#but i guess there always has to be a first

[writing-prompt-s]

"Hey god?" "Yes, Larry?" "You existed before the universe, right? And supposedly always existed?" "Yes, that's true." "What was infinity like, before you made the universe?" "Ah. Not one human has asked me that before. Well, I guess it's time I tell someone about before the first 7 days."

[slapmeshigaraki]

౨ৎ "Are you scared, sweetheart?" ౨ৎ

♡ warnings: meanie!sylus x reader, spit, gunplay, daddy, condescension, improper evol use lmao, actually pretty tame ngl the dirty talk is kinda gross though, sylus is out of character in this in case that bothers you

♡ a/n: okay i lied and said i wasn't posting this until later in the week, but i finished editing it early so... idk happy valentine's day i guess. another old fic that i just edited. enjoy pretties !!

♡ Sylus doesn't ask you for much other than to leave him alone for a few hours on Sundays so he can clean his gun collection, but after a few interruptions too many, he decides that you can stick around just this once. Afterall, maybe you can help? ♡

“What is it?” he said after letting out a deep sigh, not bothering to look up at you through the lenses of his glasses. They sat loosely against the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his lap, softly polishing one of his most prized possessions: a gun. You weren’t sure whose death he’d pictured on the other end of it, but he treated it like the last bite of dessert, savoring it, keeping it hidden away for a special occasion. No one could touch it, look at it, breathe on it, except him. When Luke and Kieran gave you your first tour of the house, they wouldn’t even walk you down the hallway of the safe, scared that ‘Boss would smell your scents when he returned.’ It wasn’t until months later when he’d decided that your firearm wasn’t up to par any longer that he’d invited you in to 'shop' for a new one. That’s when you saw it, hung up on the wall in a glass case so high that only he could reach. It was wrapped in a fine silk fabric, a pristine black cherry gun whose make or model was so far beyond your pay grade that you’d never heard of it before.

Every Sunday he disappears into the safe for hours before dinner. He was not to be disturbed. It was the only thing that he was really particular about, but he needed it just to clear his head—some solace after a long week. So, the fact that you were interrupting him for the third time with a knock on the door was grating, to say the least.

“Nothing I just-“

“Is something on fire, darling?”

“No, Sylus.”

“Has someone managed to break into the house?”

“No.”

“Has Mephisto spontaneously combusted, leaving a feather lodged into one of your eyes?”

“No.”

“So, you can clearly see that I’m busy? Then I’ll ask again, what is it that you need?” His eyes still wouldn’t meet yours, eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, his tone strained.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted rice or mashed potatoes for dinner, but since you’re so caught up in tending to an inanimate object, I’ll decide for you.” He was snippier than usual, the darkening of his voice making it obvious he was not in the mood for witty banter.

“Be careful there, sweetheart. I’d hate for that pretty mouth to get you into trouble.”

“Or what? Will you get trigger happy and let that precious gun go off? No, of course not because we must keep it clean for a hypothetical threat that doesn’t fucking exist.”

“Kneel.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion. It was a command, an order barked at an underling.

“Go fuck yourself,” You said, venom in your voice as you made a move back towards the door, hand clenched around the golden handle.

“If you make me get up to come catch you sweetheart, you’ll be sorry.” His eyes met yours for the first time, a fiery crimson illuminating your line of vision. His gaze was dark, challenging you to disobey him. When Sylus told someone to do something, they did it and you were no exception. You might bite back once in a while, but he always knew that you’d do what he told you to at the end of the day.

So, you kneeled, perhaps too slowly because it wasn’t before long that your knees were forced to buckle beneath you, Sylus making good use of his evol to bind your ankles together. The cool marble tile flooring chilled your flesh as your heartbeat ran wild, your mouth getting wetter with each second, practically drooling as if you were waiting to sink your teeth into your favorite meal. In the same breath, your hands were bound as well, moved behind your back against your will and stuck together like glue.

“Go on, crawl to me.” There was amusement staining his expression, a sinister smirk plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Can’t you get to me? A big strong girl like you with such a dirty mouth, surely you can move just a few feet on your own.” You relaxed your legs, letting your knees spread apart to rest them.

“I can’t…” You mumbled under your breath, unable to meet his glare any longer.

“Speak up, pet. You were so loud a few moments ago. Speak to me with that same tough voice now that you can't run away from me.” His slender fingers kept moving, cleaning the trophy with such grace. It was rhythmic, methodical, and calculated. It made you wet just to watch him, reminding you of how easily those same fingers could make you fall apart in his arms.

“I can’t move.”

“You can’t move?” he whined, pouting, mocking you without remorse.

“Well, I want you kneeling in front of me. So how do you suggest you get over here, sweetie?”

“Sylus…” You pled, which was slightly better than flat out begging.

“Tsk tsk, where are our manners?” The same red mist that bound your wrists and ankles now curled around your throat, not hesitating to squeeze abruptly, threatening to rob you of all of your air altogether.

“Please sir, help me.” Without letting another second pass, you were pulled into the air and inched over to him by the mist, roughly thrown back to the ground before him. His legs were spread in his seated position, gun resting on one, the other resting between your thighs.

“Thank you,” You said, hanging your head to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Aw, so polite. See what happens when you ask nicely? See how sweet I can be when you aren't a fucking brat?” With that, his foot adjusted, the tip of his perfectly polished leather shoe gently pressed against your core. You struggled not to writhe against him, desperately needing some form of friction to soothe the ache between your legs.

“Look at me, darling.” You did. The fervent desire in your eyes obvious, bottom lip bloody from biting it so hard, restraining yourself from any more unnecessary commentary.

“You look so needy like this, my foot pressed against your cunt, pouting underneath me. You look like you want to ask me for something? What is it, baby? Do you need something from your daddy, hm?” A whine fell from between your lips against your control as you tensed your legs, begging them not to move without permission.

“Please can I- can you fuck me please?”

“Can I fuck you? Do you think that I should dirty myself--” the hold on your neck tightened once more, “by fucking someone so pathetic that they’re getting off at the thought of grinding on my leg? Someone who can’t go a few hours without my attention shouldn’t get my cock inside of them. Someone like that shouldn’t get to feel my cum filling them up and spilling out of their tight little holes. They shouldn’t get to feel daddy’s tongue cleaning them up, kissing and sucking every inch on their pretty little pussy, should they?” You couldn’t get yourself to say no, but you knew yes wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so you stayed quiet. The cool sensation of metal burned your skin in an instant, tilting your jaw up, forcing your vision toward to ceiling, your eyes getting lost in the gold detailing of the mural above. Silence filled the space between you two, the only sound to be heard was the quickening of your heartbeat and the flip of the gun’s safety that was pressed against your flesh. A lump grew in your throat at the noise. You could feel the sole of his shoe pressing into you even more, gently moving back and forth as you bit your lip again.

“Let me hear you, baby. Tell daddy how good it feels, go on.”

“Th- Thank you daddy. That feels so good.”

“Say ‘thank you daddy for making my cunnie feel good.” You whined at the request, embarrassment causing tears to prick and sting at the corners of your eyes.

“You don’t want to use your words? How ungrateful.” It wasn’t long before the coolness against your jaw was gone. You dropped your gaze to look at him once again. The man before you was starved, his face void any sign of amusement. You wondered if this is what his prey felt when he looked at them, a lamb waiting to be eaten by the lion, forced to let him play with his food before he could be thoroughly satiated. He put the barrel of the gun against your lips now, his thumb languidly dancing on the trigger.

“Open up for me. Let me see that pretty tongue.” You hesitantly stuck your tongue out, the spit that had been building up in your mouth finally free to drip onto the metal as he pushed the barrel against the back of your throat. Your eyes widened at the sensation, the realization that his prized possession was being soiled by your drool far too humiliating. The tears flowed freely now. Your cheeks grew damp as you cried out against the obstruction in your mouth.

“Aw sweetheart, are you crying? Do you want to push your hips against me? Will that make your cunnie feel better?” You nodded, sniffling softly as you shifted uncomfortably, the realization that you couldn’t move at all finally catching up with you.

“Go ahead, hump my leg. You have permission. Make yourself feel good for daddy.” You tried to do as he asked, moving your hips slowly back and forth, the ache only growing in between your legs, but all you could think about was how dirty that gun was getting your mouth. Sobs fell from your lips now. His face contorted slightly at your cries.

“M-s-sorry daddy,” You struggled out, words muffled by the metal. He slowly pulled the gun out of your mouth,

“Are you scared, sweetheart? Is that why you’re dirtying this pretty face with tears, hm?” You felt his skin for the first time against yours, his free hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb making small circles on your flesh.

“No I just… I hate that I’m getting your gun dirty. I know how much you care about it. I’m sorry I just can’t stop drooling on it.” His fingers softly pressed under your eyes, catching the tears.

“Your spit is the sweetest thing I could use to clean this gun. It’s just an inanimate object, huh?" he said, being sure to use your choice of words exactly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl.” As he spoke, your wrists and ankles fell freely, the stress on your throat lifting as the red mist fell away.

“Come up here,” he said, fingers beckoning for you to stand and sit in his lap, your back pressed against his warm and muscular chest. Hooking his arm under your knee, he spread your legs apart, resting your ankle over the arm of the chair. His fingers wasted no time finding their way beneath your skirt, softly pulling the satin fabric of your panties to the side as he slipped a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh my god,” You moaned out desperately as he hummed in amusement.

“I’m jealous. Your god is getting all of the praise, but I’m the one that's making this pussy leak all over my fingers. That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

“Fuck, daddy thank you.” His pace quickened, every inch of his long and slender fingers making you gasp and writhe beneath his touch as you bucked against his palm.

“You are very welcome sweet girl. Next time you want daddy’s attention, you can just ask and we can skip all the theatrics, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Aw, ‘yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy.'” Such pretty words from such a dirty mouth. The same mouth that stained my gun, isn’t that right?” he said. You threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, your wetness forming a spot on the fine fabric of his pants as you felt his cock growing beneath you. It only made you squirm more at the thought of its thickness filling you up after being empty throughout this whole ordeal.

“Relax for me.” This was the only warning you got before you felt that same cool metal slide between your folds, the ridges of the firearm serving as a new source of friction to grind on before Sylus slid his finger out of your walls, replacing it with the tip of the gun against your entrance. He felt you tense up immediately in his grasp.

“No no no,” he said, thumb gently caressing your inner thigh, his touch burning you with ease.

“Relax baby. Let daddy’s pussy open up for him, hm? I just want that sweet little hole’s juices to cleanse my gun thoroughly.” Your mouth hung open, moans escaping as he spoke. Your head rested against his shoulder, hair messily rubbing against his shirt. He pressed his soft lips against your forehead.

“That’s it, puppy. Gooood fucking girl, you're taking it so well for me, huh sweetheart?” his fingers found your clit once more, melting away any tension. Slowly, the tip of the gun pushed its way between your tender walls, your flesh clenching around it tightly, making it hard for him to slide it in and out of you.

“That’s a greedy pussy, isn’t it— holding onto anything that it can, my fingers, my cock, my tongue, my gun. She just wants to be filled, hm? She just loves daddy so much that anything he puts inside, she doesn’t want to let go of?”

“Y-yes daddy, she loves you. Please please please keep touching her.” So, he did. Slowly but surely, he pushed the metal in and out, salivating as he watched the way your flesh gripped on to the tip before he’d shove it back inside.

“Fuck--you wanna cum for me? Gonna make a big mess all over daddy’s gun, sweetheart? How fucking filthy,” You nodded as Sylus’s rough hands gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. Without warning, his spit filled your open mouth, slowly dripping from between your lips, coating your chest.

“Don’t swallow it. Keep my spit in your mouth when you cum for me. Stick your tongue out and cum all over me like a good little puppy,” He sped up even more now, the tip of the gun pushing against that spot inside of you that made your body heat up like white lightning that was trapped in a bottle and begging to be let out. He hit that spot over and over again, making your head fuzzy as he held your gaze captive with his scarlet eyes.

“Daddy—fuck—please, I don’t think I can take it.” You panicked, your hand desperately reaching for his wrist, hoping for some freedom from the incessant pleasure only for the mist to trap you once again, binding your hands up above your head and around Sylus’s neck, pressing your bodies even closer together.

“Shit—you’re so wet, you’re making a puddle in my lap. Are you gonna squirt around my gun, baby?” He said, emphasizing his point with a sharp push of the metal against you g-spot.

“No I- I can’t. It’s too embarrassing please don’t make me.”

“Come on, listen to your daddy and let go all over me. Squirt, cum, cry, I don’t care, but I’m gonna pull it all out of you either way. So, give it to me, it’s mine. I worked so hard for it,” he said, fingers finding their way into your open mouth, but you didn’t dare close your lips around them, just letting the spit drip down onto yourself and he bullied your pussy over and over again until you just couldn’t take it anymore. Tears streamed from your eyes once more as you let go. Your wetness spilled all over his lap, pulling guttural screams from your throat that were muffled by his hands.

“Good girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for daddy, baby. Poor baby, so pent up. It must feel so good to let go now, huh?” Streams of ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’ echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed against his grasp. He pressed his full lips to your face again as he pulled his finger and his firearm from your holes slowly. You watched him with tired eyes, as you were covered in your own wetness. The gun dripped with your juices, but he wasted no time putting the metal to his own mouth this time, flattening his tongue against the barrel of the gun and licking it clean.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart. Maybe you should let you help me clean my guns more often.” Dazed, and far too exhausted to protest, you closed your eyes, resting your head against him once again, your hands finally free. He pressed small kisses against your sweaty face, gently brushing any hair from your skin before you spoke up again.

“T-thank you, Sylus.”

“The pleasure is all mine, pretty girl.”

[deathlygristly]

Weird autistic person who has been very happily married for almost 22.5 years here.

I've never really gotten this whole thing. Asexual I can get, but I could never get a clear read on what aromantic was about.

So the spousal person is also autistic, and his special interest for the last five years has been Korean dramas. The majority of them are romcoms, and often at some point one of the lead couple will say something about not being friends anymore.

I never understood this and the spousal person always laughs at me saying "That doesn't make any sense!" Because if you're not friends anymore once you start dating, in my brain that means no more talking or hanging out. It means just sex, without any talking or emotional support or spending any non-sex time together. It's like a hookup with a stranger from an app.

So the spousal person, the wonderful human that he is, thought about it for a while and he came up with this way to explain it.

He said that my view of relationships is like an ever increasing ring, where each step includes the step before it. So in my view, dating/marriage includes friendship and just adds physical intimacy and more combining of administrative life stuff and more emotional closeness to the relationship.

Then he said that in the kdramas the characters see relationships more like a radio dial, and that going from friendship to dating is more like turning the dial and moving along the spectrum from the friend channel to the dating channel to the married channel, and each channel is its own thing. He said that their culture displays this by using so many different titles to address each other based on relationship, whereas our culture generally just calls people by their first name.

I guess my point is that it's cultural and personal and I guess I never really got what aromantic meant because my personal view was never in conflict with a cultural view that I was exposed to. The kdramas were really my first experience of people talking about a clear separation between friendship and romance.

i’m not aromantic but i believe in their beliefs

[henry7931]

Billy’s College Adventure Part 3

Samuel:

“Good Morning,” says Billy to me from my body.I almost have to do a double take after seeing myself laying next to me.

