daughter against her chest, trembling horribly. But she nodded. Either she knew who he was and knew he had been in this situation before, or she had some sort of instinct that Tyler was trying to help.

She juggled her daughter higher on her chest, kicked the car door shut and turned to follow them. She wasn't sure where they were going, but she would go any way they led if it meant keeping herself and her child safe.

The four of them burst into the motel reception and it was the first time Tyler let go of (Y/n)'s hand. A wave of unease overtook her and she could feel goosebumps travelling up her arm from her empty hand. But when she looked up at Tyler, she found he was already looking at her, as if making sure she was still there now he had let go.

Once satisfied, Tyler slammed his hands down on the desk to get the worker's attention.

(Y/n) tried to look around, but she couldn't see anything. The door to the back room was open, but there didn't seem to be anywhere leading to a cellar or a bunker room or anywhere that looked remotely safe.

She could barely hear Tyler arguing with two men, trying to ask one if there was a storm shelter and tell the other to shut up because there was a tornado approaching. Her arms cocooned around her chest and she spun in circles until she stopped and looked out the window.

Where could they go? Would they be safe enough staying in here? Maybe they could cramp behind the desk, but that didn't feel like a safe option, not when there were at least seven of them here in the reception. Too many to cramp together. The motel could be destroyed if the tornado was big enough, staying inside might not be safe.

Her body flinched at seeing plastic tables and flimsy chairs flying across the grounds outside the window.

Going back outside didn't seem favourable, until (Y/n) squinted in the darkness to see where the chairs were coming from and what was behind the fence up ahead.

She spun on her heels and moved towards Tyler who was close to slamming his fists on the desk in anger because no one seemed to be taking him seriously apart from the mother and her daughter. But the tension fizzled out of his body when he felt two familiar hands on either of his arms. He looked over at (Y/n) as she pressed up into his side.

"There's a pool."

"It's empty this time of year."

"We're not going swimming. Come on." Tyler waved his hand at them, relieved to see the mother, her daughter, and the reception worker were moving to follow. The other couple seemed intent on staying in here and complaining, waiting for the tornado they didn't believe in to come and ravage the motel that would undoubtedly be in its path.

They weren't trying to go for a late night swim and water wouldn't be the safest place to hide during a disaster like this. But pools were deep, at least one end would be very deep. It would act as a shelter, safely made of concrete and built into the ground. It would give them some cover and keep them from being whisked up into the air and taken by the wind.

(Y/n) found her hand clasped in Tyler's once again and she followed him out into the blistering wind, the others following close behind.

It was hard to keep her eyes open and she had to tilt her head down towards her feet to keep pushing forward. Her forehead pressed into Tyler's arm and she gasped, her body shaking as a chair whipped past them, breaking apart mid-air as it got pulled in too many different directions all at once.

As soon as Tyler wrenched open the small gate, it flung back with so much force the hinges started to squeak and break apart. He pushed ahead and leaned over the edge of the pool, checking just to make sure it was truly empty. The last thing they needed was to find it full of murky water that wouldn't provide them any sanctuary.

It was empty.

"Go, go!"

(Y/n) would have preferred someone else to take the lead and go down first, but she could see the mother and the receptionist looking at her. Waiting for her to move, to show them what to do and prove that it was going to be okay and that it was safe. And Tyler wasn't going down there until everyone else was there and towards safety first.

She shakily let go of his hand and twisted around to grab the metal rails that were thankfully drilled so far into the tiles that they would remain stable during the raging winds.

She climbed down half the steps before jumping the rest, she didn't want to waste time.

Once she was down, (Y/n) could feel her balance shifting. The floor was sloped towards the left which was obviously the deep end and combined with the raging winds that were almost forcing her off her feet, she couldn't stand straight.

Her eyes squinted through the weather and she stretched her arms up for the little girl. No point wasting time when they could just pass her down this way.

Once the girl was safely in her arms, (Y/n) clung to her and looked around. the pool must have been in the middle of renovation, for one wall was broken apart so the pipes were revealed. Just what they needed, something to cling to.

She let go of the girl once her mother had clambered down the steps and took hold of her again. "Go to the pipes."

(Y/n) bound her arms around her waist and stood to one side, if it could be called standing when she was being shaken from foot to foot, leaning every which way the wind blew her. Once the worker and Tyler clambered down into the sanctuary of the empty pool, (Y/n) moved closer but her arms stretched out towards them when each of them heard the motel sign begin to creak.

Sparks flew in all directions, casting golden splinters into the wind and the sheets of hail that were flying all around them. The sign swayed and rattled and groaned until finally the metal gave way and snapped apart, falling directly in their path.

None of them could move quick enough and everything seemed to happen at the speed of light.

Both (Y/n)'s arms bound around Tyler when he backed up into her and she felt his hand clamp down on her left hip so tightly his fingers were going to bruise into her skin and his nails were piercing through her jeans. She felt his back slam into her chest and the pair of them slammed down to the floor as the sign landed in front of them, only one inch away from crushing their legs.

It separated them from the receptionist who was shrieking in panic, cast across the other side of the pool.

"Okay?" Tyler managed to splutter as he tilted his head back into (Y/n)'s shoulder and looked up at her through squinting eyes. He watched her nod and he could feel each rapid breath she took which fanned against his back.

He gave her hip a squeeze before he peeled his hand off of her hip and flopped over so he was lying on his stomach. He couldn't stand up. If he did the wind would take him. He had to spread his weight out across the floor so he was heavier and harder to be moved by nature.

He could feel (Y/n) shifting behind him so she was in the same crouching position.

"Go."

"But-"

"Hurry and don't let go." He flung his hand towards the other end of the pool where the pipes were. He needed (Y/n) to stay safe, he would help the man who was still shrieking on the other side of the collapsed sign.

Twisting around, Tyler tried to army crawl along the floor but he was sliding towards the left. His teeth gritted together so tightly it felt like they were going to disintegrate and his jaw was pulsing.

"Stay down- just- no. Stay down, let me help!" He felt like a broken record, repeating various versions of those words but to no avail.

The man wasn't listening to him. He was desperate not to be swept away by the gushing winds, but he wasn't heeding the advice he was being given. If he stood up he would be a target for the winds, he would be easier to move and liable to falling. Staying laid on the ground was his best bet.

"Help me!"

"Get down-" Tyler's hand slammed into the floor and split apart the skin covering his knuckles as a scream left his lips when the man got up.

The tornado got him.

It claimed him as one of its many victims. The moment he was on his wobbling feet, he stumbled backwards, flung his arms out, and took flight like an ailing bird caught in the sea breeze. He was gone. There was no helping him or getting him back. He had been taken and Tyler couldn't do anything. Maybe he would of been better off staying in the motel.

"Tyler!"

He crained his neck to look over his right shoulder and glanced back at the three girls behind him. They were cowering against the pipes like they were in some form of protest.

The mother had her whole frame curled around her daughter who had both small arms tangled around the pipes. If the wind picked up anymore her arms looked like they might break, but it was securing her from a weightless death in the air and that was all that mattered.

But it was (Y/n) who held Tyler's attention. Her arm bound around a pipe and her hand clinging to the one below to anchor herself down. Her legs were trying desperately to curl up into her stomach but they were starting to flail around in the air. And her other hand kept moving out in Tyler's direction, grasping for his attention to tell him to get over to them. He had to move. He had to come over and stay safe with them. (Y/n) couldn't lose him.

Tyler's teeth ground together causing a splitting ache in his jaw as he slammed his arms down on the concrete ground. He could feel the pads of his fingers beginning to split and grate against the floor as he shuffled along on his front. It felt odd, army-crawling along like this with the wind trying to lift his legs from the ground and pick him up.

More often than not when a tornado was approaching, Tyler was in the truck driving head first into it. He wasn't hanging around on the side of the road or taking cover in an abandoned pool.

Groans and yells clawed past his lips as he got closer and closer to his destination. To (Y/n).

He could feel his knees scraping against the floor when the wind tried to drag him backwards and he pushed up on his left arm just enough to stretch out his hand.

The feeling of (Y/n)'s hand enveloping around his was the lifeline Tyler needed and she used what little strength she could spare from holding herself steadfast to drag Tyler closer.

Once he was close enough, (Y/n) managed to let go of his hand so she could bind her arm around the pipe again. She couldn't afford not to hang on when she could barely keep her legs from flailing around in the air. Her eyes snapped closed and her forehead pressed against one of the larger copper pipes. It didn't feel like a good move when the wind shook her head and had her temple bashing against the pipe. But it was preferable to having her neck break when her head wobbled every which way but loose.

She could feel Tyler behind her, wedging himself in between her and the mother and daughter. Right in the centre in case either of them let go or needed help or something happened. Ready for action.

But surprise flooded (Y/n)'s stomach with adrenaline when she felt him move.

