#he would like sleep but if he sleeps the Horrors get him

[ignis-sama]

For my canon self (I mean Yotsuyu)

Gluttony

Lychee (Rokakaka and spicy food too, but he absolutely loves lychee)

2. Rokakacake (yes, you read that right), anything spicy and, obviously, lychee

3. If it's lychee, don't count on him to share it. If it's anything else, he'd let others have it.

4. He doesn't eat a lot.

5. He doesn't care about food that much.

6. Only 1

7. Cherry coke (obviously) and tea

8. Tomoki gives him silicon-infused water. Whether or not Yotsuyu actually drinks it is up to interpretation.

9. Cherry coke... just the thought of it makes him drool.

10. Let's say he enjoys sake a normal amount.

11. No.

12. Maybe?

Greed

He has a manga collection. Most are horror-related (Junji Ito, Shintaro Kago, Usamaru Furuya, ...)

2. No.

3. His job is rather well paid so his financial situation would be considered good.

4. His species don't really care about money (Damo's an exception, but well... it's Damo so it's not surprising)

5. Wu manages his account so...

6. He keeps it a secret because Damo tends to steal money from him.

7. He sometimes goes to the mall with Mitsuba so they can buy stuff for their respective partners. No need to say they always end up carrying bags full of various things (clothes, food, drinks, books, ...)

8. No.

9. Possibly.

10. Would he steal money? No. Would he steal a victim from Damo? Absolutely.

Wrath

cw: sh & sa mention

Only if it's someone he'd really enjoy to make suffer.

2. He doesn't show when he's angry but tends to harm himself a lot, saying it's not that bad since he can't feel pain. If he's really furious, only Tomoki's able to calm him down.

3. Karma? Pff, he believes in calamity and nature. If nature wants to get rid of someone, good or evil, it'll do it.

4. He doesn't like to fight. His methods are more... elaborated.

5. He becomes extremely violent if someone tries to sexually assault him just to "see what's in his pants".

6. Depends on his mood.

7. He makes people suffer for fun, yes.

8. None.

9. Oh, he killed a lot of people.

10. He's a huge sadist. In fact, he's even worse than Damo.

Pride

No.

2. Architecture, obviously, and tormenting humans.

3. No, but only because he doesn't understand human morals.

4. Only with people he likes.

5. If he hurts someone he doesn't like, or even know, he doesn't feel remorse. Rock humans are sociopaths after all.

6. No.

7. He doesn't like to brag.

8. He looks down on humans because they're humans. To him, rock humans will always be better.

Sloth

He doesn't feel lazy, only tired when he's about to start hibernating.

2. No.

3. If it counts : washing Damo's clothes. Couldn't he do it himself?

4. His hibernation period often lasts a month, though he sometimes has to sleep longer.

5. He's a perfectionist so...

6. Depends on his mood and whether his boyfriend's at home.

7. Indifferent

8. He's not the type to complain anyway...

9. Non applicable (he hibernates)

Envy

If someone tries to steal his boyfriend from him, he turns Yukako-mode.

2. Tomoki belongs to him and him alone.

3. No

Lust

Tomoki and him often enjoy intimate moments together, mostly after work when they're both home.

2. Gay and demisexual

3. He's extremely kinky. Between oculolinctus, choking, eye penetration, dollification and medical play, he wouldn't be able to choose his favorite.

4. He doesn't care about words. With how silent he is in the bed...

5. He's unable to (the rock boy has no genitalia, y'see?)

6. Low

7. If his partner doesn't want to have sex, he'd understand. He's not the kind to ask for it anyway.

8. He actively avoids talking about it. To him, it's a human thing he'd never be able to understand.

9. His first time was with Wu Tomoki, when they started dating. Yotsuyu was extremely nervous but it went well.

seven deadly sins headcanons

because i'm tired of sinday memes being all about sex. send a category + a number. warning: some of the questions in the lust section are nsft. that's why it's at the bottom.

gluttony - - -

what could your muse eat all the time without ever getting tired of it?

a feast of all your muse's favorite foods is laid out in front of them. what's on the menu?

is your muse the type to leave the last bit of food for someone else, or to take it for themselves before someone else can claim it?

does your muse frequently overeat?

does your muse go back for seconds? thirds? fourths?

how many meals and snacks does your muse eat in a day?

what are your muse's go-to beverages?

does your muse drink enough water?

does your muse drink many sugary drinks, like soda or juice?

is your muse a heavy (alcohol) drinker? if so, what do they drink? in what situations do they drink? do they know their limits? do they stop at their limit, or go past it?

is your muse addicted to caffeine? if so, what is their preferred caffeinated beverage?

does your muse have a sweet tooth?

greed - - -

what does your muse collect, if anything?

is your muse prone to hoarding anything?

what is your muse's financial situation? what are their financial goals?

is money important to your muse? why or why not?

how much money does your muse keep in their checking account at any given time? if your muse keeps cash, how much do they usually have in their wallet? does your muse carry coins around? what is the limit on their credit card, if they have one? do they have multiple credit cards?

does your muse have good savings habits? how much do they currently have saved up?

is your muse prone to shopping sprees? if so, what do they usually indulge in buying?

is your muse in debt? if so, are they managing it well, or are they struggling?

would your muse throw others under the bus/step on others if it meant they could find more success/make more money?

would your muse steal anything?

wrath - - -

does your muse like to get revenge on those they feel have wronged them?

how does your muse handle anger? do they have anger issues? how do they manage or vent their anger?

does your muse believe in karma?

did your muse get into fights as a kid? do they get into fights as an adult? if your muse never got into fights before, would they in the name of self defense?

what, if anything, provokes your muse to violence?

does your muse believe that violence can solve some problems? or are they more a "violence is never the answer" type? somewhere in-between?

does your muse destroy things for fun, or to let off steam?

was your muse a bully? or were they bullied themselves?

has your muse ever considered murdering someone? or have they actually gone through with murdering someone?

does your muse enjoy hurting others, whether it be physically or emotionally?

pride - - -

does your muse believe they are the best at everything, even if that belief is unwarranted?

in what areas might your muse be a little overconfident? are they overconfident in the sense that they don't have the skills to back it up, or in the sense that they do have the skills but they are obnoxious in their confidence?

does your muse accept responsibility for their actions when they have done something wrong?

is your muse comfortable with apologizing to others?

does your muse feel remorse? if so, how do they express it?

has your muse every blown off preparing for something because they were confident they could complete the task without preparation? if so, what was the situation?

is your muse prone to bragging? what do they brag about?

does your muse look down on others they perceive as being "not as good" at things as they are?

sloth - - -

on what day(s) does your muse feel most lazy? at a specific time of day, or all day?

is your muse prone to procrastination?

what chores/responsibilities does your muse avoid doing at all costs?

how many hours of sleep does your muse get? do they feel rested after, or are they still tired?

once your muse gets started doing something important, do they drag their feet, take many breaks, and ultimately prolong the task? or do they work as quickly as possible, at the sacrifice of a quality job? or do they work efficiently without sacrificing quality?

does your muse put on real clothes every day, or only if they have to go out?

if your muse could get away with wearing pajamas all day every day, would they?