“Morning,” I say with a grin.

“So it’s Saturday, what do you have planned for us Mr. Bodythief?,”

“Well you’re gonna just have to dressed to find out,” I say back.

“Booooo!!!”

I stand up and Billy tosses a pillow at me.

“Relax! I’ll tell you more, let’s just get ready,” I say winking at him.

We both get dressed and it took all of my energy not to ask him if we could hook up in the shower.

I’m starting to really like Billy but I have this weird thing about getting too attached to a guy. Especially with the assholes I’ve dated in the past. I’ve just been burned too many times although Billy seems different…

I don’t know…I just don’t want him to think I’m too clingy. Which I now realize is an oxymoron since we are literally in each other’s bodies.

Anyways enough about my feels.

Billy and I head back to my apartment.

“This place looks familiar,” says Billy sarcastically.

“It’s not much especially compared to your place but it’s my temporary home,” I say back.

“Ohhh come this isn’t bad at all!”

“Billy you’re in a full ass house,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m just the rich privileged kid.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least aware,” I say pushing your shoulder.

“So what’s the game plan? Are we just gonna stand around in your apartment?”

“ No. I need the book that my great uncle left me.”

I head into my room and open up my closet. I grab the book from the top shelf.

“So Billy, are you ready to put your powers to test?”

“Geez, I think so.”

“Good!”

I start scrolling through the book digging for the part where it talks about the power of having to swappers.

“Here it is!”

I’d start skimming through it and get to a specific part.

I start reading aloud, “ one swapper is powerful, but their abilities can be limited… but with two swappers now that’s some real power. Rarely in our culture you will see two swappers who are capable of getting along… But if two swappers can conjoin powers together, they can do some really interesting things. For instance, swapping and creating a new reality . Two swappers have the ability to swap two individuals bodies, and change the perception of reality where both individuals think that the body they are in has always been their body. Essentially, neither one of them know that they are swapped and everyone else around them thinks that has been their body the whole time.”

I stopped reading for a second and look up a Billy to see what his thoughts were about what I just read.

“ are you gonna keep going?”

“ well yeah, what do you think though?”

“ I think that’s pretty freaking cool. I mean it could be a little bit messed up, but I’m kind of interested to try it.”

“ Really? Are you 100% sure?”

“ yeah let’s do it!”

I continue to read the rest of the page and I get through all of the instructions.

“ OK Billy, now we have to find some guinea pigs.”

“ I mean, should we start with someone we know or try it with a stranger first?”

“ Well I think I controlled environment would be best. Somewhere where we cant let them walk away and lose them immediately after the swap.”

“Smart!”

“ I’m a genius right? Also, Billy, this doesn’t have to be the first one we try.”

“Wait, what else can two swappers do?”

“Do you want me to tell you about all the other swap powers or can I jump right to the one I really want to try?”

"HOW MANY MORE ARE THERE?!?"

"Let's start with this one, third party possession. Or I like to call it-- a person puppet. Basically one of us can take over someone body without leaving the one we are in habiting. It's like two bodies at once."

"Does that person know that you or I have taken over their body?"

"No... I have read this one over a couple of times now. Basically they will be in a unaware state while one of us are in control."

"Okay, I guess that one sounds less chaotic. Who should we try it on?"

I thought about it for a minute and then I had someone in mind. I peaked out at the window to see if my neighbor was home.

"I got someone who could work," I say with a mischievous grin.

“Who?”

“My neighbor Reid, you’ll like him or at least his body lol.”

“Wait am I going to possess him?!?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.”

“Fuck, fine! Let’s do this!!”

I grab Billy’s or I guess my hands and say, “I want you to focus. Thinking about all of your powers almost like you’re about to swap with someone, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Now close your eyes and picture a part of yourself floating out of my body, not all of yourself… just a part.”

“Okay…”

“Can you see it?”

It takes a minute for Billy to focus but then I see our hands and they start glowing a bit.

“I can see it,” he says softly.

“Great, now picture that second half of you floating out the window to the house door.”

Billy’s closed eyes move shut.

“I’m in the neighbor’s house… I can see everything inside. Wait, I hear someone… sleeping… now I’m in his room. Holy shit! I can see him!!”

“Really?!? Now Billy this is what you’re going to do next, float into him. Doesn’t matter how you do it.”

Billy’s eyes spring open and he says, “I’m in him. I feel his body… it’s so strange Sam. I’m him and I’m me.”

“Well come on over lol!”

“Okay one sec.”

A few minutes later and our front door swings open. It’s my neighbor’s body.

“What’s up you sexy fellas!!”

I turn to Billy and then back at Reid’s body as they are both grinning cheek to cheek.

I watch as Billy coordinates Reid’s body over to a chair.

“Look at these muscles Sam!,” says Reid’s body

“Fuck this is so hot! I’m watching myself control him, it’s like I can do some kind of strange role play. Wait a minute!!”

Reid’s body tugs off his tank top and then his shoes and socks.

He stares down at the giant feet and says, “they’re big.”

I watch as he picks up foot and smells it. He rubs Reid face all over his massive foot.

“This is so wrong but I’m so turned on. You’re gonna either have to watch or join us.”

Billy still in my body walks over to the giant hunk and reaches into his shorts.

They say in unison, “that feels good.”

I was starting to get hard just watching both bodies interact. Billy started running my hands over Reid’s muscles.

He pulls off Reid shorts and underwear. His dick comes out and both of us marvel at the giant cock.

“Let’s take turns with it,” he says from Reid’s body. “Shit I meant to say that from your body!”

We both laugh and I say, “All good lol, bedroom?”

“Great idea! You fellas are gonna have fun with me aren’t you? Especially this giant cock!,” says Reid’s body standing up while shaking his dick.

“Yes sir,” I say to him.

Billy picks me up in Reid’s arms and carries me to my bed.

We all three climb in and Billy asks me, “could you tend Reid’s junk.”

“Sure!!”

I grab onto the massive dick girthy dick. It’s surprising to see just how big it is.

“Are you gonna just stare it or suck it?,” says Reid’s body.

I turn to Billy down by Reid’s feet. He’s giggling and says, “sorry, I have two hard dick right now!”

I try to take as much of Reid’s I could fit in my mouth. It’s just so big. I get the entire thing wet and use a hand to work the shaft and his big hairy balls.

Billy on the other hand pulls off my pants and begins using Reid’s feet for a foot job.

Both of them moan in unison and say, “FUCK! You have no idea how amazing this feels!!”

I pump Reid’s dick faster and faster…

Both of them moan louder and louder….

Billy in my body reaches up under his ass cheeks and fondles his my body’s cock for me.

“LET ME FINISH IN MY MOUTH PLEASE SAM!,” he screams out.

I’m forcing Billy’s throat down on Reid’s dick.

Both of them scream out, “FUCKKKKKKKK!!!!”

That’s when rounds of cum squirt down my throat. It fills my throat and I can’t take anymore.

I look down at Reid’s dick and it’s still pouring more and more out.

Billy in my body cums all over Reid’s feet both of them grinning.

I fall back on the bed and both my body and Reid’s body with Billy still in control use themselves to give me every inch of pleasure.

Billy in my body climbs to my face and start making out. He twist’s his actual body’s sensitive nipples. Meanwhile Reid’s body sucking me off and tickling Billy body’s ballsack.

I can’t only take so much before I blew my load into Reid’s mouth…

All three or two… I don’t know… we just lay back cuddled up.

I turn to Billy in my body and say, “That was amazing.”

Billy grins and says, “we are definitely going to try this again!”

[merlucide]

THE MIYA SIBLINGS…

Oh your absolutely insufferable, stupid, annoying brothers (..that you guess.. you kinda love..) drive you freakin’ bonkers! Life as a first-year with two obnoxious third-year brothers isn’t easy, and yet, somehow, every day is its own brand of chaos. So, what does an average day in the Miya household look like? Well… here’s a glimpse.

pairings: Miya twins x youngersister!reader (NOT SHIP)

type: Headcannons/blurbs + SMAU (texts, twt)

genre: crack, fluff, comfort

key: y/n = your name n/n = nickname

warnings: cursing, the twins embarrassing reader, reader has no friends lmao, shit/piss mentions, the twins being pervs (yk that tho)

—————————————————————————

Everyone at Inarizaki knew the Miya twins. And then they found out about the Miya siblings.

When you first came to Inarizaki, walking around with their man (aka Atsumu and Osamu), the Miya fangirls immediately took notice. At first, they thought you were a girlfriend—until they learned the shocking truth: the Miya twins have a younger sister?!

That’s when the befriending attempts began. They’d wait outside your classroom, invite you to lunch, and you honestly thought they ?? just really wanted?? To be friends you?? It felt really nice!

But the moment they opened their mouths, it was all, “Eeeeeek! Your brothers are soooo hot!!!”

And you were just like, ‘oh’ ‘🧍‍♀️😑’

 Yeah those ‘friendships’ did not last very long… 

—-And obviously you were popular with amongst the boys. The Miya curse I fear. Samu did nawt approve of your new popularity lol. Tsumu was jealous that people were talking about YOU and not HIM lmao— tho tsumu LOVES bragging about you/showing you off. He’s like ‘oh yeah my baby sister can do this!—‘ ‘welll MYYY sister can do that better than YOURRR sister’

Anywho the twins love having you at the same school!!! Atsumu always stops by your class during breaks either to talk to you or just piss you off lmao. Osamu ends up being your unofficial walking schedule lol (not that surprising tbh) ‘Ain’t ya supposed to be in the library?’ ‘Didn’t ya say ya had a quiz today?’ ‘Why are ya here? Don’t ya got PE?’ He flicks your forehead (affectionate) and is like ‘get to class’ 🙄+😐

(You got him his bowl)

When it comes to typical overprotective older sibling behavior, Osamu takes the crown. He’ll literally insert himself into any conversation you have with a guy—every. single. time. It’s actually the worst. He will embarrass you and terrify the guy. One time a guy came over, all confident trying to talk to you. Before you could even react, Osamu literally stepped in front of you, staring the guy down like he was an inconvenience to his entire existence.

Then with the most uninterested, deadpan expression ever, he just like ‘no’

He won’t let anything start 😒 you def ignore him after he pulls shit like that. He dgaf tho lmao

Atsumu, on the other hand, is like your wingman, sorta.. He hypes up your crushes, encourages the flirting… but the second things actually start progressing (ex:lovey-dovey texts, potential boyfriend territory, lingering touches), he’s suddenly all up in your business—and the poor guy’s too. He’ll casually throw an arm around both you and the guy, all smiles, and go, ‘So, how’s it goin’?😁’

you’re glaring daggers at him your eyes screaming ‘Tsumu, istg I’m gonna kill you’ and the guy’s practically slithering away while you whisper-scream at Atsumu while he acts all innocent. Oooooor he’ll just shriek and yank you away saying how ‘yer too little for boys’, while glaring at said guy.

But if you ever wanna hang out with anyone he’ll try to set smth up for ya!! (As long as he approves of who)

Osamu is nawt good at trying to show his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are quality time, acts of service, and physical touch (sorta, he’s not rlly good at it but wants to be close yk?). Like he won’t initiate (most the time) but if you hug him he’ll hug you back. He just like asks if you want him to take you somewhere or smth. He shows his care for ya n tsumu by making food all the time, it’s what he’s good at and loves, and loves that you both love it. He also always wants to be there for ya. Samu is great emotional support, he doesn’t say a lot but says EXACTLY what you need to hear. Will just sit with you and let you get what you need off your chest. He’ll put his arm around you and rub up and down. 

Atsumu is very unique at showing his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, and quality time. When you were little Atsumu and Osamu would both hold your hand when you would walk around, and when you got older and wouldn’t hold his hand anymore he was so sad 😭🙏 he’s a hugger, but he’s still your older brother, so he’ll like mess your hair up then hug you lmao. Always asks if you wanna practice with him, he always feels cool teaching you something new :)

Atsumu is also your number one hype man like if you ever feel like you can’t do smth tsumu has a whole list of just exactly why/how you can. He’s not even trying to make you feel better it’s what he genuinely believes :)

Oh and they are both way too invested in any drama you’re involved in/even just aware of. The second you run into the room and announce, “I’ve got tea,”they’re already locked in, heads propped on their hands, eyes wide like you’re about to deliver the most important news of their lives.

‘Spill NOW’

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tags: @sharkissm @someprettyname @fishii28 @shrii-kk

well this is all I have for Miya siblings rn 😔😔 tumblr will only let me upload 30 images, I had more 🧍‍♀️🙏

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I do!! I love Miya siblings so much ughhhh I wish they were my older brothers sooo bad it HURTs

lemme know what you think!!!! I LOVE FEEDBACK!!

—————————————————————————

made February 11th 2025

[ivoraic]

Stay with me (Even if it kills you)

pairing: gojo x reader | wc: 6.6k

summary: Gojo kidnaps you after he kills all the higher ups. He says it's to keep you safe. But love like this always ends in ruin.

cw: psychological horror, dead dove, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, non-con, graphic violence, dead dove, self-harm, major character death, mental deterioration. did i mention dead dove

an: MDNI. definitely a little different from what i usually post. you will probably cry while reading. i cried while writing it. read on ao3

Month 0

You wake up to silence.

The kind of silence that feels unnatural, thick and unmoving. There’s no hum of your bedroom heater, no distant city noise filtering through the window, no comfort of the world outside. Just the cold, creeping awareness of your own body, the dull ache at the base of your skull, the sluggish heaviness in your limbs, the strange pressure around your wrist.

Something isn’t right.

Your eyes flutter open. The ceiling above you is unfamiliar. Plain white, a single overhead light casting dim, yellowed shadows across the room. The air is stale, carrying the faint scent of dust, something metallic, something wrong. The space around you is small, claustrophobic. There’s a bed beneath you, a nightstand, a table close enough to reach. The walls are bare. No windows.

You try to move, but you feel a sudden resistance. The cold bite of metal against your wrist.

Your pulse spikes instantly, panic setting in. You yank your arm, and the chain rattles in response, a sharp, awful sound in the quiet. Your breath catches as you follow its path, the gleaming silver links stretching from your wrist to the leg of the low wooden table beside you.

No, no, no-

Your fingers tremble as you pull again, harder this time, but the metal doesn’t budge. The realization crashes over you in jagged, gasping pieces. It’s not a dream. Not a nightmare. Real. Real. Real.

And then you see him.

Satoru sits against the far wall.

He’s still in his uniform, the fabric stained dark in places where blood has dried. His blindfold is gone, leaving his eyes fully exposed. It’s too bright, too sharp, too unhinged against the dim room.

His hair is a mess, matted, strands sticking to his forehead where sweat and blood have dried. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, but there’s something off about it, like he’s still riding the high of something unspeakable.

He hasn’t moved since you woke up. Hasn’t spoken.

Just sits there. Watching.

Your breath trembles as you stare at him, words tangled in your throat.

And for a moment, you don’t understand.

For a moment, you forget the cold metal around your wrist. You don’t notice the blood staining his uniform, the eerie stillness of his body.

Because all you can think of is a memory. A summer day, long ago.

("Here, try this."

You had pressed a small candy into his palm, grinning as he eyed it with suspicion.