Tyler's left arm secured over (Y/n)'s arm and his hand clutched desperately next to hers. His chest moulded down over (Y/n)'s back, his arm pinned down over her like he was a blanket securing around her and his right arm reached up to cling to the higher pipe. Both Tyler's legs pressed up into the back of (Y/n)'s knees from the way he was kneeling on the floor and it made (Y/n) feel like she was sitting on his lap. But she didn't care.

He was moulded around her, trying to keep her safe and shield her from the elements. And when he tipped his head down, (Y/n) was sure that despite the raging winds, the whistling sound of metal flying through the air and the distant screams, she could hear him breathing into her hair. It was almost as if he was kissing the top of her head with each harsh breath he took.

"Just Hold on." His voice was loud to compete with the raging winds but it sounded so hollow and quiet in (Y/n)'s ears.

She found herself holding tighter, curling up even smaller, pushing her back against his chest. Doing whatever she felt she could to try and stay where she was and ground herself until the tornado was gone. How long would that be? Was it going to disappear soon? Would it continue and grow larger and suck in the nearby winds and clouds? Would any of them be able to hold on for much longer?

(Y/n) knew if the winds weren't whipping at her face so much, she would have burst into tears by now. She could feel a few leaving the corners of her eyes and being wrenched off into the winds, but those were tears of desperation. Tears trying to moisten her eyes and prevent them from cracking or becoming glued shut with grit and dirt.

She wasn't even close to shedding tears of fear and agony yet. Those would happen once the weather faded, she knew it for sure.

The panic (Y/n) could feel circulating through each and every part of her body momentarily died down when she felt Tyler move. His left arm that had been pinned beside hers briefly let go of the pipe and his iron clad arm bound around (Y/n)'s waist instead.

The action caused her to suck in a deeper breath which shocked her lungs that were trying to take shallow breaths as not to inhale any dust or little objects flying through the air. She couldn't open her eyes yet, but she could feel his arm right around her waist and his elbow digging securely into her side just above her hip.

He tugged her back closer to his chest so there was no inch of space between them and his hand secured around a lower pipe so he could hold them both down.

"Stay down, I got you."

He wad anchoring them both together, keeping steadfast despite the elements.

Neither of them quite believed it when the raging winds finally started to die down. In a matter of moments, it was if a switch had been flicked. Everything stopped. Plastic chairs stopped flying through the air. Metal beams and broken chunks of plastic and wires stopped taking flight and were no longer dangerous weapons of nature.

Cars crashed down to the floor and the road, breaking apart on impact, wheels spinning and crashing off into different directions.

Destruction was all that was left in the tornado's wake.

(Y/n) felt her legs slump against the floor and her body slumped to the right, clattering against the pipes now that the wind wasn't lifting her up anymore. She felt Tyler somewhat cushion her fall as she fell back into him and she realised his face was still tucked down against the top of her head. Now she could hear his harsh breaths fanning against her hair which almost felt like he was kissing her head.

Each breath Tyler took was ragged and harsh and made his chest heave and push out against her back. And (Y/n) found herself finally able to open her eyes as she flopped her head back against his shoulder. The action caused him to lift his head, but he simply pressed his lips against her temple this time and kissed her forehead.

She stayed still and horribly tense as Tyler shifted around and wrenched his hands away from the pipes, but his left arm remained steadfast around (Y/n)'s waist.

He looked to his right and reached his free hand out for the woman's elbow, a soft yet slightly bewildered look in his eyes as he croaked "Are you okay?" To which she nodded and hugged her daughter closer who seemed to be mute in utter shock and despair.

"What about you, are you alright?" Tyler looked down at (Y/n) and rested his lips back against the top of her head again but he sighed when he looked at her. He could see her hands were welded onto the pipes, trembling but holding tight, unable to let go for fear of being whisked away into the atmosphere.

He felt (Y/n) try and nod her head but she stopped when he reached his free hand out and carefully curled his fingers around her hand.

"You're okay, you can let go now." His words were so quiet (Y/n) wondered if she had imagined them and she found her hands trembling horribly when Tyler carefully peeled them away.

She dropped her hands down and clutched at his forearms, leaning her head at an angle so she could look up at him better. He looked dashing from this angle, even after an event like that. His hair was barely tousled, only a few strands out of place. He had a few cuts on his hands and exposed arms and no doubt he would have a few bruises, but he looked relatively unscathed.

"And you?" (Y/n) gulped croakily, squeezing his arm as she continued to look him over, checking for any sign of injury that would need attending to.

"I'm fine."

He nudged his temple against the side of her head and closed his eyes for a few seconds to try and regulate his system. He wasn't used to seeing tornados up close like that unless the truck was involved. It had been a while since he had been through one on the ground like that.

"You know," (Y/n) started through deep breaths and welling tears. "I prefer tornados when you drive through them, Mr Wrangler."

Her words had a wide, toothy grin spreading across Tyler's lips and he let out a breathless laugh before he leaned forward to steal a kiss from her slightly chapped lips. Then another. And another.

"Me too, sweetheart."

[beansprean]

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

Some of my fav Vampire Guillermo outfits from my ongoing paper doll insanity! May or may not be canon for My Familiar's Ghost ;). 30+ more of these over on Patreon lol

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of vampire Guillermo posing with his right hand in a peace sign and his left hand holding up his phone in selfie mode. He is wearing round glasses with gold frames and has his lips pursed as he looks at his phone screen. He is wearing brown dress shoes with a gold flame pattern, brown chinos, and a dark red ribbed sweater vest over a blue and pink floral button down. His collar is popped and he has on several gold rings, a gold hoop in his left ear, and a gold dangle on his right.

2. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing brown dress shoes with a lighter toe cap, dark blueish gray wool pants with a checker pattern, a lighter gray sweater vest over a pink button down with white stripes, and a black four tailed peacoat with a red rose pattern and lighter red lapels and liner. He has on several gold rings and gold studs with a curved loop back.

3. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing brown dress shoes with a lighter heart shaped toe cap, red chinos, and a sheer black button up with a red heart pattern over a black tank top. He has a single silver ring with a heart shape on his left ring finger and teardrop red jewels dangling from his ears.

4. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing rosy brown dress shoes with lighter wing tips, light pink cuords held up by suspenders, and a light pink and peach floral button up under an open knee length rosy brown cardigan with vertical stripes. There is a gold stud in his left ear and a dangling peach feather in his right.

5. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing leopard print loafers with no socks, black highwater pants, a black sweater with a knit chest pattern over a white button down, and an open front beige poncho with a diamond pattern along the trim. His shirt is untucked beneath the sweater, and he has on a pearl necklace along with several gold chains and matching pearl earrings.

6. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing brown wingtip shoes, black pinstripe high waisted pants, and a pale pink silk button up unbuttoned to his sternum under a knee length rosy brown fur coat. He has a white gold chain with a fang around his neck as well as matching rings topped with fangs on his middle two fingers and small hoops in his ears.

7. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing chocolate brown loafers, equally rich brown trousers, and a lace patterned sage green button up under a dark red cardigan with a diamond pattern. He has a knee length dark blue peacoat with a pink and green flower pattern on the lining and lapels as well as red teardrop earrings and a large blue stone on his left middle finger.

8. Repeat. Guilermo is wearing black dress shoes, black pants with a lighter bluish plaid pattern, and a black sweater over a white shirt with a red heart in the knit pattern over the breast. Fishnet pokes out from beneath the sleeves and he has on several silver rings, as well as a thin vertebrae necklace and ear studs with a silver triangle dangling from the left.

9. Repeat. Guillermo is wearing periwinkle loafers, dark purple-black pinstripe pants, and a translucent lace button down decorated with silver stars under a waistcoat colored like the night sky, with a purple nebula at the bottom and black with stars at the top. He has thin chain earrings and several silver rings shaped like stars and moons. /end ID

[polarisbear]

didn’t forget to post this, just wanted to give room to teto posting (longer image description under read more)

a drawing of bdoubleo100, impulsesv, joehills, zedaph, and mumbo jumbo. they’re all in their season 10 skins or modified versions.

bdubs is posing with a cheeky smile and a peace sign, the other hand behind his head. he’s in a ripped white shirt, jeans with trip pants detailing, and black shoes. the rips in the shirt and the unzipped knee in the pants shows red cybernetic details on bdubs’ skin. he has red pupils. he also has unnecessary belts on his pants and his red bandana around his head goes down to his hips. above him there’s a doodle of bdubs in a green letterman jacket with fuzzy sleeves labeled “‘Moss’ jacket.”

impulse is standing with his hands in his pocket. he’s in his season 10 cyberpunk skin. he has little horns, pointed ears, and a spade tail. the horns and tail are tipped in the same purple as the cybernetics all over impulse. he has yellow pupils.

the juppet is excitedly waving a hand. she’s wearing a lime green tank top with a white “@“ symbol, a black-and-gray checkered skirt, fishnets, and some blue-lined boots. behind him is joe hills puppeting the juppet, face down on the ground. they’re wearing a lime green shirt and dark gray pants.

zedaph is leaning over joe hills’ unconscious body with glee. he’s a golden sheep furry with an undocked tail and curling horns. he nails are gray like his hooves. he’s wearing a brown cardigan and a chicken-shaped bag with a mini villager charm hanging off it.

mumbo is pushing his index fingers together nervously. he’s a catfish hybrid and his suit has been ripped at the legs. he has whiskers coming from his head and his mustache, his limbs are tipped in brown or gray, and he has extra fins in place of his ears and near his ankles. next to him is a side profile doodle of his tail labeled “tail.”