does your muse complain about responsibilities a lot?

is your muse the type to get up on time on their own or with an alarm? are they the type to hit snooze over and over?

envy - - -

does your muse get jealous easily, or does it take a lot for them to feel it?

what kinds of things does your muse get jealous about?

does your muse compare themselves to others often? if so, how does it affect them?

lust - - -

is your muse sexually active? if so, how often do they have sex? how many partners do they typically have at one time? if not, why not?

what is your muse's sexuality? if asexual, are they sex favorable, sex indifferent, or sex repulsed?

is your muse vanilla, or are they kinky? if kinky, what are their top three kinks, and why do they like them? if vanilla, what position(s) does your muse have sex in?

what sex-related words turn your muse on? what words make them cringe?

does your muse masturbate? if so, how often, and how do they get themselves off? if not, why not?

does your muse have high, medium, or low libido?

is sex compatibility a dealbreaker for your muse in a relationship? why or why not?

how does your muse feel about one-night-stands?

what was your muse's first time having sex like? who was it with, why did they choose that person, where did it take place, how old were they, and what happened?

[munsonsmixtapes]

hello! if you have the time could you please write soft Eddie guiding a shy reader when they make out for the first time?

There's a knock on Eddie's door and he hurries to answer it, hoping it's who he thinks it is. He isn't expecting anyone else, but it's not uncommon for people to show up looking to buy from him, but he really hopes it's you. He's been looking forward to tonight for over a week since you suggested it. He opens the door and there you are, beautiful as ever.

He steps aside and you plant a soft kiss on his cheek as you enter the trailer. You hold out a DVD and a few of Eddie's favorite snacks and he can't help but smile at how sweet you are. You've only been on a few dates and hopes he wouldn't scare you off if he proposed. Because if he's being honest, he can't see himself with anyone else.

No one he's dated has ever been so sweet to him. All they seemed to be interested in was using him for his body and rarely anything else. He wasn't really known as Eddie "the freak" Munson (well, maybe in other ways) anymore, but it still seemed like people didn't want anything else from him besides drugs or sex.

But you? All you seem to want from him is his company, genuinely interested in all of his fun facts that he has about random subjects and you even laugh at his jokes. And they aren't pity laughs either. You're a breath of fresh air and he hopes you'll stick around forever.

"You didn't have to do all this," he tells you with a smile as he takes the stuff from you. You're staring down at the floor and he can tell you're getting shy on him again. He doesn't mind, though. He thinks it's cute.

"Of course I did," you insist. "I wanted to treat you for once," you then smile and Eddie never gets tired of seeing it.

"Well I'm not going to say no to that," he responds then takes you by the hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Now c'mon."

You follow him over to the couch and the two of you sit together, but you make sure to leave a little space to be polite. You want to be cuddled up into his side, though. You want rest your head on his chest as his hand lazily runs up and down your back.

A lot of the people you've out with all seemed to be after one thing so it warms your heart that Eddie is willing to go at your pace. He always waits for you to initiate things like hugs or kisses and waits until you pull away, never asking for more. He's nothing but a gentleman and you really like spending time with him.

Eddie spreads out all of the movies you brought, his eyebrows quirking at the variety. You seem to have an eclectic taste and he admires that. He plucks the horror movie from the selection and heads over to the VCR. As soon as his back is turned, you begin to panic. You had only brought the movie to give you excuse to get close to him because of the scary scenes, but now you're beginning to regret your decision.

Eddie turns back to you and you try to hide your fear, debating on telling him that you'd rather watch something else, but you can't yourself to form the words. So you just sit in silence as Eddie moves back over to the couch, sitting even closer to you now and your fear takes over as you throw yourself into his arms.

Eddie lets out a laugh at your eagerness but he wraps his arms around you anyway, pulling you even closer to him as he turns his head towards the screen. You instantly feel better knowing that he'll keep you safe but can't help but think about what Steve told you when he rented the movie out to you.

He told you that it was the scariest movie he'd ever seen and that he couldn't sleep for days afterwards. And you rented it anyway even though he had suggested many more options that weren't nearly as scary and would still help you get into Eddie's arms despite how silly he thought the idea was.

The movie hasn't even started and you're already burying your head into his chest, gripping his shirt in your fists as tight as possible. His hand moves up to stroke the back of your head as he murmurs something to you that you can't quite hear.

"Hey, hey," he says as grabs hold of your face, forcing you to look him in the eye. His are nothing but soft as they look at you, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, suddenly feeling silly for how scared you just were. "It's nothing."

"We don't have to watch the movie," he tells you. "If you were scared, why didn't you say something?" It's a fair question, but you stay silent, not wanting to tell him the truth.

"I-" you start to say but cut yourself off, not wanting to admit the truth nor finding the right words to use.

"You what, honey?" He asks, his hands moving up and down your back exactly the way you wanted him to. Sometimes you're convinced he's a mind reader.

"I just wanted an excuse to cuddle you," you tell him, your voice so soft he almost didn't hear you. And at that, Eddie lets out a laugh before pulling you to his chest, giving you a tight squeeze. You have to remind yourself that he's not laughing at you, but because of you.

"You could have just cuddled me," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and it is. Well, it should be, but you've always found it hard to voice what you want no matter how badly you want it.

"How about we call off the movie for now?" He asks and turns off the TV then pulls you closer to him, his hands still moving up and down your back. You look up at him as he licks his lips, now unable to think about anything but how inviting they look.

The two of you have kissed multiple times, but it's never gone any farther than little pecks here and there because you've been too afraid to do any more than that. But now you feel the need to go all the way, wondering what he tastes like, if his hair is as soft as it looks.

But you've never made out with anyone and that scares you. Even though you know for sure that Eddie would talk you through it, the whole thing still makes you feel nervous. But apparently not nervous to forget it completely because before you can stop yourself, you're looking up at Eddie, gulping before getting his attention.

"Eddie?" You ask and his head turns to you, those honey eyes boring into yours. You melt under his gaze but trying to muster up the confidence again.

"Hm?" He asks, that stupid smirk making its way upon his face, the same one that's always there when he looks at you.

"Can-" you cut yourself off for the second time tonight but Eddie just sits there, patient as ever as he waits for you to speak. He knows how hard it can get sometimes for you to speak your mind so he doesn't mind waiting for you to finish your thoughts. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Of course you can," he responds, taking your face in his hands and pecking your lips once, twice, three times before pulling away only for you to grumble in response.

"No," you shake your head. "I want a real kiss."

"Oh," he replies, wondering what made you decide on that, but wanting to oblige. He's willing to give you whatever you ask.

His hands move down to neck, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across your jaw as he leans in again, his lips slowly capturing yours as they move together slowly. He's nothing but gentle as he kisses you, showing you how it's done.

Your hands press against his chest and all you can think about how you can't believe you've gone so long without his lips attached to yours. They're nothing but soft and gentle and now you're sure that you can do this for hours.

Eddie breaks away before you're ready and you're breathing hard as you try to catch your breath. He stares down, a chuckle falling from his lips as he presses his forehead to yours.