"What is it?" he asked, rolling it between his fingers.

"My favorite. But if you say you don’t like it, I’m never speaking to you again."

Gojo had laughed, tipping his head back dramatically. "Oh no, anything but that." He popped it into his mouth, humming as the sugary sweetness melted on his tongue. His eyes softened, his expression one of quiet delight.

"It tastes like you."

The words had left him so naturally, so effortlessly, that you had barely registered them at first. But then your face grew warm, and Gojo had grinned at your reaction, nudging you with his shoulder teasingly as the summer sun bathed you both in warmth.

"Guess I’ll have to stock up on these, huh?")

“…Satoru?” Your voice comes out weak, hoarse. You don’t know why you use his name like that, like it’s still yours to say, like things are still normal. “Where… where am I?”

His pupils are blown wide, the blue of his irises swallowed by the darkness of his dilated pupils. Not normal. Not him. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but something like the memory of one.

“You’re safe,” he says, ignoring your question.

You flinch. Your body knows something is wrong, even if your mind is still struggling to catch up. He notices the faint movement, his lips pressing together before he exhales slowly, almost like he’s trying to be patient.

“I had to do it,” he murmurs, tilting his head back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. His hands are too still in his lap. “You get that, don’t you? The higher-ups, the elders… old bastards playing God while people like us bled for them.”

There’s something off about the way he speaks, like he’s explaining something obvious, something undeniable.

Your stomach twists. Your throat is so dry it hurts. “What did you do?”

Gojo finally looks at you again. You wish for his gaze to be directed anywhere else.

“I saved you,” he says simply.

You don’t move.

His voice drops lower, quieter, almost affectionate. “They’re gone now.”

The words settle like lead in your stomach. Gone.

Your breath stutters. “Gone…?”

You shift back instinctively, but the chain rattles again, reminding you of its presence.

His lips part, and for a moment, you think he’s about to reassure you, tell you that everything’s fine, that this is just some horrible misunderstanding.

But instead, he tilts his head, smiling faintly.

"You’re scared of me."

The words aren’t a question. He’s simply stating a fact.

Your throat tightens.

"I did this for us," he continues, voice slow, deliberate. "You don’t have to worry anymore. No one can hurt you. No one can take you from me. I took care of everything."

Gojo’s fingers brush over his uniform absently, and only then do you notice the dried blood under his nails.

"You don’t need to be scared," he murmurs.

Satoru shifts, pushing off the wall with an easy, unhurried motion. His movements are smooth, like he has all the time in the world.

You flinch as he steps forward, every slow, steady footfall ringing too loud in the quiet room. Your back presses further into the headboard, fingers curling into the sheets, but there’s nowhere to go.

He crouches in front of you, close, too close, the warmth of his presence bleeding into your skin. He tilts his head slightly, studying you the way one might observe something delicate, something fragile. His voice is quiet when he speaks again.

"See?" he murmurs, reaching out. "You don’t have to cry."

His fingers graze your cheek, thumb swiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. His touch is warm, gentle. You feel sick.

His expression softens, his lips parting like he wants to say something else.

Like he truly believes this is love.

“I lost everything,” he eventually says, almost to himself. “But I still have you.”

“You’ll understand soon.” His voice is almost sweet now, almost normal. “Just be good for me, and we’ll be happy.”

Your blood runs cold.

/

"Stay still," he rasps, breath hitching. His forehead presses to yours, sweat dripping onto your lashes. Blood smears where your bodies are joined.

It hurts. His hips jerk involuntarily, sinking another inch, and you scream.

"Fuck-" He’s gripping you so firmly, nails carving crescents into your hips. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m-" His breath hitches as your walls flutter around him weakly.

You feel him press you tighter to him as he nears his finish.

"Mine," he grunts, burying his face into your shoulder. Cum floods inside you in hot, violent spurts, his hips grinding deep to pump every drop into your quivering womb.

He collapses on top of you, dazed fingers tracing the curve of your belly, sticky with your combined mess. "...Take root. Let me feel it."

He takes you 2 more times to make sure.

Month 3

The door is unlocked.

You stare at it.

At first, you think it’s a trick. A test, a mind game, something cruel designed to break you further. It has to be. Your pulse quickens, hands twitching at your sides, instincts screaming at you to run.

But you don’t. Not yet.

The chain around your wrist had been the first to go, within the first month, when he realized you weren’t stupid enough to try anything reckless. Then, just a week ago, he had started leaving doors inside the house unlocked, granting you access to the rest of the space, as if that meant anything at all.

You remember how he had sat beside you on the bed, his voice low, almost absentminded as he toyed with the ends of your hair.

"You don’t fight me anymore."

The words had settled deep in your stomach, wrong and suffocating, bile creeping up your throat. You had stayed silent, too exhausted to recoil, too numb to pull away when his fingers traced down to the nape of your neck, pressing lightly, as if mapping something fragile beneath his touch.

"You’re so good for me now."

His hand had lingered for just a second too long before finally pulling away.

"I can trust you, right?"

You hate it. Hate him. But still, you couldn’t stay in that claustrophobic room forever. You wandered around the house many times, memorizing the layout. There wasn’t much worth noting. Nothing that could be turned into a makeshift weapon or a lockpick of any kind.

There was one door that had always remained locked. The front door.

And now it isn’t.

Your breath comes unsteady. You know better than to believe in coincidences.

There was a time you hadn’t been afraid.

(A cool autumn morning. A quiet street. The weight of Satoru’s arm slung over your shoulder as the two of you walked side by side, his steps effortlessly falling into rhythm with yours.

"If anything bad ever happens," he had said, his voice light, playful, "just call for me, okay?"

You had scoffed, nudging him with your elbow. "Oh? And what exactly would you do?"

Satoru had grinned, tossing an arm around you, pulling you in close with a casual, effortless strength. "I’d protect you, obviously."

"From what?" you had teased. "A stray cat?"

"From anything," he had said, voice so easy, so sure. "Doesn’t matter what. Just call for me, and I’ll keep you safe. No matter what.")

And back then, you had believed him.

The warmth of that moment lingers in your chest like phantom smoke.

Its cruel, really. How the memory comes to you now, when that same Satoru is the one you need protection from.

Your breathing stutters.

Your mind screams at you that this isn’t real, that this isn’t possible, that it’s a trap-

But hope is a disease. A sickness that clings to your ribs even after everything. Even now, knowing what you know, after all he’s done, a part of you still wants to believe.

The outside world shouldn’t exist anymore. There’s nothing left for you. Nothing left but him.

But what if… against all logic, against all odds, this time, he truly just forgot? What if it had slipped his mind, just this once? What if you could step forward, reach for the handle, and-

Your body moves before your mind can come up with a denial.

You step forward.

Because what else do you have left in these empty walls but the faint, desperate ache of hope?

You’re barefoot, breath held in your throat. The world tilts around you as you move as quietly as possible.

The floor creaks.

You stop immediately, heart racing, waiting for a voice behind you, for a rough hand to grab your wrist-

Nothing.

He must still be asleep. You don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

You step forward again, slower this time. You lift a trembling hand. Your fingertips brush the handle, the metal cool against your damp skin.

The handle turns.

For a moment, you don’t move.

It feels unreal, impossible, like something that should shatter the second you dare to believe in it. The world outside is right there, just a breath away, the space beyond the door yawning open into something dark and endless. You push it open slowly, inch by inch, scared to break the moment, scared to let yourself hope.

And then, you feel it.

The air shifts.

A night breeze brushes against your skin, featherlight and cool, the first time in months you've felt anything that wasn’t him. It carries the scent of rain soaked earth, of distant asphalt, of a world that still exists beyond these walls. It smells like freedom. Like everything you had nearly forgotten.

Your throat tightens. Your knees threaten to buckle.

I could run.

You step forward, afraid it’ll disappear. A shaking hand reaches forward, the tips of your fingers barely grazing the open air. You feel it. You feel it.

There’s a presence behind you.

It’s not sound that gives him away.

Not footsteps. Not breath. Not even the rustle of fabric.

Just a feeling. Something impossible, inescapable, pressing in from all sides, curling tight around your throat before you even hear his voice.

"Going somewhere?"

The door slams shut, cutting off that cool air, along with any remaining hope you ever dared to have.

You barely have time to gasp before you’re roughly pulled back.

He moves so fast. Too fast. His arm is wrapped around your middle as he yanks you back against him, your body colliding with the solid warmth of his chest.

"You really disappoint me, you know that?" His voice is calm, almost amused.

His fingers tighten around your waist, his breath tickling your ear as he sighs.

"I thought we were making progress."

You struggle. You twist, kick, claw at his arms, but his grip doesn’t falter. If anything, it tightens, until you can barely breathe.

"Shh. Stop struggling. This is already going to be bad for you. Don't make it worse."

You can barely hear his words, heart pounding in your ears.

He drags you back, grip unyielding, and your stomach coils with primal fear.

No. No, no, no-

He throws you face first on the bed, the breath leaving your lungs in a strangled gasp. He doesn’t give you a chance to get back up, straddling you, hands pinning your wrists above your head.

"You tried to run."

Gojo exhales slowly, and his smile is almost sad.

"You’re quite stupid, aren’t you?"

Your body shakes. "Please," you choke out. "Please-"

His grip on your wrists only tightens.

"Please what?"

Your mouth opens, but no words came out.

Gojo hums, tilting his head.

"Try that again… and I’ll make sure you have no legs to run with."

You try to struggle against him as he removes your clothes, lifts your hips up. But he’s always been stronger. The strongest.

But there’s something more than that. Lately your body feels different. Heavier, unsteady, like it isn’t yours.

You claw at the sheets desperately as he forces his cock into your unprepared ass. He muffles your cries by shoving your face into the bed. It’s all too much. You can hardly breathe. Your head feels light.

 “Here’s your lesson,” he’s snarling, fingers bruising your hips as he thrusts. “You don’t get to leave. You don’t get to leave me.” Blood drips down your thighs to stain the sheets below.

“Beg,” he hisses, pulling you up by your hair to meet his gaze. “Beg to live, beg to die, I don’t care-

/

Satoru can’t sleep.

It starts as a whisper. It’s so faint he barely notices, blending into the steady hum of his own thoughts. But then it sharpens, curling around his brain, sinking into his skin.

"You should end it."

His fingers twitch.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed of your shared bed, body hunched forward, elbows braced against his knees. His head feels wrong, like there’s something crawling just beneath his skull, eating him alive. He squeezes his eyes shut, drags his palms over his face.

The whisper doesn’t stop.

"She will never love you."

His teeth clench. His hands tremble. The air in the room is suddenly too thick, pressing down on him, suffocating. He wants it to stop.

"You’ve already lost her. This isn’t love. What a joke."

His fingers dig into his temples. Shut up shut up shut up-

The mattress creaks as he moves. Without fully knowing why, he’s reaching under it, fingers fumbling blindly until they close around something cold.

Metal.

The knife.

His last resort. His last grip on reason.

He pulls it out, stares at it, watches the way the dim light catches the blade.

And the whisper-. No. His own mind laughs at him.

"You know what you have to do, don’t you?"

He swallows, throat dry, hand tightening around the hilt.

You could end it here.

Stop this before it gets worse.

He turns his head, gaze falling to you.

You’re asleep. Curled on your side, your breathing soft and steady, face turned toward him in the faintest glow of the lantern. Even in slumber, the evidence of what he’s done is still there. Faint tear tracks, dried on your cheeks. A bruise darkening along your wrist. A sharp contrast to the peaceful rise and fall of your chest.

Satoru exhales shakily, gripping the knife with both hands.

He moves. Slowly, carefully, he kneels beside you.

He lifts the blade.

It hovers above your throat, just a breath away from your skin. His hands shake violently. He grips the handle so tightly his knuckles go white.

One motion. That’s all it would take.

One movement, and you would be free.

But would he?

His breath catches.

You shift slightly in your sleep, your face scrunching, brow furrowing as if sensing something. Even in unconsciousness, your body is still afraid.

A thousand voices crawl beneath his skin.

"Do it."

"This is mercy."

His hands tremble uncontrollably. His lungs burn. He can feel his pulse in his skull, thudding, screaming.

His arms refuse to move.

Something inside him, some desperate, clawing part of him, won’t let go.

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. The knife suddenly feels too heavy in his hands.

He lowers it.

He doesn’t put it back right away. Just sits there, kneeling beside you, staring at your sleeping face, listening to your quiet breathing.

Then, finally, he shoves the knife back under the mattress.

The whispering doesn’t stop. He ignores it.

He lies down beside you, body sinking into the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhales slowly, tries to let sleep take him.

But the knife is there. Even hidden beneath the mattress, he can feel it.

It presses against his skin, cold metal, even though it shouldn’t. It lingers in his thoughts, even though he doesn’t want it to.

The weight of his conscience. The last remnants of the part of him that knew better.

Month 6

The world has started to blur around the edges.

You feel it in the way time slips through your fingers, the days bleeding into each other with nothing to mark them except the slow, aching stretch of your body, the weight of something growing inside you, the creeping sensation that this is it. This is what life has become. There is no more before. There is no after either. Only this house, these walls, and him.

Satoru seems happy.

It should unsettle you more than it does, the way he carries himself now, light and loose. You of course, don’t know how he once hovered over you with a knife, shaking from the weight of his sins.

He moves without hesitation, no longer flinching at the sound of his own name, no longer stopping to second guess his own actions. The hesitation, the doubt, the guilt (if there ever was any) is gone. The whispers that once plagued him have dulled, become easier to ignore. He barely remembers the knife that lies beneath him.

But you remember.

You feel it more than he does now, the weight of something unresolved pressing down on you, suffocating you in ways you don’t have the words to explain.

You sit at the table, staring down at a meal you don’t want. The bowl in front of you is carefully prepared, the steam curling up in soft ribbons, carrying the scent of something that should be comforting. You don’t taste it, even as you force yourself to eat, one slow bite after another. Satoru is watching you from across the table, propping his chin on his hand, his mouth curled in a quiet, satisfied smile.

"See?" he murmurs, nodding toward the bowl. "Told you I’m not useless in the kitchen."

You don’t answer right away. Your body moves on muscle memory alone, lips parting, chopsticks lifting, food pressing against your tongue before you even register it happening. There is no pleasure in eating, no sensation beyond the way your throat tightens against the effort of swallowing.

Satoru hums, pleased with your compliance. "You used to be such a picky eater," he muses, tapping his fingers lightly against the wooden table.

Something stirs at the back of your mind, a memory so distant it almost feels like it belongs to someone else.

(A winter evening. The kind where the air was crisp and heavy with the scent of street food, steam rising from crowded stalls. The golden glow of streetlights had cast soft halos around the people rushing past, their hurried footsteps blending into the distant hum of the city.

Satoru had been grinning at you over a steaming bowl of food, his chopsticks expertly gathering a bite that was soaked in sauces, stacked high with toppings, an abomination of flavors that should never have coexisted.

"You’re disgusting," you had said flatly, watching in horror as he mixed everything together into a chaotic mess.

"You’re just jealous of my sophisticated palate," he had teased, lifting a particularly overloaded bite to his lips. He had chewed with an exaggerated look of satisfaction, then paused, eyes flicking toward you, something mischievous gleaming behind them.