[victarin]

> enter bedroom (52%)

it’s been a while, sorry !

[VD: text reading “warning: flashing lights, eyestrain, & unreality / headphones recommended”. faced with two doorways in a nighttime living room, the option ���enter bedroom” is selected. inside the room, you see the corner of your bed, the closet, and the open bedroom door. the following text reads “i should try to get some sleep.” lights off, loading screen into the dream. you see an empty room with checkered floors. an arrow to the right lets you see behind you. after clicking it, you see the room is still plain except for three dark, skinny hallways. an arrow to the left lets you turn back around. after clicking it, you see original room. after the error sound, a party room appears with three arcade machines in the center. the light of the middle one flickers before going dark. as the music and announcement begins, all three arcade machines light up blue. the text captioning the announcement glitches near the end before the screen cuts to black. in the center of the black screen, the middle red arcade machine appears for a second, featuring a red screen with something blurry in the center. back to bedroom. cut to the left side of the room, where there is a window, a desk, and a computer that has turned on to show a blue screen with the security breach freddy symbol. it turns off, shutting off the audio. text reads: “… i don’t think i can sleep after that.” cut back to the bed. three options appear: investigate computer, leave bedroom, stay in bed. while choosing between the options, moon crawls into the room and crouches before disappearing. he appears at your bedside. he looks similar to in-game, but his faceplate features two wide white eyes with black pupils. he twitches and four options appear: say hello, pretend to sleep, call for help, run. cut to black. / end VD.]

woooo this one took a hot minute. genuinely really really sorry for that.

would like to note two things: 1) all sound effects are from the capcut library except for the announcement voice (that was me with a filter on top yay) and the breathing! and 2) on the breathing, that was unintentionally inspired by @/etc.etcetera on tiktok (that One mlp infection au..) whose videos inspired me to try pushing thru finishing this video :’) and this was a rough one ouch

thanks for being so patient with this au!! im sure most ppl have fallen out of interest lolz but im still planning on continuing it :) given that ep4 isnt as draining to make .with all hope

[tumblerislovetumblerislife]

she who became the sun

including but not limited to:

1) monk zhu who is DEFINITELY above worldly desires 2) there are many benefits to having a hand made of light (gee i sure wonder who's holding the knife?) 3) guys i think they used ye olde photoshop on zhu's emperor portrait

zhu kicking their feet & giggling @ ma (unfortunately no hair to twirl)

some modern zhus!

(image description below the cut because it got super long!)

[ID: digital art of the character zhu chongba/yuanzhang in the radiant emperor series in the first image, and then nine close-ups. the background is yellow and imitates rays of sun, dividing the image into sections, from the center of the sun, counter-clockwise.

section 1: zhu's head and neck. she is a chinese person with dark-brown eyes, shaved hair, and moles on her face and neck, looking down and smiling slightly. there are two slits in their eyebrows, and they are wearing a gold nose ring and various black and gold studs and rings in their ears.

section 2: two simple drawings, an arrow between them, labelled above with *OUYANG POV*. the first is zhu's face, drawn cartoonishly so that the cheekbones are very wide and the chin is very narrow, creating a triangle. the second is a cicada's face that looks very similar to the cartoonish zhu (the eyes replace zhu's ears and its mandibles replace zhu's chin).

section 3: three drawings of zhu, inspired by canon. the first is zhu as a monk, wearing orange robes and with ordination scars on her scalp. her head is angled down, but her eyes are raised. the second is zhu in he who drowned the world, her hair slightly grown out with a gold hairpin and wearing golden robes. someone is pointing a knife at her and she is smirking like the cat meme, her mandate of heaven illuminating her missing hand, which is showing the middle finger. the third is zhu as emperor, looking more masculine and attractive than the other images. she is wearing blue and gold robes with a dragon embroidered on them and a gold hair crown and pin.

section 4: zhu's profile, smiling after a flash of brown hair. they look modern, wearing a light-blue sleeveless turtleneck with an ace flag and she/they pin as well as a gold nose ring and multicoloured jewellery in their ears. her hair is shaved, but growing out slightly and there are two slits in her eyebrows, and two lipstick kisses on her cheek and corner of her mouth. they are surrounded by pink light, hearts and sparkles, and there is a heart reflection in their eye.

section 5: five drawings of modern zhu. the first is her eyes and thick eyebrows in greyscale, wearing yellow eyeliner that imitates the sun. the second is from the waist up, zhu smiling with their eyes closed, wearing a patterned white and green button-up and leather belt, along with multicoloured pieces of jewellery. the third is zhu's whole body, folded up in a seated position. she's wearing a yellow shirt with white flowers on, grey and brown checkered pants with a green belt, black and gold socks, and purple sneakers, along with jewellery and a gold choker. the fourth is zhu's nose and mouth, showing their nose ring and smile. the fifth is zhu from the knees up. she's looking sideways, right arm held to her head and wearing a bright multicoloured shirt and clashing striped pants over a black crop top, along with a nose ring and sun earrings. /end ID]

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Finally! My DoL PCs and their LIs

My friends asked me if I wanted to join the School AU with their OCs and I thought for the longest time before bringing Lya to the party. Then I kinda just felt like it and drew the whole gang :D They came out beautifully so more information and separated images undercut!

The First one is of course Lya the Blossom

Main PC

Harpy transforms, Mate for Life.

Wears all white if she can.

Very light in weight, makes her defiant attempts usually ineffective.

Went through a lot to make things easier for her loved ones.

Skilled in segg but doesn't really enjoy it anymore at this point if it's not with her loved one. What she seeks in segg with her lover is intimacy and the feeling of security.

Secretly a meanie. Gets jealous easily and envious of almost anyone, but doesn't show it or act on it often.

Despises the Temple to her core but believes Jordan is a genuinely good person. Wanted to fuck him just because.

Protective toward her lover and the children at the Orphanage.

Very insecure about her financial state. She tried to make money anytime she could.

CONSENT YOU MOTHERFU-

Can't cook. Literally. Keep her away from the kitchen.

Male Robin the Lover~ (Sorry I love this title)

The one and only.

Maybe he's trying his best, maybe he's hiding from something so terrible, who knows.

Love the purple color.

Easily scared and would cry out loud if Lya was there to reassure him and demand a lot of hugs, head pats, and kisses afterward.

Clingy as hell, but luckily he's cute just enough to let it pass.

Hell lots of freckles, everywhere all over his body even though he mostly stays at home or in the shades. Sensitive skin then.

Squishy belly.

Occasionally cross-dress when going on a date with Lya but keeps it as a hobby only.

Love to do makeup for Lya and skin care together.

Grow in height a LOT since the game started and wondering why Lya still stays the same, not that he complains about her growth of boobs and ass.

Lyah the Emancipated

The second PC, made with a lot of feast boots, almost all of the Vrel coins Lya earned.

Wears all black if he can.

Demonic Harpy Chimera Transforms.

Waiting for Robin's preg contents.

2m14. Larger body type, 6/6 physic, S athletic, Vengeful Sadist. Basically all offensive.

Fucking huge manboobs produce fucking lots of milk

Almost always wears a buttplug

The only one taller than him is Jordan.

"Blood moon? Fuck Ivory Wraith I'm out."

Still works at Strip Club, mostly because he loves wearing bunny suits and he wants to look out for Darryl.

Chef. Let him cook.

Housekeeping skill F-. Drops and crashes everything every time trying to clean or deco his room.

Doesn't know how to smile but will unconsciously do so when he's near Robin.

Doesn't understand why he's still sometimes mistaken as female.

Fem Robin the Lover~

So cute and squishy.

People unconsciously smile when she smiles.

"Too precious must protect."

Her weight is top secret.

Knows it all too well that Lyah intentionally feeds her more sweet treats and creamy drinks every day during every school break but can't resist the temptation of sweets.

Accepts gaining weight during the leisurely times, but has to lose it a bit before school starts again so she can fit into the school's uniforms.

Pretty proud that her lover is a chef at the biggest Cafe in town.