"You're supposed breathe, baby," he tells you softly and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Can we try that again?" You ask as you pick up one of his curls, twirling it around your pointer finger, staring down at it as you speak again. "Do you think we could...make out? I promise to breathe this time."

"Oh, honey," he sighs before pressing a kiss to you lips. "I'd love to make out with you." Another and another until he's capturing your lips again, taking the lead again. You have no idea what you're doing but Eddie is being nothing but a sweetheart as he guides you through it.

He pulls away again and you whine this time at the absence of his lips, chasing him and getting in another quick kiss before you sit back, waiting for him.

"Do you want to sit in my lap?" He suggests. "I think that'll be more comfortable for you."

Eddie sits with his back against the couch and you do as he suggests and straddle his waist which feels foreign to you but he's right. It's much more comfortable. Your arms wrap around his neck as his rest on the small of your back, a good spot between your waist and upper back because this is just kissing and he doesn't want to give you the impression that he's going to go any farther.

"You kiss me now," he says and your heart races in your chest as you think about fucking it all up.

"Are you sure?" You ask, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling on it as you contemplate.

"Positive," he nods. "You've got this. Do whatever you want, baby. This is all about you."

"Okay," you nod, leaning forward and slotting your lips just like he did, Eddie immediately responding to you but he's moving at your pace instead of leading like he previously had.

You remember to breath through your nose as your fingers thread into his hair on each side of his head. His hair is normally off limits because people get too rough with it, but with you, he doesn't care. In fact, he loves when you play with his hair, a little bit of love sprinkles into every touch of it.

"You're doing so good, honey," he murmurs against your lips. "Do you want to try sticking your tongue in my mouth?"

"Please," you whine with a yank of his hair and if you can feel his cock hardening underneath you, you don't say anything. And thank god for that.

"Do you want me to show you first?"

"Yes," you breath against his lips and he's getting even more hard, knowing that he's going to have to get himself off later because there's no way he's going to expect you to go all the way right now.

Eddie captures your lips again as his hands rest against your waist, landing on the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. His lips are moving against you to warm you up and then he gingerly flicks his tongue against your bottom lip.

"Open up," he commands against your lips and you do as he says, opening up for him as he slides his tongue into your mouth. He swirls his tongue around yours and you mimic his actions, tugging on his hair as a moan falls from your lips at the feeling of his tongue moving with yours.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but pull away as you suddenly feel embarrassed at the sound you've just made. Eddie, though? Eddie's convinced that's the hottest thing he's ever heard and he really wants you to make it again.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he says quickly, trying his best to assure you. "It was really hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Definitely," he nods. "Would it help if you made me moan too?" All you can do is nod and before he can say anything else, your lips are on his, only a few seconds passing before your tongue is flicking against his bottom lip. He opens up immediately and you mimic what he just showed you, your tongue swirling around his as you pulling on his hair even harder, a loud moan falling from his lips.

You haven't thought about it until now since you were so caught up in his kisses, but you're soaking wet between your legs and if you had more confidence, you'd ask Eddie to take care of you, but you don't so you don't. You don't think you're ready for that right now anyway.

You try to focus on the taste of him to get your mind off of it. He tastes like cigarettes that you know he smoked before you came over and you don't know why but you can't get enough of it. It's intoxicating.

You stay like that for a while until your lips are kiss bitten and your legs are asleep from you straddling him for too long. You both decide to call it a night and Eddie walks you to your car like the gentleman he is, kissing you one more time before you drive away. He then goes back inside and heads to his room where he collapses onto his bed, deciding that he's probably (definitely) in love with you.

[gojocon]

❝ BUT, YOU’RE PREGNANT! ❞ — gojo satoru

mdni, fem!reader, suggestive, 0.8k wc, established relationship, satoru’s pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him, teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism (reader palms his bulge in public), failed self-restraint, satomi (selfship) coded cuz we’re both desperate for each other :’) reposted from old blog

you’re far along now, and satoru swears that the more your stomach grows with his child, the hornier you get.

he had to keep on his toes around you in order to not get you so worked up. the pregnancy hormones were really getting to you, and you lashed out at him or cried over every little inconvenience. but what he had to be most careful about was the way he touched you.

if his hand lingered a little too long on your waist — the intention wholeheartedly innocent — you’d somehow take that as an invitation to palm his bulge. it’s happened numerous times recently—even in public!

his poor, pregnant wife had no shame nowadays. yeah, he’s done his fair share of groping your ass when others were around, but it was always under a private eye, secret giggles shared between the two of you.

unfortunately, you had picked up the habit of doing it out in the open. he couldn’t count the amount of times people would gawk in horror, all while you continued to browse the baby section, unbothered, as if you hadn’t squeezed his balls like a stress toy in front of dozens of people. maybe you were an exhibitionist?

either way, it was clear your thoughts only consisted of three things as of late: eat, sleep, and fuck.

how could he resolve this? he wanted to cry. this wasn’t fair! why couldn’t you be this thirsty for his cock when you weren’t pregnant? never in his life would he have thought you could out-freak him. and as badly as he wanted to fuck you senseless in return, he had to be gentle—cautious. sex was increasingly dangerous at this stage — according to the doctor after a long night of abusing your needy cunt — and you were driving him to the brink of madness with the way you were acting.

tensions were higher than they’ve ever been, neither of you speaking or acting on it. however, things came to ahead one morning while he was leaving for work. like usual, he stood by the door in his suit, prepared to head out after your usual once-over. it was a domestic routine he looked forward to every morning despite him whining in your ear about how he was going to be late, watching you softly as you “fix” his collar for the millionth time.

satoru wasn’t stupid. he could tell you were stalling for more time with him, not-so discreetly using it as an excuse to touch him. and don’t think he doesn’t notice how you’re practically sniffing him like an animal in heat. he knew just how much you loved the scent of his cologne, and it was as if you couldn’t help yourself around him when you caught a whiff of it.

now, here’s the part where he may have messed up. after your initial aggressive arousal towards him — plus with the advice the doctor gave him on the down low — he made sure to no longer kiss you on the lips in your current state, and instead, opted for your cheek. when you hand him his lunch, he leans himself down to your height, lips puckered to plant a chaste peck on your soft skin.

though, what he hadn’t expected was for you to outmaneuver him, slapping both hands on the sides of his head, tugging him close to the point that he stumbles as you begin to utterly ravish his mouth.

“mff—!”, satoru sputters in protest against your lips, eyes wide open in shock. his lunch slips from his hand, the bag falling to the ground with a thud. shaky hands hover over your waist, your protruding stomach pressing against his hard abdomen as move against him as sensually as you can.

he doesn’t touch you back just yet, but you force him to. gripping his wrists, you bring his large hands up to palm your round, tender breasts that swelled throughout these past few months. your soft, cherry-flavored lips moved against his in desperation, and he finally responds back, moaning into your mouth with just as much fervor, squeezing the plump flush of your soft tits. the whimper you let out to the massage sends a shudder down his spine and goes straight to his cock.

you pull back, and he finds himself chasing after your lips until you plant a firm hand on his chest. his breathing is ragged, pupils dilated as satoru stares down at you through his blindfold. he takes in the sight of your kiss-swollen lips and furrowed brows, certain he appeared just as flustered.

before he can utter a word, you gaze up at him through your lashes, a cheeky glint in your eyes that he knows all too well.