"Here, try some."

Your face had scrunched in horror. "Absolutely not."

But Satoru had already leaned forward, chopsticks aimed directly at your mouth, his grin widening when you had instinctively flinched back.

"C’mon, live a little."

"Gojo, no-"

"Gojo, yes-"

The chopsticks had pressed against your lips, and you had twisted away, laughing, shoving at his arm and sending food flying in the process. He had gasped, scandalized, but the way his laughter had spilled into the night had made something warm settle in your chest.)

Was any of it real?

The food on your tongue is tasteless, the moment nothing more than another act of survival. You set your chopsticks down, hands tightening into your lap, staring past the bowl, past Satoru, past everything.

"It’s good," you murmur, the words leaving you like an exhale, weightless and empty.

Satoru beams. "Told you."

He is completely unaware of the nausea twisting through your stomach.

The days pass like this, slow and unchanging, until the world outside feels like nothing more than a dream you barely remember. Satoru treats you differently now. There is no more violence, not in the way there was before. He sleeps beside you every night, arm draped over your waist, breath warm against your skin. He brings you gifts, little things meant to make the house feel more like home.

You don’t tell him that it never will be.

One afternoon, he takes you outside.

The air feels different on your skin, the sunlight kissing your face in a way that almost makes you dizzy. You wonder for just a moment. If you can make it past the porch.

If I ran now, would he kill me?

Would that be better than this?

Satoru shifts, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull away.

You just sit there. Still. Quiet.

You know he would never let you leave him. You have no life apart from him. The growing mass in your stomach reminds you of it every day.

Satoru stretches beside you, arms lifting in a lazy motion, tilting his face up to the sky.

"Nice out, huh?"

You don’t answer.

You barely register the warmth of his hand when it presses over your stomach, fingers curling gently over the growing swell of life inside you.

"Any name ideas?" he asks, voice light, almost teasing, as if this is something normal, something that belongs in casual conversation.

Something inside you cracks.

You let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"It’s not going to live."

The words cut through the air, sharp and irrevocable.

Satoru tenses. His fingers twitch against your stomach, his grip tightening slightly before he exhales slowly, voice dropping into something softer.

"Don’t say things like that," he murmurs. "Of course it is."

The certainty in his tone is nauseating.

You look at him then, and for the first time, you see it clearly. The belief in his eyes, the absolute, unshakable certainty that this life he’s built around you is real, that there is a future here, that the two of you will raise this child together, and you will play the role he has carved out for you.

The weight of it is unbearable.

You don’t want to do this anymore.

You don’t want to be here.

You don’t want to exist in this house, in this life, in this body that is no longer yours.

You aren’t sure when the tears start. You aren’t sure when Satoru reaches over, brushing his fingers against your cheek, tilting your chin up with a quiet, murmured, "Shh. Don’t cry."

You wonder why it feels as though he’s holding back tears of his own.

/

That night, as he drifts off beside you, Satoru feels the absence of something he once held close.

Something that, a few months ago, had weighed against his back every time he lay down.

Something that had whispered to him in the dark, begged him to listen, to wake up, to realize what he was doing.

There’s no voice now. No whispering.

The knife is still under the bed.

But Satoru barely feels it anymore.

Maybe he’s almost gone, too.

Month 9

The house is quiet.

It always is, now. The world outside doesn’t exist. There is no more passing time, no change in seasons, no difference between morning and night. It’s just you and him and the rotting child inside you, a grotesque imitation of a family.

You sit on the bed, motionless, staring at nothing. The weight of your body feels heavier than ever, your limbs sluggish, your mind clouded. You barely feel real anymore. Every movement is slow, deliberate, a distant echo of someone else’s actions. You breathe because you have to. You eat because it keeps him from forcing it down your throat. You exist because he will not let you die.

Something breaks.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. The way his hand brushes against your belly with something disturbingly tender, something hopeful. Maybe it’s the way his voice, so light, so falsely warm, slips into idle talk about the future. The nursery. The first steps. The way he truly believes there is a tomorrow for all of you.

Maybe it’s the realization that he has won.

That there is no escaping this. That you will be here forever. That even if your body survives this birth, you will not.

The thought grips your chest like a vice, and suddenly you can’t breathe. Your pulse spikes, the air in the room too thick, pressing down on you from all angles.

(The two of you had once laid under the stars together, talking about the future. The world had felt endless then, stretching wide above you in a sea of constellations, infinite and untouched.

"What do you think we’ll be doing ten years from now?" you had asked, voice soft, curious, as you turned your head to look at him.

Satoru had been lying beside you, one arm folded beneath his head, the other lazily twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. He had hummed, long and thoughtful, as if truly considering the question.

"I don’t know what I’ll be doing," he admitted, eyes tracing the patterns in the sky. "But I know wherever I am, whatever happens," his voice softened, gaze flickering back to yours. "I’ll find my way back to you."

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. "That’s cheesy."

"Hey," he’d grinned, nudging you back, "I mean it, you know.")

You no longer recognize the man standing in front of you.

"Kill me."

A silence stretches between you, taut and trembling.

Satoru stills. His entire body goes rigid, muscles locking as if the words have reached into his chest and squeezed.

His voice is quiet. Too quiet. "What did you just say?"

You don’t hesitate this time.

"I said just kill me already-"

The slap comes before you can finish.

Your head snaps to the side, a burst of pain erupting through your skull as your cheek explodes in fire. You hear the sharp crack of it before you even register what’s happened. The force knocks you off balance, sending you half-sprawled against the mattress, your trembling fingers cradling the fresh, throbbing sting. Your lip is split, the sharp tang of blood filling your mouth.

Satoru stares down at you, breathing heavily, something wild burning behind his eyes.

"Kill you?" His voice is hoarse, disbelieving, panicky. He lets out a shaky exhale, running a hand down his face, gripping his jaw as if trying to steady himself. Then he laughs. Short, sharp, humorless. "Kill you?" His hand trembles as he gestures vaguely between you, between your stomach, his breath shuddering out of him. "And what? Leave our child without a mother? You think I’d do that? You think I’d let you leave me like that?"

The air crackles with something unstable, something desperate. His voice is breaking apart, unraveling at the edges, the last remnants of his control slipping through his fingers.

"You want to die?" His teeth grit together, his hands curling into fists. "No. No, you don’t get to die. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to leave me alone. We have a family now. We have something now. Don’t you get it?" His voice fractures, barely more than a breath. "You can’t leave me."

Your body shakes as you curl into yourself, hands cradling your belly as if trying to protect the only part of you that’s still alive. Sobs wrack through you, weak and broken, spilling from your lips in quiet murmurs.

"Why…? Why me…?"

Satoru watches you crumple into yourself, his breath hitching in his throat. His pupils are blown wide, his chest heaving. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, tugging sharply as if trying to physically ground himself.

"Why you?" The laugh that escapes him is hollow, barely more than an exhale, shaking at the edges. He sways slightly, his balance off, his body betraying the panic surging through his veins. He looks at you, really looks at you, sees the dark circles under your eyes, the gauntness of your face, the sheer emptiness in your expression. He sees the wreckage of what you used to be.

He swallows thickly.

"Because… I love you. You… you loved me too. Didn’t you?"

The words taste like ash. The scorched remains of a love that’s long gone.

He staggers forward, falling to his knees before you, hands reaching out but not touching. His fingers hover over your face, then your stomach, trembling as if he’s afraid that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter completely.

"You should’ve died with the others," he whispers, voice barely above a breath. "I should’ve let you. I should’ve-"

His voice cracks. His whole body trembles as he finally collapses. His arms wrap around you, dragging you forward until your face is crushed against his chest, his nose buried in your hair. His grip is suffocating, too tight, too desperate, rocking you both as he lets out a choked sob.

"I can’t." The words come out strangled, broken. "If you die…, what will I…?"

There’s nothing left of his strength now, nothing left of the careful, artificial control he had been maintaining. His body trembles against yours, his breath uneven, his fingers digging into your back like you might slip through them if he lets go for even a second.

He stays there for a long time. He doesn’t speak, just holds you, his forehead pressing against the crown of your head, his breath coming in sharp, uneven exhales.

You can feel his reverse cursed energy mending your split lip with clumsy, frantic precision.

He tucks you into bed, smoothing the blanket over you with careful, deliberate hands. You’re unresponsive, your body still trembling slightly even as exhaustion weighs down your limbs. He thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

Maybe you have. Maybe you haven’t.

Satoru kneels beside the bed, resting his chin against the mattress, his eyes fixed on the soft rise and fall of your stomach beneath the blanket. His fingers twitch, reaching out, then retracting, hovering uselessly in the space between you.

"Tomorrow…" he murmurs, hesitating, voice thick, breath catching slightly. He swallows hard, his gaze lingering on your belly, his expression unreadable.

"…I’ll get you that candy. The sweet ones you…"

His sentence trails off. He doesn’t finish it, knowing you’re not listening.

His hands move without thinking, sliding beneath the mattress, fingers reaching for something cold, something solid-

Nothing.

His brows furrow slightly. He reaches again, searching, feeling for the familiar weight of metal, but there is nothing.

The knife is gone.

His breath stutters. A strange, hollow sensation curls in his chest, spreading through his limbs, something unidentifiable gnawing at the back of his mind.

Was there ever a knife to begin with?

He doesn’t know anymore.

He’s too tired to care.

Tomorrow. (Was it so wrong?)

Tomorrow, he’ll come back with the candy, and apologize. (Satoru Gojo, born to live and die as nothing more than a weapon.)

Tomorrow, everything will be okay. (Was it so wrong for him to cling on to the one thing, the one person who made him feel human?)

Tomorrow-

But there is no tomorrow.

Not for you. Not for him. This was always how it was going to end, wasn’t it?

/

It’s a beautiful spring day. Trees rustle softly, cicadas hum in the distance, the warmth of afternoon sunlight spills golden across the floorboards.

Satoru doesn’t notice any of it.

His attention is on the plastic bag in his hand, fingers curled loosely around it, the weight of its contents feeling heavier than it should. He turns it absently, peering through the translucent sheen at the colorful wrappers inside. It had taken him nearly an hour to find them, scouring shop after shop, fingers drumming against his thigh, voice tight as he repeated the name to each store clerk.

And now he has them.

It would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

He opens the door.

The bag slips from his grasp before he even realizes it.

He’s greeted by the sight of your hanging corpse, bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light.

His body locks, every muscle seizing, his breath stolen clean from his lungs. The world narrows to a single, suffocating point. You, swaying ever so slightly, the fabric rope taut around your throat, your feet dangling lifelessly above the floor. The air shifts with your movement, a gentle, almost imperceptible motion, like the house itself is breathing.

His eyes catch the raw, bloody crescents on your fingertips, the dried streaks beneath your nails where you had clawed at the rope in those final frantic seconds. Pieces of your clothing are torn, tattered pieces missing from the hem, now knotted above you, tied together in a noose.

The bag of candy hits the floor.

The rustling sound is deafening in the silence.

"No."

His vision fractures, the edges of the room twisting, warping, wrong. His legs move before he can even think, a sharp stumble forward, fingers reaching for you, pulling you down-

Your body collapses into his arms, cold, limp, gone.

His Infinity flickers violently, crackling like a dying flame, his cursed energy reacting to his unraveling mind. He grips you tighter, cradling your weight against his chest, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. Your head lolls, lifeless, against his shoulder. Your eyes, half-lidded, stare up at the ceiling, unfocused, unseeing.

You look so peaceful.

It isn’t fair.

A choked sob catches in his throat as he lowers you onto the ground, his hands moving in frantic motions. His cursed energy surges, bright and erratic, spilling from his fingertips as he presses them to your chest, trying to force life back into you.

"Come back." The words shake, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come back, you selfish bitch! You don’t get to-"

The baby kicked.

His entire body seizes.

His wide, trembling gaze drops to your stomach. His eyes lock onto the movement, the subtle shift beneath the curve of your belly, the tiny drag of a foot against your skin.

Still alive.

His hands move without thought, tearing fabric aside, pressing against your stomach as if he can somehow hold onto that last, flickering sign of life. His breath hitches, a noise trapped between a sob and a laugh, his mind spinning, fracturing, trying to grasp at something, anything-

Something inside him snaps, utterly and completely, as he stumbles back, collapsing beside the mattress. His fingers twitch as they move beneath it, reaching, searching.

The knife is there.

The metal handle is cool, the weight familiar. He grips it tightly, his chest heaving, his pulse hammering against his ribs. His mind is eerily blank as he turns back to you, to your still form, to the stomach that still holds something alive.

He knows what he has to do.

The blade sinks in.

The room fills with the wet, slick sound of flesh parting, of muscle and tissue yielding beneath sharp steel. Blood sprays, painting his arms, his chest, pooling on the ground beneath you. He barely notices. His hands move with surgical precision, parting skin, slipping into warmth, searching.

And then, a cry.

Thin, sharp, alive.

His breath shudders as he lifts the infant into his arms, the tiny body slick with blood and fluid, so small, skin still flushed and new. The baby writhes in his grasp, fragile and helpless, its cries cutting through the thick, suffocating silence of the room.

He clutches it to his chest, his own body wracked with trembling sobs, pressing his bloodied lips against its damp forehead, rocking back and forth. His arms curl protectively around the tiny, screaming form, his breath coming in harsh, broken gasps.

"Shh. Shh, it’s okay," he whispers, voice raw, shaking. "I’m here. I’ve got you. We’re okay. We’re okay."

The words are senseless. A lie even he doesn’t believe.

His gaze flickers to the side, to you, still sprawled lifelessly where he left you, eyes dull, empty, never to open again.

It trails a little farther, to the bag of candy.

It sits where it fell, candy spilling out on the floor. Blood is streaked all over the wrappers, staining them red.

His throat tightens violently, his grip on the child trembling as something cold washes over him, the final, crushing realization settling in like an avalanche.

He ruined you.

He ruined everything.

His gaze lowers back to the baby in his arms. The tiny chest rising and falling. The delicate fingers curling, uncurling.

His own fingers tighten around the knife.

The steel glints in the dim light, poised over the baby’s throat.

He exhales shakily, pressing his lips to its hair, eyes fluttering closed.

"We’ll follow her," he whispers, breath warm against fragile skin. His fingers press tighter, the blade steady, certain.

"Together."

thank you for reading to the end. let’s cry together 😭☹️ the knife was symbolism for his last remaining sense of rationality, and the candy symbolic of her innocence. i was lowkey tweaking out while writing this

[goldfades]

hi sweet pea, could u write smth for Joe comforting his girl when she’s feeling insecure :( he has such a calm aura and grounding energy and I could rlly use some comfort rn

hiiii jojo, i hope you feel better sweet girl:( i hope this fic cheers you up!

You don’t mean to let it get to you.

You tell yourself that over and over again—like a quiet mantra, like a plea.

It’s just noise. Just people talking. Just opinions from people who don’t even know you.

But that’s the thing about insecurity. It seeps in through the cracks, finds you when you’re tired, makes a home in the quiet parts of your mind. You don’t even realize it’s there until it’s too late. Until it’s already gnawed away at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

Tonight, it’s hitting harder than usual.