Slightly less freckle than male Robin. Just slightly.

Wardrobe full of checkered pattern clothes.

Of course she can cook well.

Perfect housewife material.

Timid when using strap-on but usually gets absorbed in the moment too much she forgor to pull the buttplug out before diving her strap in.

Lyah is not complaining though so it's all good.

Last but not least Kariya the Alter Ego!

"Well somebody has to go to prison and asylum and... hmmm"

Devil transforms

Full name Sesshouin Kariya. Kariya means "Midnight' Swallow"

Not a new save file but one of Lya's older saves. Hence the Alter Ego title.

Was born cuz I was bored and wanted to go to places Lya and Lyah can't go because they're worried about their lover being left alone.

They don't set a love interest because of that, so they can't get attached and can freely roam everywhere.

Enjoy segg as it is, purely seeking more pleasure day by day.

Drooling Masochist. Prefer group.

Get bored easily but are also quick to forget, so after a while that very same thing may pique their interest again.

Zones out a lot. Absent-minded. Sometimes clueless to things that are not segg-related.

"Ahhhh Nii-chan, nee-chan, help me it's 23:55 already and I forgor to cum inside somebody today waaaaaaaa-!!"

Intentionally dress more feminine because they love showing off.

The color palette is reversed from Lya's.

" I wonder if it's blood moon soon..."

[batnoise]

[🔪 / february 2023 ] reward for @softcatmemoirs !! 🌙🥀 (it/she)

[ID: a colored digital drawing of a black maned wolf anthro with long limbs that fade to red, a long fluffy tail also tipped in red, and long white hair with cherry red underneath. it wears a fishnet crop top, a checkered belt, a pink plaid skirt, a heart shaped garter on one leg, and mismatched legwarmers. it stands leaning forward with one hand on its hip with a snide expression, against a background of black and pink checkers. /end ID]

[s0fti3w1tch]

I miss my boy.

[Image description 1: TD!AU Leo/Trainee sitting down and playing with a magenta and green switch console, smiling with his tongue sticking out. They're wearing a cropped tank top with black trim, checkered shorts, and white socks. They're a little beat up with bandage wraps and scrapes on their arms, cotton pad on their cheek, and adhesive bandages on his knees. /End ID]

[Image description 2: Trainee smiling and leaning against the background image of a waves at a shoreline. They're in beachwear. A black cropped tank-top with red trim branded with a Foot Clan logo, and black shorts under with a red swim-suit cover skirt with a white tie and white diamond shapes as a pattern. /End ID]

[Image description 3: Text. This user is pro-Palestine, avoid using Paramount's services /End ID]

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 39, 26 septembre 1896, Paris. No. 18. — Groupe de toilettes nouvelles. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Jaquette de drap vert saule, ajustée, à basques avec pochettes; revers habit; gilet blanc croisé sur une chemise d'homme. Col rabattu, cravate de ruban quadrillé vert et paille. Manches ballon. Chapeau canotier avec pouf de ruban et deux grandes plumes couteau en aigrette sur le côté.

(1) Fitted willow green cloth jacket with peplum and pockets; coat lapels; white double-breasted waistcoat over a man's shirt. Turn-down collar, green and straw checkered ribbon tie. Balloon sleeves. Boater hat with ribbon pouf and two large knife-edge feathers in an aigrette on the side.

—

(2) Corsage de mohair bleu et noir. Corsage montant coupé par des petits velours noirs posés en pointe. Col montant.

Ceinture composée de trois petits velours. Manches gigot.

(2) Blue and black mohair bodice. High bodice cut with small black velvets placed in a point. High collar.

Belt composed of three small velvets. Leg of mutton sleeves.

—

(3) Toilette en lainage tilleul, à pois verts. Corsage plastron à dents de roses, boutonné sur les côtés.

Col montant. Manches gigot. Jupe forme princesse boutonnée sur le côté en haut. Chapeau canotier, orné par un gros nœud de ruban rayé tilleul et noir avec deux ailes posées en aigrette.

(3) Linden woolen dress, with green polka dots. Rose-toothed plastron bodice, buttoned on the sides.

High collar. Leg of mutton sleeves. Princess-shaped skirt buttoned on the side at the top. Boater hat, decorated with a large bow of linden and black striped ribbon with two wings set in an aigrette.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur.

—

(4) Corsage à basques, en satin violet, ouvert sur une chemisette de tulle, recouverte par un rabat coquillé en dentelle blanche. Col montant avec nœud de dentelle derrière; haute ceinture drapée. Manches ballon.

(4) Basque bodice, in purple satin, open over a tulle chemisette, covered by a shell flap in white lace. High collar with lace bow behind; high draped belt. Balloon sleeves.

—

(5) Toilette de lainage bois de rose. Corsage-boléro à grand col rabattu et brodé, ouvert sur une chemisette de surah or.

Col drapé montant, d'où s'échappe un volant de dentelle. Manches ballon, à poignets plissés au-dessus du coude; haute ceinture de velours drapée et à pointe. Jupe plate, plissée derrière.

Chapeau rond, en paille, orné de ruban or, posé devant en oreilles d'ours, avec touffe de plumes d'autruche droites derrière.

(5) Rosewood woolen toilet. Bolero bodice with large folded-down and embroidered collar, open over a gold surah blouse.

High draped collar, from which a lace flounce escapes. Balloon sleeves, with pleated cuffs above the elbow; high draped velvet belt with a point. Flat skirt, pleated behind.

Round straw hat, decorated with gold ribbon, placed in front like bear ears, with a tuft of straight ostrich feathers behind.

Métrage: 10 mètres lainage grande largeur.

—

(6) Corsage-blouse, en mousseline de soie rose montant et tout froncé sous ceinture-corselet en velours ouvrage; bande transversale semblable au milieu du corsage; col Mercure. Manches gigot, en étoffe quadrillée.

(6) Blouse-bodice, in high pink silk muslin and all gathered under a velvet bodice-belt; similar transverse band in the middle of the bodice; Mercury collar. Leg-of-mutton sleeves, in checked fabric.

—

(7) Corsage drapé et croisé à la taille, en lainage pervenche, pointillé rouge; petit plastron semblable, brodé de petit velours rouge; col Mercure; haute ceinture de velours drapée, retenue par une boucle vieil argent. Manches gigot.

Chapeau canotier, orné de grandes coques de mousseline de soie d'où émergent deux oiseaux de paradis, posés en aigrette.

(7) Draped bodice crossed at the waist, in periwinkle wool, red dotted; similar small plastron, embroidered with small red velvet; Mercury collar; high draped velvet belt, held by an old silver buckle. Leg of mutton sleeves.

Boater hat, decorated with large silk muslin shells from which emerge two birds of paradise, posed in an aigrette.

—

(8) Corsage de surah paille froncé mis sous ceinture-corselet, en lainage paille et noir, terminée par un nœud de ruban, avec bas de ceinture en velours; col montant et pointe de guipure sur le corsage.

(8) Ruched straw surah bodice placed under a corset belt, in straw and black wool, finished with a ribbon bow, with velvet belt bottom; high collar and guipure point on the bodice.

Manches ballon, avec volants de dentelle.

—

(9) Toilette de soie brochée sur chaîne noir et or. Corsage-plastron retenu par une ceinture de ruban; col montant, avec volant de dentelle blanche.

Manches gigot. Jupe redingote, ouverte devant sur une jupe de soie unie or.

Chapeau petit Louis XVI, garni par une draperie plissée de mousseline de soie or, avec fleurs en cache-peigne et grandes plumes d'autruche, posées droites derrière.

(9) Brocaded silk toilet on black and gold chain. Bodice-plastron held by a ribbon belt; high collar, with white lace flounce.

Leg-of-mutton sleeves. Redingote skirt, open in front over a plain gold silk skirt.

Small Louis XVI hat, trimmed with pleated drapery of gold silk muslin, with comb-cover flowers and large ostrich feathers, placed straight behind.

Métrage: 13 mètres soie brochée, 3 mètres soie unie.

[flemingsfreckles]

Personal Shopper

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Synopsis: based off this request of reader helping Jessie shop for new clothes

Warnings: nothing, it’s fluffy

WC: 1.2k

A/N: here’s some fluff to ease your mind with all the angst I’ve put out recently :)

“I feel like I look silly.” Jessie voice came over the top of the dressing room.

“Just show me.” You were sat outside on a bench, waiting patiently for your girlfriend to try on and show you the mountain of clothes you had picked out for her.

“No.”

“Jessie come on!” You encouraged her. “Just let me see.”

It was no secret to anyone that Jessie could use some wardrobe help, you had heard her teammates tease her for years, she even mentioned it herself on numerous occasions. She was quick to pick up a sweatshirt and throw on the same black Nike shirt and black hat that she always wore. When it came to fancier clothing, she was even worse, owning a couple of plain button ups and a few pairs of solid color slacks.