“stay.” you pout, and he almost finds the willpower left in him to say no—

“please?”

you didn’t have to ask him twice.

[sweetfictionalworld]

The Deal - Chapter 3

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/The Front Man x Female Reader

Story Summary: You get suspicious of Player 001 and confront him. That decision leads to a deal that will change the fate of your life forever.

Chapter Summary: In-Ho returns after the third game, and needs to distract himself.

Warnings: Nsfw, Smut, Oral Sex.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

"You can sleep here. There's some night clothes for you in the box."

In-Ho led you into his bedroom, containing nothing but a king-sized bed with golden sheets and a black box with a pink bow.

You swallowed and glanced over at him. "What about you?"

In-Ho smiled and walked up to you, his now bare hand cupping your face. You stared up at him, hearing the nervous drumming of your heart pulsate in your ear as you looked into his dark-brown eyes twinkling back at you.

"Don't worry, little one. I will join you as soon as I can. But for now, I have to sleep with the players."

His thumb ran across your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on your mouth and for a second you thought he would kiss you. You held your breath in anticipation, feeling the electrifying pulse vibrate between the two of you. Then, he suddenly let go, as if he woke himself from a dream, and the moment was gone. He left without a word and you lifted your fingers to your lip, grazing the trail of his touch as you stared at the closed door behind him.

Morning came sooner than you expected. You must have fallen asleep despite the thoughts tumbling around in your head. Were you actually starting to fall for this man? The nervous flutter in your stomach when you thought of him certainly suggested so. Well, fuck...

You looked at the clock on the wall in In-Ho's bedroom. 8 o'clock. There was another box waiting for you on the floor outside the bedroom door. You opened it and found a silk dressing gown, in gold of course. Damn, In-Ho was really obsessed with gold. You slipped into the gown and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. One of the guards had brought more stuff for you yesterday, like toothbrush and toothpast and other hygiene stuff. When you were finished freshening up, you went into the main room. There, you saw a luxurious breakfast waiting for you. Those guards were really quiet, weren't they? You hadn't even heard them come inside to set all this up.

As you started eating, your thoughts went to the other players and the horrors they were going through right now. And here you were, eating this rich breakfast and enjoying the softness of a real bed and the warmness of a hot shower. You lost your appetite right then and there.

There weren't much to do when In-Ho wasn't around, so you picked up one of his books and made yourself comfortable on his armchair with a glass of whiskey. You really didn't care for the flavor much, but it was something to numb the guilt dwelling in your stomach. The guilt of sitting here whilst the other were down there, getting murdered. Guilt over the fact that the man responsible for those deaths made you feel things you hadn't felt since you fell in love with your husband. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You closed your eyes and repressed those thoughts to the back of your mind as you took a deep breath and started reading the book in your hand.

You were half through the book when In-Ho returned, still in his green track suit. His face was shiny with sweat and his right cheek was sprinkled with blood. You swallowed, remembering all the dead people after the first game. His face was hard and cold, so different from the man you'd dined with yesterday.

"Are you okay?" you asked and stood up from the armchair.

"I'm fine," In-Ho mumbled back and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the shower starting and sat back down on the armchair, waiting for him to come back out.

When he did, it was in his Front Man outfit, with the mask on and everything. He approached you with determined steps, and you stared up at the black mask as he stood in front of you.

"Get up."

You quickly did as he ordered, didn't dare to question the harshness in his voice. In-Ho sat down on the armchair, put on his jazz music and took a sip from your whiskey glass. He closed his eyes and licked his lips before he looked up at you.

"Get down on your knees."

A pang of heat went through your body at his words and you swallowed as you obeyed his command. You watched with widened eyes as In-Ho zipped down his pants, reached inside and pulled his cock out.

"Go on, little one. Do what you're here for and satisfy me."

A part of you felt hurt that he'd seemed to forgotten the conversation you'd shared yesterday. Was it only you that felt that the two of you had shared an intimate moment and gotten to know each other a little bit? And the other part of you...that part could feel his words awakening a forbidden desire inside of you.

You gave your lip a nervous lick as you wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling him twitch at the touch. He was long and thick, much bigger than any guy you'd ever been with before. You leaned forward and gave the head of his cock a cursory lick. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time.

In-Ho released a sharp breath and you gave another lick, but this time you dragged your tongue along the underside of his shaft, across the pulsating vein there. A low growl vibrated from his throat and you couldn’t help but feel proud that it was you who emanated those sounds from him.

You parted your lips and took the head of his cock into your mouth in one single, fluid motion, earning a sharp hiss in return. Slowly, you started to move your lips up and down his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth.

As soon as your tongue touched the base of his cock, In-Ho bucked his hips and let loose another hiss, and you felt his fingers curl into your hair. You pressed your tongue against him again, prodding and massaging down his shaft as you continued to move your mouth along his length, and you reveled in his reactions as he hissed and growled. He couldn’t seem to decide whether to grab onto your hair for support, or to hold you steady. Eventually he decided on the latter, and he held your head still as he began to lightly thrust into your mouth, drawing a guttural groan deep from your throat.

Your small, needy moans seemed to drive him quickly toward the edge, as his hips moved more urgently and sporadically as he fucked your mouth. You couldn’t keep pace with his thrusts, and you could feel him begin to throb against your lips and within your mouth. In-Ho released a final sharp hiss as he grabbed your head and thrust forward. His cock twitched and then began to throb violently as he spilled his hot seed onto your tongue.

As In-Ho was still milking himself into your mouth, you looked up at him. For a brief moment you wished you could see his face, imagining his eyes half-lidded, unfocused with pleasure as he watched your mouth still firmly around his member. The throbbing pulses along his shaft had faded, and his vice-like grip on your hair was loosening as you pulled yourself off of his cock.

Then, In-Ho tucked himself back inside his pants, stood up and walked out of his quarters as if nothing had happened.

You found yourself sitting there on the floor, feeling used as the hopelessness of the situation struck you. No matter the deal you made, you feared that you would never get out of this place alive.

[esotericbluntbaby]

bf! hamzah x reader headcannons (sfw!)

- i feel like his love language is acts of service. if you guys don't live together already, he definitely acts like you do. need to go run errands? he'll drive you. hungry? he'll cook you something. in fact, he has all the cabinets memorized so he really never has to ask you where anything is. he knows what you like and don't like, and obviously if you have any allergies, so everything he prepares is to your liking. stressed? he'll run you a hot bath, complete with candles and a laptop sitting on a table for you to watch movies. he would even sit down on the floor next to you to keep you company, just in case you wanted to talk. how sweet!

- though he's a busy man with his podcast and youtube channel, you rarely feel like you come second to his career the more the relationship progresses. although you probably reassure him that it's okay if he stays a little late to finish editing or filming, he makes it up to you by bringing you some food or flowers. he genuinely feels bad when he has to be kept away from his girlfriend, so he tries to make up for it afterwards by showing you that he thinks of you even when you're apart.