You’re curled up on Joe’s couch, legs tucked underneath you, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, even though every part of you knows you should stop. That little voice in the back of your head—the one that still craves validation, the one that wants to prove something—keeps urging you to keep looking.

And there it is. Again. The comments. The pictures. The comparisons.

It’s not new, not surprising, but somehow, it still manages to sting.

"She’s cute, I guess, but Joe could do so much better." "Why do athletes always go for mid girls?" "This is the best he could pull?"

You swallow hard. It shouldn’t matter. You know it shouldn’t. But suddenly, you feel small. Insignificant. Like a shadow of yourself.

You don’t notice how quiet you’ve gotten. How your posture has shifted—how your shoulders have curled inward, how your fingers have tightened around your phone. You don’t even notice Joe watching you from the other side of the couch, gaze steady, a crease forming between his brows.

He knows you. Knows when your mind starts spiraling, when you start retreating into yourself.

“Babe.” His voice is soft, low, cutting through the silence like a steadying force.

You don’t respond right away, blinking rapidly like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Joe shifts closer, his warmth immediately surrounding you. He reaches out, carefully tugging your phone from your grip, setting it aside before threading his fingers through yours. His touch is gentle, grounding.

“What’s going on?” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight to it, like he already knows. Like he’s just waiting for you to let him in.

You hesitate, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. Because how do you even say it out loud without sounding ridiculous? Without sounding weak?

Joe waits. Patient. Unwavering. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push. Just sits there, his presence steady and sure, like an anchor.

And maybe that’s what makes you finally break.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you want to brush it off or if you want to just let it all out.

You let out a slow breath, staring down at your hands where they rest in Joe’s. His thumb moves in lazy, absentminded circles against your skin, like he’s trying to pull you back to earth—back to him.

“It’s stupid,” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Joe doesn’t react right away. He just watches you, waiting, because he knows you well enough to know that this isn’t where it ends. That there’s more.

You swallow hard, exhaling sharply before forcing the words out. “People online. Talking about me. Saying I’m not… enough.” The last word feels like a weight in your mouth, like it takes up too much space.

Joe’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but his grip on you stays soft. His calm doesn’t waver, but there’s something in his eyes now—something sharp, something protective.

“Enough for what?” he asks, and it’s not rhetorical. He really wants to know. Because to him, there is no logical end to that sentence.

You shake your head, feeling the sting in your eyes. “For you.”

Joe exhales through his nose, and for the first time, his composure shifts just slightly. Not angry, not irritated—just frustrated. Not with you, but with the idea that this thought even exists in your head.

“Who the hell decides that?” His voice is still calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “Some random people on the internet? They don’t know anything about us. They don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t believe him, but because insecurity doesn’t work like that. You can know something isn’t true and still feel it wrap itself around you, still let it sink into your bones.

Joe studies you for a long moment before sighing, running a hand over his face before leaning forward. His hands find your thighs, warm and steady, and he tugs you closer—so close that your knees knock against his.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asks, voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?”

Joe tilts his head slightly, considering you like you’re something worth studying. “The person I choose. Every single day.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly, grounding you. “The person who makes me laugh when I’ve had a shit day. The person who keeps me sane when everything else gets overwhelming.”

Your breath hitches.

Joe doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you. “I don’t care about what people say. I don’t care what they think they know. None of it matters. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

The simplicity of it, the certainty—it makes your chest tighten, makes something deep in you ache.

Joe lets his hands trail down your arms, stopping when his fingers find yours. “And if you ever forget that,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, “I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Joe gives your hands a gentle squeeze, pulling you back into the moment.

His words hang in the air, soft but heavy, like they’re still settling into your skin. You feel raw, exposed—but not in the way that makes you want to shrink away. No, this is different. This is Joe pulling you back to yourself, reminding you of things you’ve always known deep down but sometimes forget when the world gets too loud.

Your throat feels tight. “Joe—”

“I mean it.” His voice is unwavering, his grip steady. “I’d tell you a hundred times if I had to. A thousand. Whatever it takes for you to believe me.”

You don’t doubt that for a second. That’s the thing about Joe—he doesn’t waste words, doesn’t say things just to say them. If he says something, he means it.

He leans in just slightly, so close that his breath fans across your skin, and suddenly, your whole world is narrowed down to just him.

“You’re the best part of my life,” he says, and it’s not dramatic, not over-the-top. Just a simple, undeniable truth. “And I don’t ever want you questioning that again.”

Your eyes burn, and when you try to look away, Joe just tilts your chin back up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. It’s unfair, really, how easily he unravels you. How he looks at you like you’re something precious, something irreplaceable, like there isn’t a single doubt in his mind that you belong right here with him.

“I just…” You exhale shakily, shaking your head. “I don’t get how you’re always so sure.”

Joe’s lips twitch slightly, like he almost wants to smile, but there’s too much sincerity in his face for it to fully form. “Because it’s you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s all I need to know.”

Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to speak.

Joe watches you carefully, fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your wrist. He’s always been like this—so patient, so steady, like he knows exactly when to push and when to just sit with you in the silence.

And then, just when you think he’s going to let the conversation settle, he tilts his head, studying you. “Come here.”

You blink. “I’m right here.”

Joe huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head before reaching for you, pulling you right into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arms loop around your waist, his chest solid and warm against your back, and just like that, everything feels a little quieter. A little smaller.

His chin rests against your shoulder, his lips brushing your temple. “There,” he murmurs. “Better?”

You nod, sinking into him, letting his warmth settle into your bones. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His fingers slip beneath the hem of your sleeve, tracing slow, soothing lines against your skin. “Because I’m not letting you go until you get it through your stubborn head how much I love you.”

You let out a watery laugh, tilting your head slightly to look at him. “So this is your plan? Holding me hostage until I have better self-esteem?”

Joe grins, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “Exactly.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. He knows he’s won, that he’s already pulled you out of your head, out of that dark, suffocating space.

After a beat of silence, he shifts slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, voice dropping lower. “You’re the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever wanted. And no opinion from some faceless people online is ever gonna change that.”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around his forearm where they rest. “Joe—”

“I love you.” He says it so simply, so effortlessly, like it’s a truth he never even has to question. “And I don’t want you wasting another second of your life wondering if you’re good enough. You are.”

You turn in his lap then, facing him fully, and the second your eyes meet his, something inside you finally settles.

Joe watches you closely, waiting, giving you space to say whatever you need to. But you don’t think there’s anything left to say.

Instead, you lift your hands to cup his face, fingers brushing against the sharp edges of his jaw, the warmth of his skin. You hold him there for a second, just taking him in, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his.

Joe melts into you instantly, his grip tightening just slightly around your waist, like he never wants to let go. He kisses you slow, deep, like he’s making a promise without words. Like he’s telling you again and again, I’m here. I’m yours.

And for the first time that night, you finally believe it.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Ex Step “Kids” x Reader

Where the man you're dating and soon to marry have their reservations about you. Considering you're closer to their age and their father has millions in his name...

Thinking about the Step-family in question being adults; well established and acting on their own from their aging father

Unknowingly letting him fall prey to you 

Walking Temptation with a hunger for deep pockets and a smile innocent enough to make anyone swoon

It’s a shock when the next time they see their dad for the holidays he’s got you on his arm

Just a little bit older than them (half his age) and with a giant engagement ring on your finger

“You like it? Your dad got it for me when we were in Dubai!” 

“Uh Dad can I have a word? Alone?”

Taniya, his eldest is the hardest to grill you

Being incredibly open with her suspicions about you

And she’s the most vigilant when it comes to reprimanding her father for spoiling you

“Dad think about it (Y/n) doesn’t need another sports car! You’ve already gotten them two!”

In no uncertain terms, you’re sure Taniya hates your guts

If the way all the restaurants your future husband has worked with for some reason can’t serve you has anything to say about it, that’s likely the case

But you don’t mind!

That way you can take your man to the best place to get croquettes

Yeah it’s sketchy but that’s what his bodyguards are for

The second worst is his youngest, Titan

Classic attention-hungry influencer son who thinks pranks on you are going viral because everyone enjoys your misery as much as he does

“Your misery” is the curious tilt of your head when you find the leather seats of your range rover decorated with glitter 

Doesn’t really bother you though, so you’ll show off your new interior to all your new followers on socials 

Wonder where they came from

Finally the middle son Tariq always forgotten but not quite estranged doesn’t seem to dislike you too much

After all, he did start coming around the villa more since you’ve moved in

“Oh hey (Y/n) I heard those flowers my dad got you went missing, it just so happens to work out that I brought you some.”

“Those are my favorites! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Anyway, I heard you got the latest VR tech, want to show me how it works?”

For a while you fall into a cycle with your fiance and his family

Eventually tying the knot in a luxurious venue in front of hundreds of masked billionaires

Of course, all your older husband’s kids decide to be civil

And all is well…until it isn’t

All too soon are the siblings gathered again when their father dies two weeks later

It’s all so sudden

With heavy hearts, their knowledge of his decline makes it better for the siblings to take on the funeral preparations

Begrudgingly Taniya takes it upon herself to try getting the funds from you, coming to the Villa prepared to argue

Instead, she’s met with one of her father’s most loyal bodyguards

Woefully opening the door

“(Y/n) has been too distraught to leave their bed since the…last hospital visit.”

“What?”

She would have expected someone like you to have been jumping for joy

Having tied the knot with a man who’d pay for any tuition you might’ve needed paid Taniya doubts it she expected you’d be as bubbly as others in your…profession

But instead of partying you were glued to the giant California bed clutching an old shirt of his

For once Taniya feels bad for you

“Uh hey (Y/n) I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come to the first meeting with the mortuary staff. We’re looking to pick a coffin and–”

Instead of something snarky or even an agreement, you throw a black card in her direction and pull the covers over your head

Barely smothering the crying sounds

“You know what? Maybe it might be best if I stay back here..with you.”

It’s all too easy for her to lend her shoulder as you wail about your late husband–her father

Its awkward for awhile and then it’s not

She weirdly looks forward to pulling your tear-stricken face into her chest she wore the v-neck for a reason while you discuss the funeral arrangements

Purposely making her meetings online so she can rub your back off screen

Finding that the lingering security guard–your unofficial butler is getting more and more on her nerves

Taniya doesn’t even realize she’s gotten this bad until she’s hoping the chandelier will fall on her brothers when they eventually show up

“Wow. You two are here. In-person…why didn’t you call?”

“I don’t need your permission to see (Y/n)! But you know I would’ve come sooner if my company wasn’t dealing with a major crisis by some mysterious corporate giant!”

“Don’t look at me, I told you working for a shady company would get you no where.”

“I cannot with you right now–”

“I also came-!”

“Shut up Titan.” “Please Titan we’re talking.”

Titan isn’t all that worried about his old man being dead except his allowance stopped

And technically he shouldn’t be staying in the Villa anymore…but his followers are asking questions

“And in here we have the–whoa crying widow alert!”

“W-what?!”

He gets a lot of hate for that one

And while his siblings circle around you like vultures he’s finding it hard to insincerely apologize so that you can do a follow-up apology video with him

He’s following you around so much and observing all your little quirks 

he worries it might be important when ‘apologizing’ so maybe he should record it…

Thus begins his long and greatly popular series of getting to know my dead dad’s spouse

He records as much as he can–what you eat, how you talk, how you whisper promises to the pictures of his dad you put up

It weirdly makes him question everything

It also has him posting to a new platform…a more hidden one

“Alright, guys! I actually got into their closet without issue we’ve just got to hope they won’t need to come in here anymore. OMG They’re back! I wonder what they’ll do…next. Uhm…sorry chat but I’m going to shut off the camera for awhile….I think this is just for me.”

Unlike Taniya who will hesitate, thinking of her father while cuddling up to you Titan does not think

Because after his copious amounts of stalking streaming with you

He's decided you will be his inheritance from dad

Clearly the old man wasn’t strong enough to handle you

So Titan would be the hero to sweep such a camera worthy beauty off their feet

Tariq doesn’t hesitate either 

he’s gotten over that the day he met you

Sure he misses his dad a lot less than he expected+ but he does miss the privacy he used to have with you

“Hey (Y/n) do you want to go out for a ride like we used to do.”

“Oh Tariq I’d love to but I already told Titan we’d do a muckbang with him.”

“And after that, we’re going to film our feet ASMR!”

“Titan I said I’d need to think about that–”

“What?! You already said no to the hot-tub stream, how much more of a Karen can you be?!”

“Okay okay, but I’d rather it not be live.”

“Duh, I may not ever want to post it.”

Tariq is so tired of everyone else realizing just how much you’re not like any gold-digger he’s ever known

In fact, you’re so bad at it that he doubts you were ever a gold digger in the first place

“Hey Tariq the lawyer had a question about the life insurance money, should I just write you a check or do I keep it? I’m so confused.”

“Wow uh, that’s a lot.”

“Yeah, but your dad always told me what to do with this kind of stuff. So what do I do?”

“Uhh, how about we open our own bank account and put it there!”

“Oooh like a married couple’s bank account?”

“Yeah just like marriage. It’s a little too early to ask right?”

Nonetheless, all three siblings are beginning to realize just how ‘bad’ of a gold digger you are

And they’re more than eager to show you the right way…as long as you change your allegiance to them.

Rules | Kofi | Masterlist

[kermdoeswriting]

This was supposed to be a one-off thing but these reblogs inspired more so...

Also to answer ur question Roni would absolutely be petty enough to pull out a file to shut up her less than savory and judgmental co-workers. The kids are always put first regardless of background.

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

Roni got her answer on the bet about two weeks later. After her initial home visit to see how the twins were doing in Wayne Manor.

Even if it was never outright said aloud, just watching the way the family interacted with Ellie and Danny told her enough. Though the solo interviews with each kid did solidify it.

"So Danny," Roni watched as Danny nervously taped the side of his knee, half interested in what Roni had to say and half interested in the doorway that Ellie and the Wayne siblings had just exited through. "Before we start, I just have to make you aware that nobody is allowed to listen into this conversation and that whatever you say is completely protected between you and me."

Danny just nodded along to Roni's word, eyes still on the doorway before breaking off to look at her fully.

"Got it. Hit me with the questions, Roni."

Roni let out a small smile, shaking her head at him before flipping through her notebook to an empty page.

"How has it been living in the Wayne manor so far? Has Bruce been treating you nicely?"

Danny only shrugs as if that was his final answer. "He and Alfred have been kind. A little too Richie Rich if you ask me but other than that they treat Ellie nicely and that's all I care about honestly"

Roni feels her sympathy for the boy (and her own hesitance) return as she writes his answer within her notes but it escapes out of her like an amused snort.

"They tend to come off that way most times. Between you and me though?" She leaned a bit more to whisper. "I think Bruce just likes to spoil his kids with his riches to impress them and it just rubbed off with each one he adopted afterwards."

Danny snorted at that, eyes twinkling in his own amusement as he nodded along with her theory.

"Anyways, How about the Wayne Kids? Have they come around to introduce themselves to you two yet?"

"Some of them have, like Damian. He came home from summer camp earlier in the week. He's pretty cool, sarcastic to all hell, but cool." Roni hums and bites her cheek at the mention of the smallest Wayne. When she had first placed Duke into the Wayne's care, she had her doubts on how Damian would react since Gotham knew he had a short-temper with most things.