After she had complained one too many times about her wardrobe and not knowing what to wear, for your own liking. So you had taken her to various stores, spent hours looking through racks and piles of clothing, trying to find something for the Canadian.

She cracked open the door. Peaking out at you, “Don’t laugh please.”

You shake your head at her, “I won’t, I’m never going to laugh at you for trying something on.”

She opens the door fully for you to see her outfit. She had thrown on a plain black shirt, more tightly fitting than her regular choice of shirt. The shirt showed off more of her figure than her standard Nike black shirt. She had also put on a nice pair of pants. Black and white in a small checkered print.

“Oh wow.” You can’t help but let the words fall out of your mouth when your eyes scan Jessie head to toe. It wasn’t often that you got to see her dressed up.

“Stop.” She gives you a firm look.

“No babe, it looks so good.” You admire her for another second before looking to her face. She looked uncomfortable. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just,” she turns back to the mirror to look at herself. “It’s different.”

“Okay.” You come up to rub her shoulders. “If you’re uncomfortable in it, don’t buy it because then you’ll never wear it. But it looks nice, so if you’re just uncomfortable because it’s new, then that’s okay.”

“I like the shirt.”

“Jess it’s a plain black shirt of course you like it.”

“Yeah but the fit is different, it’s tighter.” It was, her biceps were being restrained by the fabric, it was tight across her chest and shoulders, it looked good, a little too good given you were in public.

“Alright, try it on with another pair of bottoms then.” You push her in the direction of the changing room. She out a huff but closes the door and changes again.

Jessie hadn’t been super thrilled when you dragged her from store to store, she knew she wanted new clothes, a new style but it was the actual act of shopping and trying on that she hated so much. You on the other hand were thrilled Jessie had finally asked for your help.

You didn’t mind her clothes, they were never an issue to you, but they were an issue to Jessie which then made them your issue when she would come to you asking to borrow your clothes because she didn’t want to wear anything she had. You liked seeing her in your clothes, but you decided it was time she was happy with her own wardrobe.

The issue was not just having clothes but it was the fact that Jessie didn’t know how she wanted to dress. To be fair to her, the majority of her life is spent in athletic clothing, a game kit, training kit, or in some form of a team branded shirt, sweatshirt, or sweatpants. When she’d get home from training or a game she’d usually slip into another pair of athletic shorts or sweats, only throwing on jeans and a simple shirt if you were going out.

“I think I like these better.” Jessie opens the door, she’s got on the same black shirt, now paired with a pair of maroon dress slacks.

“Those look nice on you.” You let her look at herself in the mirror again, she turns looking at the back of the pants. “They make your ass look good, don’t worry.” You give her a smile in the mirror as she rolls her eyes.

She looks at them for a couple more seconds, contemplating the pants. “I think I’ll get these.” She finally decides. “And the shirt.”

“Okay take them off, put your jeans back on and try this on.” You had her a couple of linen button up shirts.

“Ughhh.” She groaned as she turned back into the dressing room, the linen shirts in her hand.

Jessie comes out in the sage green shirt, her jeans from home back on. She’s got a smile on her face.

“You like it?” You ask, hopeful based on her smile.

“Yeah, it actually feels comfortable, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a costume or someone else’s clothes.” Jessie looks at you for your opinion.

“That color looks good on you.”

“Yeah it’s different but I like it.” You could see the genuine smile on her face, it made you happy, seeing her satisfied with something she was trying on. She spins in the mirror one more time before closing the door behind her.

She comes out a moment later with the maroon pants, black shirt and linen shirt in one hand. The black and white checkered pants in the other. Jessie places the black and white pants back on the rack and then makes her way over to the display of linen shirts. You watch as she picks up one in white, blue, black, and a coral color adding them to the pile of clothes she was holding.

Jessie must’ve noticed the strange look you gave her as she turned around with the shirts in her arms. “What?”

“Nothing.” You say with a small shake to your head.

“I like the shirt, it’s comfortable. I’m ready to check out.” She knew you were questioning the fact that she just grabbed four identical shirts to the one already in her hand.

“I know.” You hold your arms out to her to offer to hold the shirts. “Whatever you want babe.” Sure it wasn’t what you had in mind when you had taken her shopping but at least she was walking out with something new that she liked, you couldn’t complain too much.

You watched as Jessie checked out, refusing to let you pay for any of the clothing for her. She did however make you carry the bags with all the clothes, which you did happily.

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 1

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist).

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 3,000+ words

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2 (in the works)

        It’s 12 in the morning at the 24 hour diner. Despite it being midnight, the diner was bustling with people eating pancakes and drinking spiked milkshakes; a classic 50’s diner. 

        The floor had black and white checkered tiles had fallen pieces of bacon. One of the tables had spilled milk after a baby knocked their bottle of milk over (why the family is here at this time, she doesn’t know nor does she care). The chairs had chewed gum under them matching the table bottoms too. The red and white counter had drunk men watching an episode of I Love Lucy.

        “Do you need anymore coffee?” (Y/N) smiled, holding a piping hot coffee pitcher, steam escaping from the top of the lid.

        “Thank you, dear.” A little old lady smiled, probably thinking it was 5 AM in winter when the sun wasn’t up instead of it being 12 o’ clock in the summer.

        “Need anymore hash browns?” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing her notepad and pen from her white apron tied around her waist, the tight strings accentuating her figure.

        “No, but I’ll take a cookie for the road.” The lady smiled.

        “Coming right up, ma’am.” (Y/N) smiled, her black flats walking against the sticky tiled floor as her light blue skirt twirled around her knees.

        She walked behind the counter to the display of cookies resting there since yesterday, grabbing a cookie and throwing it in a small, white paper bag. She stapled the bag closed and walked back to her customer, handing her the cookie.

        “There you go, ma’am. Is that all for you tonight?” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Yes, that’ll be it.” The lady smiled, her sunken cheeks turning up to show her dentures.

        “I’ll get the check.” (Y/N) hummed, walking back to the counter and printing out the check for table 26. 

        She walked back to the old lady, grabbing the printed receipt and handing it to the lady.

        “Careful, the ink’s fresh.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Thank you.” The lady smiled, placing 30 bucks on the counter.

        “Oh, ma’am. You dropped a few bucks.” (Y/N) spoke, counting the cash. “Your meal was 13 bucks.”

        “Keep the change as a tip.” The lady smiled, before leaving the diner.

        “Fool…” (Y/N) snickered to herself, placing the tip in her tip pouch on her hip as she took the meal’s money to the cash register. 

        Old people are so easy to butter up. She thought, smiling. All it takes is a few nice words to make them smile a million bucks. Not to mention their retirement money.

        If she keeps it up earning these tips, maybe she can buy a new dress. She’s been meaning to get another poodle skirt anyways.

        (Y/N) sorted out the money in the cash register before closing it, walking into the back. There were tablets there on the walls for her to clock out of.

        Unnecessary screens in unnecessary places… (Y/N) thought, annoyed. These new generations and their technology!

        (Y/N) clocked herself out on time, heading to her work locker and inserting her. She grabbed her work bag and took it with her into the bathroom, changing into her regular clothes. 

        She put on a black and red fit-and-flare dress with her nude stockings and black gloves. She grabbed her black hand-purse, throwing her work clothes into her work bag. She undid her hair’s bun and brushed her hair out, letting it hang off her shoulders as she put on a black headband with a bow on top in her hair. 

        She exited the bathroom, putting her work bag back into her locker and shutting it, then exiting the diner out back, walking down the streets.

        The streets had an occasional stranger walking down, giving her a weird look at her old 1950’s outfits, but others have seen her enough to know it was her style by now. 

        She held her purse and walked down the streets, before taking a turn down a dark alley. 

        It stunk of trash and the air was humid, but that was normal in every overpopulated city. Thank god this city wasn’t a night-life one at least, how troublesome it would be for her work.

        A stumbling man appeared in view, leaning on the brick walls of a building, taking a few wary steps before stopping again. He looked absolutely shit-faced, with a fire red face and dilated pupils; drunk and lethargic. 

        “Do you need any help, sir?” (Y/N) questioned, her transatlantic accent she gained from growing up watching too many movies of the 1930’s shined through.

        “I-I need… "urgh…” the male groaned, tipsy before collapsing to his feet, trying to hold his stomach in.

        “Oh, pardon me.” (Y/N) smiled, walking closer without fear as her black Mary Jane’s hit the ground.

        He probably thought he traveled back in time as he looked at her, confused at the blurry figure approaching.

        “Now, sir. Public intoxication is very bad, you know? You can be charged!” (Y/N) scolded, a playful tone in her voice as she crept closer, before coming up behind him.