- he would definitely play games with you when he can. i feel like you'd get a random text from him while he's filming that says something along the lines of him playing a game with martin that he wants to play with you. if it's a horror game, he'd definitely have you sit on his lap. with each jumpscare, he holds you tighter as you both jump or possibly scream. you secretly know that it's just an excuse for him to hold you, but of course, you don't mind.

- whenever he watches you holding or petting red and blue, his heart melts a little. he enjoys when you take care of his cats since they're literally his children. there are times you'll sleep over and wake up to the sight of hamzah, red, and blue all cuddled up next to you.

- speaking of cuddle, hamzah seems like the type to have such a heavy grip on you when you're asleep together. i can imagine you trying to go to work or school and attempting to get up from out of bed but he simply doesn't let you. the grip he has on your waist is tight as SHIT like he's acting like he'd die if he let go. eventually you squeeze out of his arms and get ready, but he soon wakes up and asks you why you left him there.

- you are passenger princess. always. he HATES it when you drive because he doesn't see the point. he's always available to take you places and enjoys being your own personal chauffeur. he understands that you can do things on your own, but he wants you to understand that you don't have to since he's in your life.

- i feel like he's heavy on communication and comprehension. in the beginning of the relationship, he was probably scared to tell you when he got jealous or when you do something that bothers him, but over time he realized he has to talk or else nothing would change. if something's bothering him, he won't hesitate to talk to you about it in a respectful and meaningful way. he isn't accusatory, but talks to you with softness in his voice. you guys are a team. afterwards, he just basks in your existence and spends time with you to reassure you that you guys are alright.

- when you guys are out together, he acts like he hates when you baby him. he tries his best to seem as masculine and strong as possible when you two are in public. in private? the complete opposite. he prefers being little spoon and resting his head on your chest while you stroke his hair. he loves when you kiss him on the forehead and when you call him cute pet names. he looks at you with so much adoration when you treat him like he's your baby.

- when you're upset, he definitely tries to cheer you up by making you laugh. whether it's cracking joke after joke or pretending to fall or finding a funny game to play with you, he will not stop until he sees you smile. he hates seeing a frown on your face and will genuinely do anything to take any sort of discomfort or pain away from you.

--

authors note

i decided to write at 1:24 on a school night because i NEEDED more hamzah fics. ts is kinda ass tho but we thug! take care of urselves lovelies mwah i will write more soon!

[azurem]

hhhhhg inkmare with emotionless ink????

No drawing yet I'm afraid (working on an animatic currently...!) but the idea of emotionless Ink even without Inkmare is so interesting to me????

First of all, I'd assume Nightmare knows there's a state of "being" that Ink threatens to access whenever his paints dry off. A "blankness". But this kind of blankness would be particularly... morbid?? for them??? both as monsters and as beings that need not to sleep. Like. Ink usually doesn't sleep, so Nightmare wouldn't describe this state as Ink sleeping with his eyes open. Ink doesn't need to breathe, so seeing him just... being still? wouldn't ring any particular bells if not for how still and how colorless he looks.

I'd assume his first thought would be (to his horror) a state similar to death. Except that death doesn't look like that to monsters, Ink's not dust. (Also I wonder if blank Ink has any reflexes? Would his eyes follow moving figures?) maybe he's falling down? But Ink can't do that, only monsters drowning in hopelessness do that.

But then he'd go "oh yes, he's told me something about... something like this". And he, of course, would seek Ink's vials. They must be close, since Ink never takes his sash off. Are they empty? (How could Ink forget to refill them? Is there... Is the paint just... running out?) Are they full? (Is there a problem with the process of drinking it? Or, may it never be, has Ink just decided to drink them all together? What could that be, if not an act of—?) Are the vials just. Gone? Where's the sash? (Did someone steal it? Why didn't he search for help, to get back to the Doodlesphere and refill the blank of his chest? Was there something hindering him to get it?)

Anyways, the moment passes, shock is somewhat gone, silenced. Nightmare knows what to do (Ink has told him. Has he? Nightmare knows what the vials do. It makes sense for him to be able to piece it together, even if Ink never was very explicit on it). So he, of course, decides to give Ink back a piece of himself. (Ink gave him a blue vial for this purpose, after all. So even if the sash is gone he can still be recovered. Can he?) So he force feeds him paint as. Y'know. As one does. And Ink's himself again! But he's all sad and stuff cuz. Blue. Oh well. He can now get himself to the Doodlesphere.

But now Nightmare knows what Ink looks like when he's blank. And may he hate the sight as much as Ink does. Evil stuff

(i imagine that if ink got somehow stuck as an emotionless being, nightmare would actually struggle "giving him up" to the stars. Like, he knows theyd probably help him better than he could since theyre friends and they probably have magic paint somewhere cuz. Friendship idk. But also Ink is his, he just couldn't- give him up. What if he lowkey falls over and dies. What if hes wrong and they cant help him and ink's stuck there as a thing forever and theyre not with him and nightmares just failed to keep him alive and well and he cant do anything and the villagers maybe were right after all and he cant be trusted with guarding things and hes an abomination BUT HE SWEARS HE CAN SO HE COULD ALWAYS GO AND GET INK BACK AND EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY AND oh nvm inks back. Anyways)

[thedissonantverses]

The Solas Problem:

A Lesson in Narrative Tension in DATV

This isn’t a Solas critical write-up, nor is it positive. It’s only an essay on how narrative tension works. We take Solas as he is here. Media Literacy 101 is back in session under the cut.

TL;DR: Giving Solas more screen time would have stripped Veilguard of one of its best parts. Solas.

“No real god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying.”

We actually have two major problems with Solas right off the bat. The first is power. The power creep on this man is absurd. He’s been around for thousands of years and his magic has affected the fabric of reality in Thedas. He can kill people in their dreams. He can turn people to stone with his mind. The blight. Just…the blight. Altering the course of history is what he does best.

When we first meet him in Inquisition he is a considerable threat but not anything special for Thedas. In his reveal in Tresspasser he sent chills down my spine. In Veilguard he’s had years to accumulate enough power to tear down the Veil. If it had been a real fight with Solas in the beginning Rook would have been obliterated.

Even if Solas was an ally, it wouldn’t work. This is very similar to why Superman had kryptonite because he’s already overpowered without it. If Solas is around the whole game pulling Rook out of every fight, Veilguard would suck. It’d be so boring. There is no good way to deal with his raw power without trapping, severely injuring, or putting him to sleep or on a side quest the whole game. Put a pin in this, we’ll get back to it.

The second large writing problem with Solas is he is ruthless. This man clearly follows his own rules and he’s survived a long time against enemies many more times more powerful than the Veilguard. It’s why Rook and the team seem so “nice” in comparison. None of them would have stabbed their friends for the greater good. None of them could or ever would do what he and Mythal did to the Titans. Whatever his motivations are at any given moment are largely driven by his own sense of right or wrong. He does have one. It’s just not the same as us mortals’. Run afoul of his moral code and you’re dead.