But now the two were packed together like a pack of sardines any time she saw them, so she wasn't too surprised Damian got along with the twins. It was probably the feral behavior the twins displayed that made them click.

"I also got to meet Cass, Dick, and Jason yesterday. Dick kept teasing us 4 for being like double twins. Calling us the quadruplets or something, Jason just smacked the back of his head and called him an asshole."

She couldn't help but smile at the mention of her past foster cases. Roni tended to try and remember every single kid that went through her care and office, so it wasn't hard to picture the three doing something like that around new company.

Although she would have to remind Bruce about excessive language amongst the kids, even if they were 13 respectively the law didn't really see it as appropriate behavior to show around fosters.

From there, the interviews went smoothly with them both and Roni honestly had nothing new to report for their files except for excellent care as it usual was. And, just as she guessed, a request towards looking into possible adoption within the Wayne household for both Phantoms.

Bruce had been quick to pull her side before she left to make the request, eyes looking fondly towards the twins play fighting with Jason, Tim and Stephanie (from what Roni remembered for the last one). Ellie sassing them as Jason cackled on the sidelines and Danny snorting in amusement, arms crossed.

When Roni looked back into Bruce Wayne's pleading eyes, begging her to look into starting the adoption process she just sighed fondly and nodded. Who was she to deny the richest man in Gotham's adoption addiction?

She called it 3 weeks ago anyways when she dropped them off. And heaven knows that twice the amount for the bet would do nicely towards a new car battery.

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

As Roni got back into her office that night later than she had even planned to be, she was pleasantly surprised to find a few things inside that hadn't been there before she'd left to check in on each of her fosters.

One of them was Red Hood, who was awkwardly standing there staring at her through his red helmet with a handful of familiar looking stickers in hand. Both of them were silent for a moment before Roni decided to save him the embarrassment and simply back out of the office room to allow him a graceful escape.

She did not get paid enough to deal with that situation. Not in Gotham anyways.

When she re-entered the room, Red Hood having disappeared silently, Danny and Ellie's files sat right at the top of her desk first and foremost.

A few different stickers greeted her this time.

Robin and Co. stickers, Red-Hoods stuck out like a sore thumb as it covered over Nightwing's at least half way as some sort of petty move, and one largely placed Batman one were now on the outside of both files, to let her know they were now watching over the kids and were Robin approved.

That alone put her at ease.

To know that the Bat was taking some time to look into the sketchy meta-trafficking ring the twins were found at was like getting an early Christmas present.

They would be even safer now beyond being in Bruce's care and she knew that even if Bruce never did end up adopting the twins (which she doubted heavily) they were at the very least a good influence on them from what she'd seen today.

That and the twins would probably never be able to really get rid of the Wayne's. Not really, anyways.

Most Robin approved files didn't really leave the Manor without getting adopted into it first.

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[interlude63]

Weddings and Wounds

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, toxic relationship, jealous!Rafe, possessive behavior, mention of forced marriage also english isn’t my first language.

Summary: You’ve been dating Rafe Cameron for a few years—maybe it’s finally time to make it official.

Word count: 2.5k

──────────────────────

Even though you’d been with Rafe for almost three years now, you still hadn’t gotten used to the fancy parties Cameron threw so often. This time, it was a much more important occasion—his cousin’s wedding. You wore an elegant, silky dress with a tailored fit. Of course, your boyfriend picked it out and paid for it.

“I told you that dress would look amazing on you. I always know what’s best for you, huh?” you heard Rafe say as he leaned against the door of his room.

“Yeah, it looks good,” you quietly responded. You didn’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead, you played with the fabric of the dress with your trembling fingers until you felt his hand on yours. His other hand gently grabbed your chin, and that’s when you finally met those intense blue eyes.

“You don’t like it or something?” he asked.

“No, I love it, Rafe. I’m just a little nervous, you know?” you said. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful, even though you hated the dress. You hated every dress Rafe had bought for you, every flower, every necklace, every perfume.

It wasn’t that those presents were unappealing to you—no, they were probably the most expensive and luxurious things you owned. But it all felt like an illusion. The gifts were meant to show others that your relationship with Rafe was perfect, that he cared about you and spoiled you. But they didn’t know the dark truth behind every gift.

“You’re nervous, huh?” he repeated your words, his smirk widening. “Don’t worry, princess. I have an idea to soothe your mind.” His fingers traced along your jaw, and when he saw your scared wide eyes, his smile only grew. He placed a small kiss on your lips and pulled back slightly to look at you again.

“Hmm, what would you say?” he asked in low tone, his hand beginning to wander along your body, dangerously close to your core.

“Rafe, the wedding starts in, like, 20 minutes. I think we should go to the car...” you tried to stop him, but it was Cameron’s firstborn son, so of course he insisted.

“Come on, we have plenty of time.” He murmured, his lips pressing against yours in a hungry kiss. Without waiting for a response he firmly pushed you onto his bed.

“Besides you look really really good in this dress babe”

──────────────────────

You ended up enjoying yourself at the wedding more than you expected. The music and food were great. You thought Rafe would be glued to you the whole time, always keeping an eye on you like most of the parties you attend to. But it turned out that Ward wanted to introduce him to some businessmen (his father always found a way to network and make connections, even at a wedding)

While your boyfriend was busy talking to them, you had some time to chat with Sarah. Even though she was Rafe’s sister, you hadn’t talked much before. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—Rafe just never really let you. He didn’t like sharing you, especially with her, since he thought she was a spoiled, dumb bitch, as he has said many times.

"Hey, I’m not sure if it’s okay for me to ask, but Rafe said you’re hanging out with John B now?" Well, he didn’t say it exactly like that. It was more like, "Did you know Sarah is sucking off some fucking Pogue?" But there’s no way you are repeating that word for word.

“Oh yes, we’re kind of together. I mean, he didn’t ask me yet, but we spend a lot of time together, and I really like him,” she replied, and you could see the love in her eyes when she talked about John B. “I don’t want you to think I don’t like Topper or something. We just weren’t meant to be, I guess.”

Of course, she felt the need to explain herself—you were Topper’s friend, after all. Well, kind of. He was one of the two guys Rafe let you hang out with, the other being Kelce. But Rafe didn’t like it when you spent too much time talking to his guy friends. He’d cut you off mid-sentence and “joke” that they were trying to steal his girl, but you could always recognize the serious tone, knowing he meant it.

“But what about you? How are you even managing to stay with my brother for so long? I mean, no offense, but he’s kind of an asshole.”

Sarah knew Rafe was far from the perfect image he tried to portray, but she had no idea just how bad he could actually be.

You just awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, well, he’s really—”

Rafe suddenly joined the table, his gaze flickering between you and Sarah. “I see that you enjoy talking with my sister,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. “More than with me, huh?”

Sarah, unfazed, responded, “We were actually talking about you.”

Rafe’s expression tightened, a sharp edge creeping into his tone. “Really?” he said, his smile thin and forced. “How interesting. What exactly do you have to say about me?”

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his gaze. It was clear he wasn’t just curious—there was something more beneath his words, a flicker of frustration that you couldn’t ignore.

“I was just trying to say how good and loving you are” you said quickly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick between you both.

Rafe hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, intense and unreadable. For a moment, you were scared he wouldn’t believe you, that your words wouldn’t be enough to shift the mood.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally responded, his voice low and quiet, as if he were weighing his words carefully. “You know I’ll always take care of you.” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

As Ward and Rose joined you, their voices faded into the background, murmuring about wedding decorations. You couldn’t really focus on their conversation—it all seemed too distant. That is, until Ward spoke, his words pulling you back to the moment.

“You know, seeing all this today… makes you think, doesn’t it?” he said, a knowing smile on his face.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Well, I mean, you two have been together for how long now?” His tone was casual, but there was something more in his words. “Maybe it’s time to make it official, huh?”

A nervous laugh escaped your lips, the sound shaky even to your own ears. Make it official. The idea of being Rafe’s wife—tied to him forever—terrified you. You already felt vulnerable as his girlfriend, but you couldn’t even imagine the weight of being his wife. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, but before you could gather your thoughts, Ward cut in, his voice teasing.

“Just saying, you never know when the right moment hits. Might be sooner than you think.” His gaze flicked to Rafe, who was looking at you now, his eyes unreadable.

Your heart raced. The thought of marrying Rafe felt suffocating, but what could you do?

──────────────��───────

“It’s getting kind of late, huh? We’re heading back. Come on,” Rafe said, hurrying you toward his Jeep. He opened the passenger door for you, but the sharp, forceful way he slammed it shut made it clear—he was angry. For some reason. And that wasn’t a good sign, especially since you were supposed to spend the night at his mansion.

The drive was painfully silent. The only sound was Rafe’s heavy sighs, each one deeper than the last, like he was wrestling with something intense in his mind.

“Rafe?” you asked softly, but there was no response.

“Rafe,” you said again, this time a little louder, a little more desperate.

“Can’t you just shut up?!” His voice shot back, sharp and filled with anger.

He didn’t even glance at you. His eyes were locked on the road, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The tension in the car was suffocating, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You felt a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of fear and confusion.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, Rafe stormed out of the car without a word, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t look back as he made his way to the mansion’s front door, opening it with a force that echoed through the night. You hesitated for a moment, but you knew better than to stay behind. Reluctantly, you followed, heart racing as you made your way up the stairs to his room.

When you reached the room, you found him halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, movements sharp. But then your eyes met his — filled with fury, burning like a storm ready to explode.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just stood there, locked in a tense stare. The silence was suffocating, until he broke it.

“You don’t have anything to fucking say?” His voice was like a slap.

Confused and a little shaken, you furrowed your brows, trying to process his words, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled.

Rafe ran a hand through his messy, dirty blonde hair, his frustration clear as he moved toward you. His eyes burned with anger.

“Of course you don’t,” he spat, his voice full of venom. “You know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer, his gaze sharpening as he watched the confusion on your face, the look only making his anger flare up further. “Because you don’t think.”

“You embarrassed me,” he hissed, taking another step toward you, his presence almost suffocating. The tension between you two was unbearable now, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“You made me look like a fucking idiot,” Rafe repeated, his voice low and sharp. “In front of my father, in front of Rose—everyone.” His hand shot out, gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to meet his furious gaze.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t mean to,” your voice trembled, the fear clear in every word.

He nodded slowly, a cruel smirk spreading across his face as he flicked his tongue over his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry, huh?” he mocked, taking a step closer, his breath hot against your skin. “But you still don’t want to marry your own boyfriend, right?”

so it was about that.

“It’s not what I meant, Rafe,” you tried to reason, your voice trembling, but he cut you off with a bitter laugh.

“I swear, you’re making me mad on purpose,” he growled, his words sharp and filled with frustration.

You shook your head, as much as you could with his firm hold on your cheeks, the pressure making it hard to breathe. But Rafe didn’t stop.

He nodded slowly, his expression twisted with emotion. “You like it, don’t you?” His voice shook, full of frustration and bitterness. “It’s like your favorite thing in the world.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to pull his hands away, but his grip was like iron.

“Yeah, you said that,” he snapped, his tone colder than before, the anger still burning beneath it.

He let go of your face—for now—and pointed sharply at his chest. “I’m your boyfriend, okay?” His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

You turned your head to the side, a small act of defiance that only seemed to fuel his anger.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he demanded, his words a lingering threat in the air, his tone dripping with anger. “As your boyfriend, I expect some damn respect.”

You barely whispered, “I do—” the words swallowed by the weight of your fear and anxiety.

He tilted his head slightly, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. Anger still simmered in his eyes, but there was something wicked in the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Show me then,” he ordered, his voice low and cold as he pressed his hands firmly on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees.

As you sank down in front of him, the weight of the moment hit you. His intentions became clear when he began to unbuckle his belt, and a sick realization settled in—you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

The house was empty. Ward and Rose were still celebrating at the wedding with Sarah, and Wheezie was probably fast asleep in her room. No one was coming. No one would hear. It was just you and Rafe.

You knew there was no reasoning with him. You knew Rafe too well—his volatile nature, the way his anger twisted into something dangerous, something unstoppable. Once his mind was set, there was no turning him back. And tonight, you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going to stop.

After he unbuckled his belt, the pants followed, unzipping to reveal his already semi-hard cock.

After all these times you had him in your mouth, it still made you feel suffocated by his size, the intensity always leaving you gasping.

“We’ll see just how much you really respect me.” He said and every part of you screamed to stop, to fight back, but the fear kept you frozen. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when you knew the consequences of defying him would be far worse than enduring this humiliation.

His hand pressed against your head, guiding you with a firm yet controlling rhythm, forcing you to move in time.

His fury made him harsher than ever, as if your body was no longer your own, but a puppet to his demands. When you stole a brief glance up, your tear-filled eyes locked with his —there was nothing kind in it, only cold, detached control.

You just wanted it to end. You were drained, struggling to breathe, your throat raw with pain. Tears streamed down your face, but Rafe didn’t care. If anything, it only seemed to turn him on more.

He was even rougher now, his loud groans echoing through the room, each one more intense than the last. “You better not waste a single drop.” He spoke in a hoarse voice and moments later, he came in your mouth, you could feel warmth and the salty taste on your tongue as he continued to use you beyond his climax. After he finally let you go and saw that you had swallowed, he murmured, “Good.”

Rafe was looking down at you, but then he bent slightly and gently stroked your cheeks, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. His breathing gradually evened out, and with a chuckle, he said, “God, I can’t believe my future wife is such a slut.”

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Pomefiore

Go here for other dorms

Vil Schoenheit

The second you step into Pomefiore’s lounge, you realize Vil has been waiting for you.

He’s seated elegantly by the window, his posture perfect, a teacup balanced between his fingers. His gaze flickers up the moment you enter, sharp, knowing.

You hesitate. How does he already look so smug?

Still, you square your shoulders and walk up to him, holding out the chocolates. “These are for you,” you say, voice steady.

Vil sets his cup down with a soft clink, taking the heart-shaped box from your hands with the same effortless grace as everything else he does. He turns it in his fingers, inspecting it—not because he doubts it, but because he already knows exactly what this is.

Then, before you can even gather the nerve to confess—

“I accept,” he says simply.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

Vil raises a brow. “What? You thought you were being subtle?”

Your stomach drops.

“You’re many things, sweet potato,” he continues, setting the chocolates down beside him with care, “but subtle about your affections? Let’s not joke around.”

Oh. Oh, this smug—

Your face burns as you cross your arms. “Okay, well, maybe I was obvious, but you could’ve let me confess first.”

Vil smiles, perfectly composed, but unmistakably pleased. “If it makes you feel better, I accept that as well.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward slightly, studying your face, and you swear you see a flicker of something soft beneath the confidence. “I like you too,” he says, quiet but firm. “That much should have been obvious.”

Your heart stumbles.

Before you can even fully process it, Vil smoothly rises from his seat, offering you his hand. “Now, come along. I’ll be taking you to dinner tonight.”

You blink at him, still slightly dazed. “You just decided that?”

Vil huffs, amused. “Of course. What, did you think I’d let my significant other spend Valentine’s eating alone?”

You narrow your eyes. “You say that like I wasn’t going to invite you first.”

He smirks. “Then we’re in agreement.”