        She fished a black lipstick container out of her purse, popping open the lid to show a black tube with a small green and red button.

        “Allow me to help you.” She smiled, pressing the tube to the back of his neck, before holding down the red button, allowing blue sparks to buzz through the air, shocking him.

        He convulsed, drool flooding out of his mouth as he yelped, before a flood of vomit followed.

        “There you go!” (Y/N) cheered supportingly as he kept the stun gun to his neck.

        She removed the tube, watching him fall to the ground, disoriented and confused.

        “See, sir. The problem there is your stomach was empty. You don’t ever drink on a empty stomach, no wonder you’re ill!” (Y/N) smiled. “A proper man could hold their liquor at the very least.”  

        Then again, this modern day and age doesn't know a thing about chivalry unless it's to get under a woman's dress... (Y/N) thought, frowning.

        "Now, let's see." (Y/N) hummed, crouching down beside the drunken male lying in his own vomit. 

        She picked his head up by his hair, yanking it back roughly. "A 4 o' clock shadow that's stubbly. Dilated pupils. Nauseating scent. You must not take good care of your liver considering your performance of drinking tonight..." She frowned, sighing. "It must not hold much value, but something is better than nothing..."

        She threw his head back into his bile, reaching into her gloved hand into purse and putting away her lipstick stun gun, replacing it with a 1930's Remington Rh36 hunting knife. She picked the disoriented man's head up, placing the knife under his throat, before making a jagged line around his neck.

        "It's a good thing I wore my black pair today!" (Y/N) chirped, referring to her gloves as she dropped the man's head, sitting down on his back so he couldn't get up and fight.

        She watched him squirm under her, warm crimson puddling under her as she counted, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall." She smiled, looking down at him. "Oh, good sir. Where is your spirit? Sing with me!"

        She grabbed his chin, pressing her thumb on his bottom lip and pressing down as blood spurted out of his mouth. "98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around——how many do we have?" (Y/N) smiled, pressing down on the now dead man's lips. "97!" she chirped, putting on a high-pitched voice. "Good job! 97!" she smiled, letting go of his chin. 

        She stood up, smoothing down her dress and stepping off the man's back. She grabbed her dirty knife, wiping the blade on the man's clothes. 

        She placed the knife down into her purse, pulling out a neatly folded black trash bag. She unfolded the bag and opened it, shoving the man's head in first (careful to avoid the pile of vomit), before bending his body awkwardly, a crack playing out somewhere in his legs as she forced him into the bag, tying it up.

        "Citizen's trash duty: completed." She smiled, picking up the trash bag handles and pulling it down the alley with her. 

        (Y/N) dragged it with her, taking a shortcut down the alleyway and walking a few blocks until she got to the back of her apartment complex.

        (Y/N) dragged the body bag up the fire escape stairs, careful not to tip backwards as the dead man’s head ‘thunked’ against the metal stairs over and over. 

        Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, she grabbed a spare key she copied stealing the owner’s once, grabbing the copy from her purse and unlocked the door. 

        She dragged the body inside the halls, taking the body up the stairs since every lazy piece of modern trash around here used the elevators.

        She took the body with her down her hallway, fishing for her front door’s key inside of her purse, before pausing as the neighbor’s door next to her opened.

        A man stepped out, pale skin akin to snow and eyes fresh like the Iceland hills. There were bags under his eyes, tired as he yawned, wearing a red shirt as his uniform for his job as a gas station attendant. 

        Andrew Graves; a recluse of a man, if even a person. Andrew doesn’t talk with (Y/N), not unless she corners him by the mailboxes and blabbers with him. 

        For some reason, the boy couldn’t fall for her charisma or even her appearance. She didn’t understand it; everyone likes her, why doesn’t he?

        Perhaps he was just one of those people with a good sixth sense, but whatever it was, it infuriated (Y/N). How was she supposed to maintain a good social image if her next door neighbor didn’t have any good words to say about her?

        How could he have any good words to say now that his eyes were widened with surprise and fear, looking down at her feet, where she looked and saw a leg hanging out of the bag, a trail of blood down the hallways.

        The bag must’ve ripped upon climbing the stairs somewhere.

        (Y/N) stared at the leg, both of them frozen in place as the complex’s AC kicked in. 

        (Y/N) quickly lunged at Andrew, shoving him back into his apartment. She drug the bag with her, entering his apartment and closing the door behind her.

        Andrew’s apartment was completely dark, an unfamiliar terrain as she felt the walls for a light switch before switching it on, illuminating the room. 

        Andrew was on the ground, silently crawling backwards, making sure to look in her direction before he froze as the light came on. 

        “Ah!” (Y/N) sighed, happy as she quickly dropped onto her knees, crawling after him like a child.

        She caught up to him quickly, especially since he hit the back of his couch, her hands pressing down on his chest as she leaned in, pushing her nose against his.

        “I found you~” she smirked.

        “What the fuck was that?” Andrew questioned, his eyes shooting behind her at the body bag.

        “A Halloween prop.” (Y/N) responded quickly.

        “It’s December.” Andrew retorted.

        “A prop for Krampus, dummy! He’s a Halloween-Christmas guy!” she smiled.

        “It’s an apartment complex! We don’t do decorations!” Andrew spoke, still scared but a bit annoyed that she took him as dumb enough to believe that.

        “Well we do now.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “I’m not dumb!” Andrew snapped. “So you’re the Manson Murderer, huh?” 

        Ah, the Manson Murderer, what a name she’s built for herself! "Manson Murderer Multilates Again!" and "Who is the Man of Manson?"

        How funny they even think it’s a man. The only reason why so many men are trialed for murder, is because nobody believes a dainty flower of a woman could stabbed a man 41 times in his chest.

        “Oh, my! What an accusation!” (Y/N) giggled, staring into his eyes as their faces were mere centimeters apart.

        “Don’t you even try lying to me…” Andrew growled, his eyes hardened as he toughened himself up in front of her.

        “Oh, have no fear, darling! I would never lie to you, you’re much too smart!” (Y/N) giggles, although she knew it was true.

        Could it be possible he never liked her because he knew something was up with her? Is this his proof to having a reason to dislike her, not just because he was an introverted loser?

        “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, clicking her tongue as her hand came up to his cheek, caressing it as he flinched at the sudden affection. “My love, why are you so scared? Don’t you know I would never hurt you? Not a man as handsome as yourself at least.” She purred.

        “See, Andrew. There are certain duties people like I must fulfill. Someone has to clean the streets up after all.” She hummed.

        “Why’d you do it?” Andrew questioned.

        “Why didn’t I?” she smiled.

        “That isn’t an answer—“ Andrew muttered, but was cut off by her.

        “Now, Andrew. You’ll keep your mouth shut, yes?” she smiled. “I would certainly hate… for you to become scum at the bottom of a dumpster after all…

        Andrew knew was she was implying. Trash for her to take out like it was a normal Monday.

        “Yes…” Andrew seethed through his teeth, not too happy about it.

        “Good!” (Y/N) smiled, taking her purse and flipping out her pocket knife.

        “W-woah, hey! Hey! I said I won’t tell!” Andrew panicked, squirming but had nowhere to run as he was still pressed against the couch. 

        “Don’t worry, darling. I’m only sealing our promise.” (Y/N) smiled, pulling up his shirt.

        Andrew froze as she placed the knife onto his right side, before a hiss escaped his lips as she impaled the skin, carving into it like leather.

        “Pardon my handwriting; mother always said I was messy.” (Y/N) smirked, smiling as the pretty blood ran down his side, matching his red shirt.

        “F-fuck!” Andrew gasped, biting down onto his lips.

        “When this mark heals, you can tell people it’s me who is the Manson Murderer.” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re mine to keep, so be a good boy and be quiet.”

        (Y/N) smiled, admiring her craftsmanship before wiping the excess blood from the knife off on Andrew’s shirt. 

        She placed her pocketknife back into her purse, before looking at her words. She stuck out a gloved finger, scooping up some of the red liquid and wiping it on her bottom lip, closing her lips and smearing it like lipstick.

        “Mwah! Red looks good on me, don’t you think?” (Y/N) smiled, looking at Andrew as his head was thrown back against the couch’s back, panting as he endured the pain.

        “F-fuck… fucking bitch.” He hissed, his eyes sharp as he looked down at her. “Gonna fucking kill you…”

        “Mm… keep talking like that…” (Y/N) purred, sitting down on her knees in between his legs, resting both her hands on his cheeks. “I like it.”

        She leaned in, kissing his lips with her bloodied ones.

        Andrew froze, shocked and helpless on what to do as he bled from his side. His neighbor, his neighbor who was a murderer, was kissing him right now.

        One of her hands traveled down to his jaw, before guiding down to his chest sensually, reaching his stomach. Her lips moved against his closed ones, enjoying the power she had over him.