I’m going to go on a bit of an aside but I promise it’s related. The first Alien movie is a good horror move, in part to a technique movies use to great effect. Tease your audience. The reason they don’t show the alien too much is because it would look fucking goofy. No matter how good your effects were back then, a human in a suit moves like a human in a suit. What that movie does really well in its horror is show glimpses of the man in the mask but not the whole thing at once. Let the audience’s minds fill in the gaps.

That’s what Veilguard is doing with Solas throughout the game. We know Solas is powerful. But the first time we see him it’s him failing. Then he’s trapped in time and space. We get echoes of what he can do. We don’t fully realize how powerful until you see him flinging blight back in Minrathous with the same amount of effort a regular character would use to shoot their bow. We get glimpses of his deeper motivations and foibles, but we don’t feel what’s it’s truly like to be in his way until Tearstone Island. We don’t learn about Varric until the wolf has already cornered us.

So why did they trap him?

Trapping Solas in a prison of his own design, where the key is regret, is excellent character work. We know Solas doesn’t see himself as the villain. We know he’s the type of man who thinks of himself as not just Elgar’nan’s equal, but his better. Which, maybe he is, but he is still a self-righteous man with rivers of blood on his hands who was ready to destroy the world Thedas has become in order to restore a past that can never be again. Solas is static. Unyielding. Frozen by regret. He won’t change to suit the world, he will change the world to suit him.

The examples used of how Solas could be dealt with work, but to varying degrees depending on how well they’re executed. Why matters as much as how. What the writers did was look at Solas’ prior character work and pick the best one to suit him. The way they executed this solves multiple problems at once, using the character’s own fatal flaw against him.

It’s a simple solution, really.

[ippi2un]

do u have more streamer rafayel hcs?

YES!!!💯💯💯💯💯💯

Like I mentioned before he'd stream him playing games (half of it is horror cuz his reactions are entertaining)

He would also try out roblox 💯

But he would have arguments with the players like

Hes playing dress to impress (a fashion game thingy) and on the runway someone called his outfit trash in the chat

"lilyglows23: oh...this outfit is nawt it...😭"

"raf2cute: girl ik ure not talking...ur outfit look like u raided the clearance aisle😂😂..."

He ended up getting voicechat later😭

And he got banned cuz he kept cursing and arguing with others ♡

"This game was lame anyway."

And for some other streams, he would be like showing off his artwork and stuff🔥

He would also once in a while be like

"Hey chat! Today im forcing you to be productive. I will show you step by step on how to draw a *insert drawing idea here*" 😊

He would make a discord server and let people share their drawings too (if you dont know what discord is its just like a public chat thingy yea)

He would also react to the drawings on discord while streaming

The first couple weeks he starts reviewing and rating the drawings, he would be patient and nice and give reccomendations on how to improve the drawings people did

But when he realizes half of the drawings sent by the viewers are bad on purpose, he would FLAME them HARD💯💯💯💯

"Ive seen better doodles in bathroom stalls"

"Is that drawing supposed to be you or a sleep paralysis demon"

"This looks atrocious about to close this server down"

One time he ended a stream after he saw this drawing of him:

But for the good drawings he would obv praise it (or give even more tips on how to improve it♥️)

Once in a while he would have a small conversation with the viewers and he would be like

"Are you guys insane? Is everything at home okay? Why do you guys act like this?"

And its because of the crazy comments his fans put like

"omg when rafayel stood up and walked away i swear i saw that ass jiggle"

"RAFAYEL CLAP UR CHEEKS FOR US"

"rafayel scream at me like how u scream when u play horror games♡"

But he secretly lowk would be entertained by them😊💯💯💯

Overall he would be a fire streamer and I would def watch him😜😜😜

[deleteddewewted]

Supermarket Romance P6

Demetrian Titus x Gn! Reader

S: Titus and you meet up at the supermarket to help him find a compression sleeve for his leg. He's excited to spend time with you and receive help. He opens up a but more about himself and you soon realize that the mysterious stranger is actually just as vulnerable as you.

MDNI

W: Some Abelism, Angst, Fluff, Feelings Are Discovered, Chairon Is Mentioned, Lust and Feelings

If you want to buy me a Ko-fi

Taglist: @kingmagnificolover @garlickedbreads @eliferraris @justeverythingnothingelse @absent-still @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lichkingofangmar @hatsubara-8chan @riokunova @sk-3-tch @futtorliya @missmannequin

Previous/Next

Titus was waiting outside the supermarket on a bench that was placed near the entrance, his cane leaning against the wall next to him as he awaited your arrival. He had forgone pants again and instead went with loose shorts as he had concluded that he might need to try on some of the compression sleeves. He wore his brace again, his leg was acting up and he needed the support to walk. This weather did not agree with him. His leg and joints complained as he got dressed to leave his home and he hoped that this trip would be quick so he could go back to his warm home. Though, the anxiety wouldn't let him rush you by texting you or calling you. He wanted to see you as this would be the first time he would be purposefully spending time with you.

He looked out towards the parking lot, his car parked closer to the store as he didn't feel like walking all that much on the way back. He thought about leaving his cane in the car at first, maybe it would make him look less pathetic, and yet he brought it with him. You had seen it already and hadn't made a negative comment about it. He looked down at his leg brace and wondered why you hadn't mocked him. He was abnormal in appearance, his once unscarred and clear face was now draped with age and uncanny injuries that would leave anyone starring in horror. He was deep in thought to the point he hadn't noticed you calling out his name.

“Titus! It’s good to see you again! Come on, you’ll get sunburnt if you stay outside.” You stopped in front of him, a smile plastered on your face. You looked comfortable, baggy oversized pants that he could only assume were pajama pants and a loose shirt that hung over you like a tent draped your body. You were in your sleeping clothing.

"Yeah, when i said i got locked out i mean i got locked out." You explained while giggling.

"I dont know what possessed me to leave my house without changing first but i guess this is the look for the day. Hope you don't mind being seen with me looking like a hot mess." You joked, your eyes lingering on his own as you waited for a response.

"Not at all. Its understandable." He replied back. He tried his best not to stare to much but he couldn't help but think you looked like a child who had stolen their parent's clothes. You were drowning in your clothes and he knew you probably were more comfortable than he was. How he envied you and your lack of care for others' opinions on your apperance.

"Let's head in. The suns only getting hotter and the weather is going to get cooler later on. Maybe if were lucky we'll get rain tonight."

“Of course.” He stood up, grabbed his cane, and used it to lift himself up from the bench he was sitting on. His leg began to tremble, he didn't feel stable putting weight on it. He looked down and glared at it, his face red with embarrassment.

“Here," You get closer to him, bending down to wrap your arm around his waist and under his shoulder, "Use my shoulder.” Titus tensed for a moment as he felt your body next to his own, your hand placed next to his side as you leaned in to give him your body as a support. He relaxed and took your support to get up and find his footing. You both stood there for a moment, you holding his waist as he tried to lean his weight away from you in fear that he would crush you with his weight.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft, almost like a whisper as he thanked you.

“No problem.” You reassured him with a smile. You waited for him to feel comfortable walking before letting him lead the way inside the store.