Your heart is going through it, but you take his hand anyway, because honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rook Hunt

You reach into your bag, expecting to pull out the chocolates you painstakingly prepared for Rook—only to find a second box already sitting inside.

Your brain short-circuits.

You definitely didn’t put that there.

You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hands. The wrapping is elegant, the ribbon tied with impossibly perfect precision. There’s no note, no signature—but you don’t need one. It’s him. It has to be him.

Rook.

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. Of course he’d beat you to it.

But you’re not about to let him win that easily.

Finding Rook Hunt is usually a near-impossible task. Not today.

You spot him leaning against a railing, watching the scenery below, looking perfectly at ease—like he wasn’t out here committing mysterious, romantic mischief mere moments ago.

“Rook.” You approach, arms crossed, the chocolates he left you tucked under your arm.

He turns at the sound of your voice, grinning immediately. “Ah, trés bien! My beloved trickster arrives!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the fondness creeping into your smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rook tilts his head innocently. “Whatever could you mean?”

You don’t humor him. Instead, you hold up the mystery chocolates, raising a brow. “You didn’t sign them.”

He sighs, dramatic as always. “Alas! It seems my affections are far too transparent.”

You huff a laugh, then finally pull out your own chocolates, thrusting them toward him. “Well, guess what? I had the same idea. Happy Valentine’s.”

For a second—just a second—you catch a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Then, his expression melts into something impossibly warm.

“Oh~” His voice lilts, delighted. He takes the chocolates from your hands with such reverence, as if you’d just handed him a priceless treasure.

“You honor me,” he murmurs, turning the box in his hands before meeting your gaze again. “And I assume, mon cœur, that this means…?”

You smile. “I accept your confession.”

For a moment, he’s silent.

Then—he beams.

And before you can react, he takes your hand, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

"Ah, mon amour,” he sighs, eyes glinting with pure joy. “How truly, devastatingly romantic! To think, we were of one heart even before our words were spoken.”

Your face burns. “I—Rook—”

But he’s already laughing, utterly overjoyed. “Come! Let us make this day truly one to remember. Allow me the honor of taking you on a proper outing—just the two of us.”

Your heart stumbles, but you don’t even try to fight the smile pulling at your lips.

“…Yeah. I’d like that.”

Rook grins.

And as he pulls you along—his hand firm in yours, his laughter bright—you realize you wouldn’t change this for the world.

Epel Felmier

Epel stares at the chocolates in your hands like he’s not entirely convinced this is real.

“You—” He swallows, his grip tightening slightly around the box. “Are ya givin’ this to me, or am I just holdin’ it for somebody else?”

You blink. “I’m giving them to you, Epel.”

His ears go a little pink. He glances down at the chocolates, then back at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “And—uh. Y’mean it like… friendly-like, or—?”

You exhale a laugh, realizing what he’s asking. “Romantic.”

Epel freezes.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything—but then his carefully practiced Pomefiore polish shatters completely.

“Holy hell,” he breathes, his accent coming through so thick that it almost makes you laugh. “Ya serious? Y’like me? Like—like fer real?”

You nod, amused and a little flustered yourself. “Yeah, Epel. For real.”

He lets out a sharp breath, like he’s been hit with a gust of wind, and then he grins.

Not his usual polite, practiced Pomefiore smile—but a real, genuine, bright-as-hell grin.

“Well, shoot,” he mutters, ducking his head for a second, clearly overwhelmed. But when he looks back up, his eyes are shining.

“I like ya too,” he admits, shy but firm. “Been likin’ ya for a while, actually.”

Your heart stumbles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His grip on the chocolates tightens slightly, like he’s grounding himself. Then, with a newfound confidence, he straightens up, chin lifted. “So, uh. You free later? I wanna take ya out proper. Y’know, for a real date.”

Your stomach flips. “You’re asking me out?”

Epel’s grin turns a little cocky now, his usual mischievous side creeping in. “Well, duh. What kinda guy would I be if I didn’t?”

You can’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “Then yeah. I’d love to go out with you.”

Epel’s smile softens, and he nods once, firm and satisfied.

“Good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I better start plannin’ somethin’ nice, huh?”

And as you watch him glance down at your chocolates again, his fingers running over the edges like he still can’t believe this is real, you know for sure—this was worth it.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[fandom-susceptible]

I have literally been thinking about this for days. Even after she says "I'm your daughter" in the cursed realm, she always calls him by name once they get back to the real world. He clearly remembers their conversation from the cursed one, but does he ever start doubting it because she never acknowledges this moment?

They've obviously both been holding back about this for a long-ass time. In Bloodmoon Huntress, Ethari suggests they could become a family literally the day she moves in; she accepts the idea of a second chance at it by the end of the book, but she still calls them by name up until this specific moment.

I think it's also important that it's Runaan she does this with, and not Ethari. Ethari has been embracing their familial bond the entire time they've lived together; he's been comfortable with this in a way that Rayla and Runaan clearly are not.

It makes me wonder what Runaan and Ethari's family lives were like. Do they have siblings? Runaan has really intense only child energy, ngl, but Ethari is someone's younger brother, I would guess (possibly a middle child). What were their relationships with their parents like? What were their relationships with Tiadrin and Lain like, that they were close enough to them to be a part of Rayla's life from birth but that she and Runaan were so distant when she moved in, and she'd never been to their house?

How long have they seen each other as father and daughter? Does it all come back to that moment in Bloodmoon Huntress when Rayla is facing death for the first time? She calls out for Ethari as the only adult she trusts, and Runaan is the one who saves her life? Which is called back to with this moment in Season 6, when he's facing eternity in the coin, and she saves him because this time she does trust him to be there for her?

And then on that note, Runaan stops hesitating after this moment. He claims Rayla as his daughter every chance he gets in season 7, to the point of being willing to fight his entire village over her. But Rayla doesn't. What's going on in her head that causes her to hesitate again? And how much is the lack of reciprocation sitting in Runaan's head?

Ugh I need so much more exploration of the Moonfam and their family dynamics, and I want these two emotionally constipated ex-assassins to get over themselves because I want to hear Rayla get the healing of calling him "Dad" and knowing it's no disrespect to Lain. Besides, Ethari already has the title "Papa" built into his character from the Pride Papa Ethari moment in the show, so there'd be no confusion with him either.

I know we loved Runaan calling Rayla his daughter, but you think we're going to get her calling him Dad?

👉👈

[slytherweasel]

MC is still MC! There is no ‘original’

Spoilers most likely

Let me start that saying that this is my opinion based on the game and my personal knowledge and understanding of general science fiction logic and the game itself.

The Love and Deepspace timeline is very complicated and confusing. I will fully admit that I don’t even fully understand it, but based on my understanding MC is always MC. She is the same MC no matter what. What differs in the timelines are the love interests. Past lives are not necessarily a different person. So you have a Rafayel timeline, Xavier timeline, Zayne timeline, Sylus timeline, Caleb timeline

Rafayel’s and Xavier’s timelines fairly up front with them being the same.

Rafayel- a Lumerian, the Sea God, 800+ years old (as long as I’m understanding his timeline correctly), and he’s found MC throughout her many lives. I do not have his limited myth pair but from my understanding that was their first meeting. MC does not retain these memories when she essentially reincarnates as herself, but Rafayel stays bond to her, she is still his “devout follower.”

Xavier- my most basic understanding of it is the MC of the future was being used as the life source of the planet and Xavier (rightfully so) was not happy about that and wanted to save her, so he left her (wrongful so), but he came back and she died in his arms. I would also like to add while I think Xavier’s timeline is pretty up front about who he is, the actual events of his timeline hurt my brain to comprehend. Being as this is a very far ahead in the future MC she would have no memories of Xavier anyway. The lack of memories is what makes her seem different (especially to Xavier, at least at first).

Zayne- He also has no memories of his past lives, but Zayne is still Zayne. He is still cursed by Astra to suffer and die for loving MC instead of killing her. If Zayne was a different Zayne why would he still be cursed by Astra? I do need to reread his Dawnbreaker stuff but it seems to be a future Zayne and he is remembering a past version of himself (Dr. Zayne) that has MC (I assume MC has already died in this future). And present time Zayne is having dreams of future Zayne. I do hope they’ll properly explain the connect these Zaynes are having with each other. I am guessing there is a sort of rift or something due to future Zayne not having an MC to love/kill. I believe that is what Astra wants, he feels Zayne betrayed him the first time just for loving her, so he will continue to torture him until he does give in and kill her. Same timeline, same people, different lives.

Sylus- We are out a good chuck of info compared to the OG 3 but we do have his limited myth which helps. My understanding is his limited myth is the first time MC meets him. MC then curses Sylus after he dies to always live by her side until she says otherwise. Sylus is born again and finds present time MC only to realize that she has no memories of their past together, but it is still their past. He still loves her because she is still his MC, she is still the girl he fell in love with. You can also draw many characteristics and habits Sylus carries over from when he was a dragon with horns (because he is still a dragon at heart). He still doesn’t understand music and is tone deaf but he loves it because of MC, he is still a treasure hoarder and loves buying MC things, and he is still a creature of the dark just more figurative speaking.

Caleb- He was just released and only has a present time myth at the moment, so I don’t have much for him yet. But we can infer he watched MC die multiply times, that he is all too aware of how she loses her memories after dying. I assume the controlled environment of the lab is what controlled where and possibly how old MC would be when reborn. She was still the same MC, just without the memories.

The overall of this is that guys fall for who MC is, not what she looked like. The fundamentals of who MC is never changed when she died, she always remained the woman they love. There is no reason for these ‘would he leave present MC for the one he first met’ videos. That is just not how timelines work. The myths are not AUs, they are past, present, or future lives. Based on my understanding of science fiction, those are two very different things.

Spoilers for Catch-22 banner

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This banner takes place in an alternate universe. It very obviously states that for us, so there should be no questions about that.

I will be using Rafayel for this because 1. He’s my main and I love him lol and 2. I’ve watch his card like 4 times already.

We’ve established who Rafayel is in the original universe. He is none of those things isn’t this AU. He’s not even a painter. He’s an opera singer who got bite by a Praedator (basically a werewolf). They also do not have that Lumerian bond but they do give you a parallel for it. He gets that chip implanted in him that allows only MC to essentially control him. This is a different Rafayel and a different MC, while you can draw parallels that match the original universe they are different people, different timeline, completely different universe. Xavier’s also has a similar and obvious parallel with the plant Philos (original universe) and organization Philos (Alt universe) and him being the Prince/Heir.

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This rant is basically due to all the sad photos with the frame background and the posts I’ve been seeing talking about the guys leaving present MC for the MC of the past or future. I just don’t agree and feels like is causing unnecessary heartbreak. That’s not my understanding of how the LaDs timelines works.

[thefeverburningalive]

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ 𝖳𝖾𝗇 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖨 𝖧𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖠𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖸𝗈𝗎.

billie eilish x f!reader

chapter one

summary: due to the recent new rule given to your sister by your father, some meddling parties decide the easiest way to get you to date is by paying somebody to take you out. who better to do so then the hot mysterious delinquent?

a/n: hii omg first series! if you haven’t seen the actual movie 10 things i hate about you i totally recommend it’s so cute and i love it sm:) clearly i love it sm i wrote a fic about it! this first part is more of a set up for the rest of the series but it’ll be so so worth itttt. anyways yeah i hope you guys love it feel free to comment or anything and lmk if you’re interested in a tag list!! mwah<3

genre: slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, enemies(ish) to lovers, lowk fboy billie but not actually, eventual topics of drinking & high school parties

warnings: none!

word count: 2.4k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“okay then,, what did everyone think of ‘the sun also rises’?” the voice of mr. morgan echos throughout the classroom. soon after a bubbly red head girl speaks up. “i loved it! it was soooo romantic.” romantic? what a joke. you had read the same work of literature of course, along with a plethora of others. the average student didn’t do half as much reaserch as you do, going out of your way to read the very works of hemingway, shakespeare and others. not only did you read their works but you studied their lives. did this girl even know anything about hemingway?? men like him don’t know anything about love- much like every other person. you had no patience for this today. “romantic? hemingway?! he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around picasso trying to nail his leftovers.” as the people around you roll their eyes, you couldn’t care less. you’re a women with strong beliefs and opinions, you had the right to express whatever you wanted. especially when you’re right. of course right on time your least favorite person decided to now speak his own mind. joey donner. the air headed, pretentious, self centered, jock, who took every advance he could get his hands on to get under your skin. not only that but he’d also been seen hanging around your sister. “as apposed to being a self-righteous hag who has no friends?” you refused to even look his direction. you had no issues with how you are, it’s how you’ve always been. making friends with mindless hormone filled teenagers was a complete waste of your time, besides, you in-fact had one friend. the rest of the class snickers and giggles while joey gets a fist bump from one of his other jock buddies. how could someone applaud his behavior? “i guess in this society being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time. what about sylvia plath? or charlotte bronte? or simone de beauviour?” you started to raise your voice, trying to be heard over the nonsense being said around the class. unfortunately, your comment only causes more uproar and mockery. “hey! hey!!” mr. morgan tries to regain the attention of the class as joey raises his hand. “um mr. morgan is there any chance we could get y/n to take her mydol before she comes to class?” you where now fuming. you couldn’t even focus on anything else the teacher continued to say, even if he was putting joey in his place. this is why you can’t stand the thought of love or romance. it causes nothing but issues, even when it’s only being discussed. your attention is grasped once again when mr. morgan now turns to you. “y/n. thank you for your point of view-“ you start to smirk. “-i know how difficult it must be for you to overcome all those years of upper middle class suburban oppression. must be tough” within a split second your smirk deflates and turns into a scoff. so just because you grew up comfortable means you can’t understand the bullshit that goes on in society?? what bullshit.

before you knew it the end of the day was here. you arrived back at home a few minutes before your sister, bianca. bianca was the complete opposite of you. take away the fact that she’s two years younger than you, she was bubbly, friendly, popular, liked, and very ‘cutsey’. to say you two didn’t always get along was an understatement. as you walked through the living room your father sparks conversation. “hello y/n. make anyone cry today?” he speaks with a generally monotoned voice while reading the news paper, a slight smirk decorating his face. “sadly no, buuut it’s only 4:30.” joking around with your dad was always one of the highlights of your day. soon after your remark your sister skips through the door. “hi daddy!” bianca tries to continue to skip passed the entire encounter. but of course you weren’t going to let her do that. “and where have you been?” you say with a sarcastically bubbly tone. you’re met with a sour glare as she claims she’d been ‘nowhere’. “hey dad why don’t you ask bianca who drove her home today?” your dad suddenly snaps out of his probably boring newspaper. “who drove you home??” hah. busted. that’s what she gets for hanging around joey. he’s no good and you just want to protect her. “now don’t be upset daddy, but there is this boy..” you cut her off before she even gets to finish. “-who’s a flaming imbecile!” bianca gives you a glare. “and i think he’s gonna ask me out!” that’s all your father had to hear before he starts to go on a rant about boys and dating. your dad had always been very very clear about dating in high school, making the number one rule of the house ‘no dating till you graduate’. “can we just focus on me for a second please? i am literally the only girl in high school who’s not dating!!” you sit back with your arms crossed on the couch listening to the two of them go back and fourth. it was honestly very amusing. “oh no you’re not, your sister doesn’t date.” this makes bianca throw her arms up in frustration. “y/n’s a freak! she comes from planet loser!” ouch? well if she was going to insult you it was fair game to insult back. you stand up, taking a step closer. “at least i don’t act like some bimbo prancing around going ‘oo look at me look at me!!’” at that point your dad steps between the two of you before she could even rebuttal. “how about this, old rule out new rule in..” he turns to bianca. “you can date..” he stops and looks over at you. “..when she does!” well- there goes bianca’s chances of going on a date for the rest of her life. “but she’s a mutant! what if she never dates?!” the question makes your father audibly laugh as he starts to leave the house, most likely on his way to a shift at the hospital. bianca looks at you with a grunt and storms off to her room.