        Her hand went to his side, her thumb pressing down onto his wound, causing him to yelp and open his mouth. She quickly dove her tongue into Andrew’s mouth, his cheeks puffing out as her tongue hit them, exploring the taste of his mouth and blood.

        “Ah, you taste good…” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “It’s too bad your heart isn’t on the market, I’d love to own it…” (Y/N) smiled.

        Andrew couldn’t look further into her words as she kissed him again. He couldn’t taste anything except rust, and was that a hint of strawberry? Strawberry lipgloss perhaps? She did wear red lipgloss just like every other 1950’s girl did, just like her preferred timeline. Lipgloss so it wasn’t too showy, but still shined and was appropriate for every outfit.

        Her tongue parted from his mouth, leaving him breathless (from her lips or from his wound, he wasn’t sure) as a string of saliva connected the two.

        “I’ll teach you how to reciprocate later on. It makes it far more enjoyable, you know?” (Y/N) giggles, watching as Andrew’s face went pink.

        It felt hot in here even though the AC was on, signaling to (Y/N) that she had to go and take care of this body before it started decomposing faster due to this heat.

        “I’ll see you real soon, Andrew… You’ll keep our promise, right?” (Y/N) spoke, tilting her head and purposely puffing out her lips in a show of innocence and seduction.

        “Mm… y-yeah. Yeah, I will…” Andrew muttered, laser-focused on her lips.

        “Be good for me now.” (Y/N) smiled, getting up off the floor. 

        Andrew watched from the floor as she walked to his front door, dragging the body bag with her as she shut the door behind her, going back to her apartment.

        He couldn’t believe this. His cute neighbor was a murderer, and he kissed her. And he liked it.

        His face was burning up, along with his body, but he didn’t know if that was his pain receptors responding to the pain or not. He was hot and sweaty, it suddenly felt too hot for his shirt and everything else, especially under his belt.

        Why the fuck did her lips have an impact on him like that? Why was it just her lips? Why did she kiss him in the first place? 

        Andrew groaned, looking down at the marking she made on him, carving him like a piece of property.

        “Mine.” The carving read.

        Fuck. He can’t go to work like this. He needs to go to the bathroom, clean up this wound and jerk one (or maybe a few) off.

        Oh, he’ll get her back for doing this to him.

I'm sorry for the short chapter, the first chapters are always short to get the reader's attention. I don't want to add too much information that'll draw you guys away! This story is gonna be a spicy one featuring NSFW, so beware.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[icarusredwings]

A snippet from a fic series im working on called

"FINDING HOME"

This comes after DOG TAGS. Scott finds Logan in the Professors old office and confronts him about it. Established Poolverine. For those who have read the Jean Grey one, this comes prior to that.

Warning: mentions of character death, cheating, emotional angst, no fluff, no happy ending, unconsentual kiss.

SCOGAN FANS COME GET YOUR FOOD

“Excuse me, you aren't supposed to be in here.” It was as if he had just woken from a dream, picking his head up as he quickly realized that the man he was once crying on was now gone. Vanished out of thin air.

I found you

I found the door

Sitting up, he wiped his tears away, sniffling.

“Why do you care? Where'd the professor go?” He asks, genuinely concerned. It's not like the paralyzed fucker could just get up and walk away. And even if he could. He wouldn't just abandon him here, alone, would he?

The man now crossing his arms scoffed.

“What kind of idiotic question is that? Really, Logan, I thought you would have grown up by now. Stopped with the stupid tricks.”

Just looking at him both pissed him off and made him want to smile. The only one who hasn't a telepath who ever dared try to question him and put him in his place time and time again. Oh, how much he's grown. His stance alone screamed “Tightwad Principal” and it seemed as if Logan had just got himself some after-school detention.

So mature. Such a prick. So… Scott. Done up with a new set of visors, a pure white button up underneath a tacky sweater vest that somehow only ever looked good on him. A pair of ironed brown slacks, shiny black shoes, stupid checkered socks. He even had a school pen in his pocket and a yellow tie. So professional, it made him want to rip it all off of him with his bare teeth and then shred it all so he could never make him feel the way he felt in his stomach ever again.

“Look at you.. finally reached the top, haven't cha?” He muttered under his breath, standing as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“What?? Logan, are you drunk or something? You know there's no outside alcohol on school grounds.” he started but the man wasn't listening at all. God He even smelled like a nerd. Fresh dry cleaning, a cucumber lather shampoo, and a soft hint of Lavender linen.

“What me? No no, I uhm.. I'm sober now…So where is he?”

“Who?” He seemed frustrated.

“The old man. Chuck. Wheels.” He gestured to the chair, looking around the room. Man, maybe they should hire a maid. This place was so dusty.

Scott swallowed, looking away, to the picture up on the wall of multiple classes. “..Gone.”

“Hm. Well. You know what they say. When teach is away the students will play. Heh, right?” He nudged him with his elbow but he only looked at him with slight disgust.

“You dare come into a deadmans office just to joke about him? Tch. You didn't change a bit, did you?” He grumbled.

Logan's eyes widened, his frown returning, but didn't last long.

“Heh… Ha! Good one, Slim! Yeah real funny, I deserve it, but really. Where is he? I wasn't done talking to him.” He leaned on his shoulder, smirking, only to be pushed off.

“None of us were…”

It was at this moment, it hit him.

“What..? H-how!? I was just- He was just-”

Logan had just gotten Charles back, and now he was being told that he- what? Hallucinated his entire conversation with him? Saw a ghost?? No. That isn't right. He felt him touch him. He pet his head and told him he missed him...

But when I stepped through

There was no floor

“He's been gone for a little under a year now, Logan. If you would have shown up to the funeral you would have known that.”

“What? But I-” He's only been in this timeline for about 8 and a half months. “Oh- I… did Hank not tell you? I'm not from this timeline. So.. I thought..”

“You thought since your Professor was still alive, ours would be… Yeah.. I realize that now. Sorry.” The scent of Sand filled the air.

“Right.. except-" His charles was dead too. Perhaps he dreamt it? "Erm nevermind.… So.. How have things been? With the school? It's obvious someone got a big promotion. From teacher's pet to principal, Yeah?” He poked fun at him, something they've always done to each other.

Scott took a deep breath, smiling. Closing the door behind him as he stepped further in to observe the photos on the wall.

“Hard… But we're getting there. Baby steps. Every day we get another problem, another fight that we have to win. Another person trying to bring us down on the news.” Picking up one of the photos, he rubbed over it to expose young faces, blowing the dust away.

Logan smirked, staring at him for a moment.

“You sound just like him.”

“Tch. Yeah right. If I sounded at least half like him, I'd be a way better at convincing kids to stop breaking things or play the floor is lava with actual lava instead of just pretending….and stabbing each other for fun” This last part was trailed off, Glancing at him as if implying for a reason Logan was unaware, it was his fault.

“Oh man! That sounds rough.” He could only imagine trying to deal with a whole school of kids melting the furniture. He hoped the school nurse had a great healing power if he was implying what he thought he was implying. That Laura came here.

“Yeah… would be nice if we could get some extra help..someone…experienced.” Scott didn't move his head, but Logan could tell he was looking at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Like… me?” Logan asks, just now realizing how close they were. Close enough to-

Before he could even react, Scott kissed him. His hand coming behind his head, gripping the back of his head. Setting down the picture, his hand came to logans, about to rub over his knuckle, only to pull away when the claws came out.

Panting a bit, he stared at him, wiping his mouth off as he glared. “What the fuck did you do that for!?”

Holding his arm, Logan had scratched the button up just enough to make small holes in his arm. “What are YOU doing? Are you trying to stab me!?”

“No!- maybe? I-i don't know! Why did you do that?!” He asked again, almost whining. Why now? After all these years, a whole different timeline even, why now!? What was he going to tell Wade?

“Logan, You're coming back. After all these years you're finally coming home. There must be a reason. Right? It's like you said. You even jumped timelines to do it.”

You're coming back

And it's the end of the world

Staring at him in disbelief, Logan shook his head. “You really think…” Starting to chuckle, He put his head In his hand only to groan, looking at him as if he were the insane one.

“You really think.. that I jumped a whole timeline just so you could kiss me in a forbidden corridor? Again!? Summers, I just saved this entire universe! I'm the reason all of this is even still standing!” He growled, watching him step forward, calling his bluff.

Retracting the claws, it was like watching someone take a confident step towards an aggressive dog, only to watch its tail tuck and his ears flatten, licking its lips as it turns away.

“And I'm so proud of you for that.” He whispered.

If he had one, that tucked tail would start to wag at the bottom, a soft grin appearing, quickly shaken off as he turned around. “No- no. We've been through this before. A whole different you. It's just the same. Hell, I don't even know you!”