Once inside, you ask him to follow you to the far right side of the store towards the pharmacy. Titus followed close behind as you made your way down the different departments before reaching your destination. A long line of people were waiting to pick up their prescriptions by the pharmacy counter as you walked past them towards the aisle you were intending. Placed right next to the pain medication and muscle cream was a wall full of different types of braces, compression sleeves, and mobility aids. Titus was almost embarrassed to say he didn’t know this section of the store existed. In his defense, he didn’t get his medication from the store, he just picked it up at the pharmacy at the hospital. And in the cases in which he needed muscle relaxers or creams, he ordered them online because he didn't want to interact with a cashier. You stopped in front of the giant shelf of items and began looking through them before turning to face him.

“Let’s get you something that’s tight enough to smooth out under your clothes but not too tight that it’s uncomfortable. Would you say your leg is a Large or an Extra Large?” You crouched down and started pulling different colored compression sleeves, some were adorned in fun patterns while others were neutral colors like black or beige.

“E- Excuse me?” He stuttered out. He blinked at you, hoping to get clarity on what you asked him but none came to him.

“Extra large it is!” You pulled a skin-toned sleeve and pressed it against his exposed leg to see if the color matched. It wasn't an exact match but it was close enough to not be noticeable at a glance.

“Do you want something that looks like your skin color or do you want to go with the basic black sleeve?” You ask as you grab another sleeve.

“The black sleeve should suffice.” You nodded at his comment before undoing it from its hooked packaging. It slit out in one piece and handed it over to him.

“Go ahead and put it on, see if it feels comfortable or not.” You watched as he slipped it on, his other leg flexing as he balanced on it to slip the sleeve over his shoe and pull it up his leg. He hiked it up as much as he could, you could still see the defined muscles under the fabric. You had to pry your eyes away from the mouth watering sight.

As he placed his leg down he began flexing and unflexing his now covered leg and swung it a little just to see how it felt. He liked the tightness and the appearance, it was oddly subtle in appearance since it looked like leggings under his shorts though it was only one sleeve. This worked for him. He liked that it fit with the hobbies he had which were mainly working out. He worked out often and no one would question it, maybe this would also let him wear his leg brace without feeling like he stood out in public.

"It feels good. Almost like a tighter and thicker layer of skin." He commented. he continued to watch as it moved smoothly over the leg brace and didn't prevent his mobility. He wished he would have found out about this sooner.

"Does the size work?" You asked, watching as he examined his leg.

"It does. I think this is perfect for my needs."

"Let's get you some variety so you don't have to worry about doing laundry all the time." With that, you both grabbed a few colors that Titus liked and looked over the rest of the aisle for things he might want to try.

He enjoyed your presence and the patience you showed him. Not only did you not rush him but you also helped him find other items that might help him. From a specialized heating pad meant to be worn on the lower back, to informing him of the joys of a full body massage, you helped make Titus feel more comfortable seeking alternative help for his problems. This was enjoyable in a way he didn’t think it would be. You both probably spent an hour or so just walking up and down the aisles looking around before he even noticed that it was getting late.

“Y/n, I'm sorry for having taken up much of your time. It’s late, allow me to thank you properly for your help.” He offered.

“Titus, don’t be silly. I’m happy to help a friend out. You don’t owe me anything.” You reassured him. You had found an empty basket and had been using it to carry much of his things so he could browse without issue.

“I insist. Is there anything you would like to get?” He insisted. He looked at you directly, hoping that you would agree to get something so that the guilt of spending your time would vanish, but you disagreed.

“Not really from here but, again, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to just hang out with you.” You patted his arm hoping that it would make him stop insisting as it was getting harder to not cave in. His eyes were just too expressive.

“How about this. I’m hungry and don’t feel like cooking. Would you allow me to invite you to a quick meal?” He offered. You don’t know how he managed to do it but this behemoth of a man was making puppy eyes at you unknowingly and it softened your resolve.

“Fine…” You managed to choke out. Your face began heating up and you hoped that he couldn't notice it as he stared at you.

“Perfect. Let me pay for these items and then we’ll find something to eat.” You didn't know what to expect but he put out a small smile that was almost unnoticeable but it engrained itself into your memory. The edge of his mouth quirked up and his expression eased as he looked down at you. It made something in you flutter to life and it left you wanting to see that smile again.

You joined him as he checked out, item after item was bagged, the total of everything slowly amounting to a number you could only dream of having reflected in your bank account. You helped him carry some of the items to his car before hopping into the passenger seat and waiting for him to join you. He didn’t start the car's engine right away, instead, he sat in his seat and waited for a moment before turning his key and bringing the car to life.

“Is there anywhere you personally want to go?” He asked as he pulled out of his parking spot.

“I still have an hour to kill before my landlord shows up, so why not a drive-thru?"

“Perfect.” He drove the two of you to a place close to his apartment. He asked if you wanted to eat in the car or if you wanted to come to his apartment and eat there to which you replied that you would love to go to his place. He feared he might have rushed your friendship, that he might have coerced you into going to his home, but when you agreed he couldn’t have been more ecstatic. He pulled into the drive-thru window of a McDonald's and began listing off the items you both wanted from the menu before thanking the employee and pulling to the next window. He grabbed the orders and paid even though you had tried slipping your card to the employee only to be physically blocked by Titus' body as he handed them his credit card. He drove to his home, meals sitting on the back seat with the rest of his bags as the two of you sat in silence.

"I don't think I ever really told you what I do for a living, did I?" You started the conversation, hoping to kill the silence.

"I made an assumption that you were an artist. Maybe an art instructor."

"I wish. Art teachers get paid consistently. I'm a freelancer." You murmured.

"That sounds fun. You have the freedom to chose what projects you want to take on."

"But I dont have guaranteed employment or pay." The conversation died again but Titus, maybe out of curiosity, reignited it again.

"What's your end goal for your career?" He asked, curiosity dripping from his voice.

"I don't know, Titus. At the moment I just want to be able to pay my bills without worry." You sighed, almost looking deflated in the passenger seat as you looked at him and then out the window without adding anything more. He pulled up to his home and parked before unlocking the car doors and unbuckling his seat belt. He didn't exit just yet, he sat there mulling in silence before speaking.

"What would it take to achieve that goal?"

"Something that's going to be long-term or semi-long term. My last client ended their contract with me cause they claimed they found a 'quicker alternative'." You explained, "Apparently, AI is 'revolutionizing' the business so they no longer need actual artists when they can get art for free." You mope. Titus didn't know how to best comfort you as he didn't understand the greater issue that was being underlined but he did provide you with a hand on your shoulder in a small gesture of reassurance in the form of a smile.

"You will find something soon. I can feel it." With that, you both got out of the car and grabbed the bags from the back seats before entering his apartment. His home was unassuming from the outside, colored in a light beige paint and the door painted brown. When you entered, it was as bearing as you would have assumed it would be. No pictures, no decor, nothing that would scream that someone lived here was evident anywhere in the space except for some blankets on the couch. The kitchen was cleared of cups from its countertop, there were no coffee bags out, no cereals that he might enjoy, there was nothing. Everything looked like it was part of an Ikea display, devoid of personality and it made you sad as it most likely indicated that Titus didn't feel this place was home but a shelter to sleep in.

"I usually eat at my desk, so this will be a welcomed change." He commented.