the next day

bianca sits in the library pissed off, waiting for her french tutor, cameron. as soon as he arrives she sits up. “hey soo can we make this quick? theres gonna be a huge public break up in the quad in like 15 minutes.” bianca could care less about learning french. if she couldn’t date she at least still wanted to stay in the ‘it’ crowd. “oh uhm yeah sure.. but i was thinking i- uhm- maybe french food-? like me and you? sometime?” the nervous boy fiddles with his organized binder infront of him. “i-i know your dad doesn’t let you date.. but uhm- i thought that if it was for french class..” his nervous sentance sparks an idea inside of bianca. “wait a minute- my dad just came up with a new rule. i can date when my sister does!” the boy infront of her suddenly shakes off his nervous demeanor and starts to get excited. “oh! well in that case! how do you feel about italian food?” bianca puts her hands down on the desk that seperates the two. “slow your roll buddy. minor issue at hand with that. if you hadn’t heard, my sister is a particularly ridiculous breed of loser. she just doesn’t do relationships. i have no idea why. she used to be popular a couple years ago but then she just like- got tired of it or something. some people say it’s cause she’s like a girl lover or something but im pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction. plus, shes a bitch.” cameron takes a minute to take in all of what bianca’s just told him, the gears turning in his head to try and piece together a plan of action. “well i mean, there’s gotta be someone into her.. aggressive.. personality?” bianca then puts her hand over his. “you’d really try and find someone to date her for me?” she bats her prissy little eyelashes at him, inevitably making him blush. “y-yeah sure thing.” and with that bianca says her thank you and goodbye and exists the empty library.

unfortunately for cameron, the task of finding a date for y/n stratford was farthest thing from easy. after about an hour of going around asking, and getting a lot of negative backlash, he starts to lose hope. “this is hopeless dude. everyone thinks she’s like evil or something!” he groans sitting down next to his friend on a bench outside. “no no cam listen- you’re just not looking for the right type of person. look at her.” he then points to none other than billie o’connell. she was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand, conversing with her friend zoe. billie was known as a delinquent. she skipped class, smoked cigarettes, disobeyed most instructions, and didn’t give a damn what other people said. she was the perfect candidate. she was hot- there was no denying that. she was also known for being a huge flirt with the ladies. if anyone was up to the task, it was billie. “ok that’s great but also she’s scary.. and how do we know she’ll even do it? she seems like the type of person to only do things for herself.” cameron makes a valid point, to which his friend micheal puts an arm around him. “you have to learn how to play the game my friend. if there’s one thing all outcasts want, it’s money. now obviously we don’t have any- but if we had a backer then we could get someone else to pay billie thinking that he’s gonna get to be with bianca but in reality you sweep in and steal her away!” as crazy as the planned sounded, it was pretty solid. especially since joey had shown special interest in bianca and definitely had money to spare. after some sweet talking and convincing, cameron and micheal successfully convince joey to take part in their scheme. all joey had to do was ask billie. “yo. o’connell.” joey approaches billie and zoe while they sit out in one of the many courtyards the school has to offer. billie glances at joey, noticing him walking over. she fixes her navy blue baseball cap and smirks. “sorry big shot, i don’t swing that way.” her and zoe chuckle while joey rolls his eyes. “real funny. listen. i’ve got a proposition for you.” billie listens, showing no expression on her face. “see that girl over there? that’s y/n stratford. i want you to go out with her.” billie lets out a hearty laugh, even leaning her head back as she continues to keep her arms crossed and legs spread out. billie’s display of laughter aggravates joey, he lets out a sigh and continues to speak. “look i can’t take her sister out until y/n dates. and she’s impossible. i’ll compensate you for the favor.” the word ‘compensate’ makes billie’s ears turn on, she leans her elbows onto her knees and interlocks her hands. “and how much are you offering exactly?” she glares up at him, asserting her dominance. “twenty bucks.” billie scoffs. “ok fine- thirty bucks.” joey adds on, making billie catch onto his desperation. she then stands up, putting her hands in the pockets of her baggy janco jeans. “well let’s think about this. we go and see a movie and that’s uh- twenty five bucks. we get popcorn and snacks and shit and that brings us to about fifty. then of course she’ll want a drink to wash down the junk food, and by the end of the night you’re looking at about seventy five bucks.” the jock crosses his arms and takes a step closer to billie. “this ain’t a negotiation. take it or leave it.” billie smiles and sighs, glancing over at zoe, then back at joey. “fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal.” and before anyone knew it, joey was taking a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and aggressively slamming it into billie’s hand.

you’re on the soccer field, sitting down on one of the benches as you get ready to leave practice. you start to change out of your cleats as you feel a presence approach you. “well hey there mamas. how ya doin’?” the sound of billie’s voice, along with the stink of her lit cigarette, pulls you up from what you where previously doing. you take a moment to look her up and down. she’s wearing a bright yellow jersey for some team you didn’t recognize. she paired it with some baggy jeans, beat up nikes, and a navy blue la baseball cap, her neck decorated with various necklaces and chains. you didn’t know much about her, aside from her name and the fact that she was sort of a rebel. after the brief observation, you raise an eyebrow in question at her before answering her question. “sweating like a pig actually. and you?” your tone was a mix between condescending, cocky, and unamused with a bit of sarcasm- your usual tone. billie chuckles and puts out her cigarette. “now there’s a way to get a girl attention, huh?” the comment makes you cringe. that’s the last thing you want. you respond as you roll your eyes. “my mission in life. but obviously i struck your fancy so as you see it works.” the annoyance and sarcasm where basically leaking out of your pores. you grab your soccer bag and start to walk away. of course, billie starts to follow you. “pick you up friday then?” you’re somewhat shocked at her boldness, and her persistence- you’re still annoyed either way though. “oh yeah. friday. of course” you start to speed up your walk and head toward the student parking lot. billie eventually stops following you, taking a moment to just observe you. yes you are a bitch, there was no denying that. you’re dismissive, arrogant, closed off- but you’re also smart. confusing. beautiful. a puzzle for billie to try and solve. and billie is always up for a challenge, especially when there’s money involved.

to be continued..

[ghostgirl-22]

If you saw me post this and accidentally delete the ask and everything, no you didn’t 😭

But yeah anon. Patrick would do anything for him.  Make a mess of him before his first hook up with the prettiest girl in school. Just because he feels like it, just because he can. Because Art’s his best friend. His.  

He’s an amazing friend.

CW: 18+ NSFW 

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“Is it okay?” Art asks. He’s dressed up so nice in one of Patrick’s smaller sweaters, its cloudy blue like his eyes. He’s got on fitted black jeans, and a brown leather jacket. He looks so good, smells so good, like black cherry and tobacco, this expensive cologne that he only wears when he thinks he might get laid. 

He’s visibly nervous. Chewing incessantly on spearmint gum. Always nervous about his first time with a new girl. Patrick doesn’t know why, if he was a pretty girl he’d be wet the moment Art turned that shy little smile in his direction. He doesn’t need to dress up, pretty boy. He got Kennedy Sawyer’s attention in sweatpants and a t-shirt while he was arguing with Patrick over final fantasy play styles at breakfast.

But that’s not important. What’s important is Patrick just wants to help. Art is his best friend after all. He sits up on his bed, dropping his game controller. “Come ‘ere,” he says. Art checks his hair in the mirror for the third time and then approaches Patrick, eyes dilated, nerves making him run his sweaty palms awkwardly over his jeans.  That’s when it catches Patrick’s eye. He teases his finger tips up Art’s thighs up to the bulge along his hip, it’s not obvious but Patrick knows him so well, knows how he tries to hide it, but Patrick can tell that he’s hard. “I can’t calm down,” Art admits quietly. 

“You wanna know my secret?” Patrick asks, gripping at either side of his unzipped jacket and pulling him closer. “Like how I stay cool when I’m out with a beautiful girl?” 

Art looks hopeful that Patrick’s about to tell him the secret to life. “How?” 

Patrick tugs Art a little bit closer so he’s got a leg on either side of one of Patrick’s thighs. “I like to rub one out first…  just to help my nerves.”

“I um—really?” Art studies him, trying to decide whether Patrick means it or if he's full of shit. “No fucking way,” he decides, followed by that stupid pretty smile of his, the one that makes Patrick want to get on his knees. 

“I’m so serious,” that smile is contagious even when Arts annoyed. Patrick keeps his grip on Art’s jacket to hold him in place. “It helps, I promise. Especially if she’s really pretty, like Kennedy is. Plus it helps so I don’t finish too fast when we…” he looks up at Art's pretty blue eyes, letting him fill in the blank.

He’s chewing again. Anxious. He definitely has that “too fast” issue. He gets so excited. Patrick still touches himself remembering the night Art asked him, red faced and shy to please show him how to French kiss. Not even two minutes with Patrick’s tongue in his mouth and he’d already cum in his pants and got so embarrassed he nearly cried. Doesn’t even get how gorgeous he is. 

Oh. Patrick just wants to help him. Wants to help him so bad. He’s his best friend after all. Patrick can just imagine Art, soft and sweet and so gentle with her. Fucking into her, losing it too fast and promising he can do it again. Tears of shame in his eyes. God, Patrick kinda wants to be her. 

“I guess I should…” Art says quietly, bringing Patrick back from his thoughts. His expression thoughtful, his tongue, eager as he plays with his gum in his mouth. 

“I mean… what could it hurt?” Patrick shrugs, grabbing at Arts belt buckle.

“Um…” Art blinks, confused. He’s so smart but stupid about some things. He gets with the program fast enough, once Patrick’s got his hands on him. God, he’s hard. So fucking hard he’s already leaking into his boxers, can’t calm down. Let’s Patrick pull him onto his lap as his breathing picks up. “Patrick, no, it’s late. ‘m gonna be late,” he sounds a little panicky, but he’s gripping at Patrick’s biceps as they both look down at his lap, Patrick’s hand working inside his boxers. 

“No, it’s okay, I promise,” Patrick whispers. Not sure what he’s promising, he’s already lost the plot. Art smells so good. Patrick always wonders if he tastes as good as he smells in this cologne. He licks a stripe up the side of his throat, kisses his way up to Art's lips. Petal soft and minty, Art opens up right away. His mouth heated and… oh so wet. He scoots closer, his neatly ironed shirt getting wrinkled because he’s pressed up against Patrick’s body. His fingers tangled in Patrick’s hair. The kiss getting sloppier, sticky gum sliding back and forth between them. He’s chaos. So good at keeping it all in until he can’t. 

If Patrick wasn’t hard from the moment Art got back to the room to get ready for his little date he’d be gone by now. Patrick is dizzy, swallowing on Art’s helpless little gasps, the kinda kissing that can make Art come untouched. But Patrick wants to touch him,  bucks his hips up so Art can feel him. It’s not too long before Art is just mouthing him, no technique no nothing, just opened mouth moaning against Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s heart is racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He’s on the brink. 

“Tell me what you wanna do to her?” Patrick mutters hot, against his lips, hand gripping tighter, moving faster. You’ve been so patient for two months. So good… I bet you can’t wait to fuck into her wet dripping cunt…”  

“God Patrick…I want it so bad,” He whines. “I wanna— wanna fuck— fuck—” 

“Yeah?” Patrick coaxes, as if any of this is coherent.

“God Patrick, Patrick,” it’s all he can manage before spilling it everywhere, heated sticky pearls of white all over that neatly pressed blue shirt and black jeans. The image of it makes Patrick lose it, breathless in his pants. They’re both sitting there, catching their breaths. A soft sheen of sweat visible on Art’s forehead, his skin mildly flushed.

”Fuck,” Art whispers after a minute. “My…my clothes.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, leaning back on the bed, letting the mess on his palm spread onto his sheets. “Shoulda done it before you got dressed probably…” 

Art takes a deep breath and pushes himself up to his feet, while simultaneously trying to straighten himself out. Patrick watches him, mildly amused. “I have to change… do you um… do you have another shirt?”

”I mean… I think what you were wearing is perfect. God. It really brings out your eyes.”

”Well I can’t wear it now, and I’m already late, god I’m supposed to meet her out front in ten minutes. We’re gonna miss the movie and the next show is not till 8 and we won’t make dinner before curfew and Ms. Henderson will be sitting outside the girls dorm and—” He’s started talking so fast he’s getting pitchy.  

“Hey I got a crazy idea,” Patrick interrupts and Art stares at him, so pathetically frustrated but also covered in jizz. It almost makes Patrick laugh but he stops himself. “This is supposed to be special, right? Why don’t you wait till tomorrow night? You can wash everything and you know… we can do it before you get dressed next time.”

”No we are not doing that again,” Art says determinedly, because he’s so sated and in his right mind.  

“Well you can then,” Patrick shrugs, smirking. 

Art rolls his eyes and goes to pick up his phone from the charger to text her the change of plans. Patrick goes into the bathroom to clean up a bit. 

“I’m gonna be hungry, should we order pizza?” Art calls from the room. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, smiling to himself in the mirror. “Definitely.” 

[booxmowo]

I still pretty regularly think about Lucy Westenra's character being summarized/conceptualized as just "girl - dies".

The entire description of her character is "girl" and her role in the plot is simply "- dies". I don't know, I guess because I like Lucy Westenra as Bram Stoker wrote her it feels weird seeing her reduced to... no... originate as a simple two word entry in a list. On the other hand there's no way this is an unusual way to come up with characters; you write the barest outline of their role first and then flesh them out later, and that includes inventing characters for the sole purpose of dying.

But on a sort of meta level it makes me feel sad for Lucy Westenra the completely fictional woman, because she was always going to die. Like, not just independent of any choices she could make, but independent even of what sort of person she was. She was destined to die because she was invented to die.

girl - dies

She is a girl, a simple fact that is of course established immediately within her introduction to the story. She dies, an event that by definition happens to her only at the end of her role in the story. All other features of her as a character can only happen in between.

Dracula is one of the most adapted storylines in all of English literature and by proxy Lucy Westenra, though she doesn't appear in every version of Dracula, has been adapted to film, television, theatre, etc. dozens and dozens of times. And honestly, the various adaptations of Lucy are often so different in personality from each other that it does feel like "girl - dies" is the core of her identity. Every new writer/director has their own take on who this girl is and why she dies.

Years ago... coming up on half a decade ago now, I wrote a silly post where Lucy herself explains how everything she does can be read into and used to prescribe the "meaning" of her inevitable death. I don't remember if the description "girl - dies" was part of the original inspiration, but it certainly fits.

What are very probably the first notes Stoker wrote regarding Jack and Lucy in the process of planning Dracula.