Moving to stand where his gaze was, Scott whispered. “Yes you do. We both do.”

Thick vanilla cream. A hint of fresh baked buns. The truth. A pure, filling truth.

Logan's eyes softened as he thought. He hated it but he was right. As much as he wanted to deny it, he would stink of gasoline if he said he wasn't thinking about him on the way up here. If he was okay, how much of a kiss ass he used to be (and still was). If this Timelines Wolverine had the same struggles that he did so long ago. And apparently this one was worse. He never even got a kiss from his own Scott.

“No.. I don't. I knew MY scott. I don't know you…I don't know THIS Scott summers.”

But this Scott? He seemed more than eager to see him again. How long has it been? What things were said? What promises were made? How many times did he lie to Jean just to sneak into his room at night? Oh man, Jean.. He couldn't do this again. Not to her, not to anyone. It wasn't fair for him. It wasn't fair period. For either of them. Scott always was the controlling type. Everything in their correct spots and perfectly aligned.

Unfortunately for Logan, relationships were nothing but messy. Always messy. But sometimes messy could be fun when loyalty was always put first. It seems Scott never got the memo.

Shaking his head again, Logan Pushed him away, as tempting as it was to show that man how a real kiss was done, he didn't want to give him any idea that there was hope for them.

“Well then let's start over.” Shifting his weight, he did that stupid little smirk that made Logan want to bite him. Putting his hand out for him to shake, the other went to his pocket.

“Hello. I'm Scott. Scott Summers.”

We're starting over

The cockiness in his voice made his knees want to buckle. To sit on that floor- perhaps even under the professor's desk and- No. No no no. Bad Logan! Bad!

Pulling his hand away. “Sorry Bub. Not happening… I'm getting married. And you-” He poked him in the chest quite hard. “Are already married.” He crossed his arms. “And you really should tell your wife. If I know Jean, she has already seen it and just doesn't want to believe it.”

“Don't talk about our marriage. You don't know anything about it. You don't know anything about real relationships to begin with! All you know is shutting people out and what the bottom of a bottle looks like.” He grumbled, fist tightening.

Logan almost wished he'd hit him just so he had a reason to claw him to pieces… though.. he did admire how rude he was to him.. Hopefully, it had something to do psychologically with pack hiarchy and not a weird sexual thing… but now that he thought about it.. he had quite the type.

“What do you see in him anyway?”

It was clear he touched a nerve. That easily? The man who used to be able to take a hundred insults without even blinking, insecure about his coverup of a marriage. Glaring, Logan gave him a glare that practically begged him to say something about Wade, tripple dog daring him to open his mouth just enough so he could shove a fist in it.

“...He makes me laugh…”

“I can do that-”

“No…No you can't. Not like him, you can't.”

But he continued. “b-Besides. It can be our little secret. Like old times. Remember? You used to love sneaking around.”

“No. I didn't…”

“But It was your idea!”

“We were kids, Scott. Kids! This is serious. Real life. You're married. I'm engaged. That's the end of it. God, you're just like him!” Logan began pacing in circles like a caged animal in the wild, being released only to come right back to the same enclosure.

“Everything revolves around you and your perfect reputation! Do you ever think- Just for A second that maybe that was the only way I knew I'd ever get to have you!? You just couldn't choose me over your made up bullshit, could you? I-” by now he was pointing at him, hurt and angry tears in his eyes. Swallowing, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a voice crack.

“It's not like you didn't hear me say ‘I love you’!.. and I swear I still do.. But it must have been so bad without me because it almost killed you! All of you! And yet you're not sorry. You'll never be sorry for how you treated me all those years!”

And I love you darling

And I am done here

“But I am-”

“No Scott!! You're not!” He growls, not needing his smell to know that this was a lie. He would do it all again if he let him.

“I should have known it wasn't like you to say sorry, But here I am! A fool! Waiting on a different story! I thought this timeline's you would be better but God was I mistaken!! Sorry that clawing out my own heart and handing it to you on a silver platter wasn't good enough for ya, Bub.”

He now pointed at himself. “And now… Now! All these years later. I finally found someone who WILL take care of it. Who will protect if from assholes like you who want to play with it. What am I huh? A toy? Well guess what Scott?!”

Scott sighed, waiting a second as he processed everything he said before shrugging his shoulders. “Are you going to tell me I'm a horrible person because I have feelings I can't understand?”

Logan scoffed, smirking as air blew out of his nose, beginning to chuckle. “No… No no no no, see because if it was just that you would have told your wife already. It's far more then that. You want both but you don't want to share either. Hate to tell ya buddy but i'm not gonna be a steak for you to chew on whenever you get tired of your cake.”

Again he shakes his head. But smiled, his eyes staring into his soul through the visors, inches away from his face. “Because you know what Scott? I do have something to thank you for.

“Thank me? For what?” His head didn't bother move, seeing how worked up he was, moving quickly was a death wish, but he wasn't afraid. Oh no, never. He could never be afraid of him.

“Thanks for reminding me of who I am! Go on! Ask what I mean by that, One-eye.” This word was venomous despite Wolverines having none, Logan made It work.

Another sigh, upset and disappointed, feeling miserable. “..And what is that, Logan?”

“A loyal husband!” He turned to leave. “I'm done here. Goodbye Scott. I was really hoping this time things would be different but you're just an oversized boyscout in this universe too, Aren't Cha? You don't love me. You never have. And after all this time. You haven't changed at all!”

“Wait! Logan I-”

“You don't deserve her! You never did. Probably never will.” He always did need the final word..

“But I love-!”

The door slammed shut.

“... you..”

You're in the house

And I am here in the car

Logan was angry. Hurt. Sad. Confused. Guilty. Was there a word that meant a swirling tornado of feelings that he couldn't control or handle?

Wiping his tears, Logan came down the stairs in a hurry, sniffling as he rushed past anyone who even tried to say his name. Here he was. Tucking and running. He promised he wouldn't but he needed it. He needed to hide. He needed something he could hit and scream at without hurting anyone.

Getting the keys out, he tugged on the door handle multiple times, cursing under his breath as hot tears flooded his face. Finally getting it open, he climbed into the front seat, turning on the radio high enough to drowned out the sound of a man sobbing.

I just need a quiet place

Where I can scream

Gripping the wheel between his hands, he grit his teeth, heaving as he began to hit the steering wheel of their old truck, shaking it as he screamed. Slowly, it died down into more of a whimper. A mewl of desperation as he laid his head on the wheel, letting his tears fall. He was so angry and yet.. had no rage.

Just saltiness in the air as it began to rain, the trickling noises of the rain hitting the top of the car making a symphony of water droplets to cover up the sound of those that were falling inside the car.

How much I love…

Still standing in that office, Alone, Scott looked at the picture again, remembering that day of when he and Logan first met. No.. he was never afraid that he'd hurt him. Not physically anyway.. never caring about his sharp remarks and their childish banter. A tear fell onto the glass, landing directly on his much younger but never clean shaven face.

The only thing he was ever afraid of…

Was losing him.

..You.

[laylaysdelusions]

Cherry

Azzi fudd x reader

Plot: a pretty and dominant girl feeds you a cherry in a dinner

The wind blows making you shiver. When the heat winds down so do you. You walk into the red dinner that’s you’ve been inside. A good stawberry milkshake feels right. The little bell dings as you enter.

You quickly feel a pair of eyes on you so you glance over. You see a stunning curly headed woman making eye contact with you. You break the contact suddenly in hopes of not getting distracted. “A stawberry milkshake please” you request at the black and white checkered counter. “That’ll be 4.90” the woman says. You pay the cheap price and receive your drink cheerfully.

As you look around for an empty seat you see it’s pretty cleared out. Just an old couple and what seems to be a their grandchild and ofc the beautiful woman from before. You feel her eyes on you again. Something draws you to her it’s like she’s magical.

You step your way over to her and decide to introduce yourself. “Hi..” you say with an awkward smile. “Hi pretty thing” she says and when her voice hits your ears your knees grow weak. The pet name makes it all even sweeter.

“You should probably pick up your jaw or it might stay that way” she says with her brown eyes looking directly into yours. “I’m Azzi by the way” she speaks with such smoothness it makes your cheeks turn the color of the cherry on your drink. You tell her your name with enthusiasm.

“Come sit down next to me” Azzi tells you and of course you don’t hesitate. You have never seen someone so stunning before. “Stawberry girl huh?” She refers to the milkshake in front of you. “Yeah it’s my favorite” you tell Azzi with a shy smile. She chuckles and plucks the cherry off the top. You turn your face towards her, confused. She takes your bottom lip and opens your mouth. She drags the cherry between your teeth. You know for sure your face had to have been as red as the cherry itself.

The light from the window falls over her face, leaving the perfect cast. “There you go, good girl” Azzi warmly whispers to you.

First azzi fic<3