You smiled up at him before placing some of the bags on the kitchen table and sitting down across from him as you unwrapped your burger and fries. You ate with gusto as you hadn't had take out in a long while. Having not had the budget to order out or even get a cheap meal, you had missed the taste of frozen oil patties and salty fries drenched in day old boiling oil. From the taste to the smell, this cheap meal had been the best thing you've had in a while.

"You seem to be enjoying your meal." Titus teased. The edges of his lips lifted as he watched you eat. You practically inhaled your food and choked on it when he started talking.

"It's been a while since I've had fast food. It's oddly good after a while." You explained, a smile still stuck on your face as you ate. He noticed how crumbs clung to your mouth, your cheeks puffed as you continued to chew on your food. It was a pleasant sight.

"I agree. During my service, i longed for the days we could go off base and purchase food and items we didn't have the luxury to be given." You nodded at his comment before placing your food down and grabbing a napkin to clean your hands.

"You served?" You asked.

"Yes, for a long time." He said it with a sense of longing. You could see it in his eyes again, what he meant. He looked like he was recounting old memories in his mind.

"Must have been one hell of a career if you stayed for so long." You joked, a chuckle escaping you as you resumed eating.

"I would agree. I truly enjoyed what I was doing." The conversation ended as you both continued eating, Titus looked pensive as he ate. He stared at an abandoned piece of food wrapper before he directed himself to you.

"What type of work do you usually make?"

"I usually do illustrations and paintings. I loved traditional art as a teenager and had a focus on it but once I got the chance to study further I opted into graphic design and digital art."

"Why did you expand to graphic design?" He asked.

"My parents told me they would only help with college if I picked up something that would 'pay me money' in the future but i still continued learning and going to fine arts courses." You took another bite out of your burger, chewing a little aggressively as if it had personally offended you.

"You are a jack of all trades, Y/n." He said, voice soft and laced with kindness.

"I guess I am. Just not good at implementing them, I guess." You fired back.

"Would you mind showing me some of your work?"

"Sure, it's mostly on my socials. Let me pull up my profile." You clicked away on your phone before making your way around the table and showing him. Your work was beautiful. Large pieces on canvas that you painted and digital artworks that demonstrated people or environments impressed him. He wasn't one for the arts, the most he did was sing drill songs and drunk karaoke that he didn't even remember from when he was a young soldier, but this was something else. He felt something when he looked at the painting you had depicting a woman lying in a bed of flowers, her brown skin and face delicate as light beads of sunlight showered her face in what could only be described as an angelic touch. Many other drawings of friends, neighbors, and employees of the supermarket were drawn digitally. You even had one of Chairon where he was flexing and showing off his prosthetic arm. Every drawing was outstanding in his opinion and they reflected you perfectly. You had some other posts that depicted your graphic design work, it was just as fun and artistic, to say the least.

"These are beautiful, Y/n. You should submit them to a gallery." He complimented. He turned to face you and he was nose to nose with you. You were so close, he could smell your perfume and get a whiff of your natural scent. Warm and almost honey-like, you were addicting to the point he almost leaned in closer to get a better smell. He couldn't help but let his eyes drop down to your lips which were slightly open. If he wanted to he could lean in and plant a kiss on them. He turned his head to look back at your phone and asked you to explain what one of your sketches was, hoping to distract himself from the fluttering feeling in his stomach. These impure thoughts about you, they were random and unnecessary. He shouldn't be thinking of you in this way, you were clean of sin, clear of damage

You on the other hand were internally panicking at the closeness. God, his scent was strong. He smelled of smoked wood and something you could only describe as masculine musk that clung to him. It was pleasant but it lit a flame in the pit of your stomach you weren't sure how to address. When he had turned around it was almost as if you had gotten staring at him, like he knew you were thinking about him and the way he looked. You got a better look at the faint marks that decorated the right side of his temple, some of them had raised scar tissue from what you could assume was shrapnel that had gotten lodged there and had to be removed, and a long scar that cut through his hairline. He had another set of scars on his nose and cheek that looked more befitting a man who was prone to danger than the gentle soul you had gotten to know. His eyes on you were electrifying, god you want to lean in and kiss him even if his lips were a little chapped. But you don't, instead, you take note of his red ears and how the blush trails down to his cheeks.

You both parted, creating distance between the two of you as you realized you might be making him uncomfortable, his posture was stiff and his breathing shallow. You thanked him for the compliments and asked him if there was anything else he wanted help with so you two could plan further ahead.

"There is nothing that truly comes to mind though I didn't know our worlds were so small."

"What do you mean?" You cocked your head to the side.

"Chairon. He's the security guard at the gym i go to. How did you two know each other?" He explained while gesturing at your phone.

"Chairon bought me a coffee this one time. I was in line and I was waiting to order. The prizes at the shop had increased but I didn't know, so when it was my turn to pay and I was short a few cents, Chairon who was behind me offered to pay the remainder." You talked about the other man with a fond smile on your face. Something about it made Titus feel relieved but something akin to a knot began to form in his stomach.

"Was that the extent of your interaction?" He asked, his eyes focused on your face hoping to see your reaction.

"Nope! Chairon and I became friends, kinda. Sometimes he gives me a ride or advice on how to fix things around my place. I'm not handy at all." This brought a bitter feeling to Titus.

He doesn't dislike Chairon being a good person, the man has always been kind, but he didn't particularly like that he was close to you. This felt like a defect Titus needed to fix. Like he was wrong in some way and he needed to realign his thoughts for thinking so bitterly of a man who has done him no wrong. This knot in his stomach only grew tighter as you reaffirmed the other man's good nature and it left him feeling ill.

"It sounds like you two are close." He commented blankly, hoping that the acrid feelings weren't evident in his voice.

"Chairon's an amazing guy. He's sweet and funny and always there to support you even at your lowest. I'm sure you can find a friend in him too."

"I have. I'm... grateful." He smiled at the memory of the younger man helping him through a panic attack he had recently. Not only did he not judge Titus, but he was helpful. He had brought him cold water and a wet towel to press against his head as he spoke him through it. Chairon had empathy for him that no one else had shown him outside of his small group of friends. It brought him hope and reassurance even though they didn't know each other all that well.

Lost in thought, Titus hadn't noticed your phone begin to vibrate or you checking it to see who had been calling you. The call ended and a notification popped up with the name of your landlord attached.

"Oh shit, it's my landlord. I have to go!" You start to clean up your mess, empty food wrappers and greasy takeout bags were all thrown into the trashcan that stood by the table. Titus followed suit, worried that you would leave in a hurry before he could offer to drive you home. He clears his clean wrappers and also throws them away and makes his way back towards you.

"Let me drive you home. It's late and I don't feel comfortable letting you go home by yourself." He pleaded. You tried not to look at his eyes but the pretty blue eyes he possessed had you in a chokehold. He looked concerned, his crow's feet growing deeper and somehow making him look more handsome. You blushed as you averted your eyes, urging in your mind to reply already as he only seemed to grow more dejected as the seconds ticked by with no response.

"Sure, that would be nice." You managed to push out, cheeks still in flamed and growing hotter by the moment.

"Great, let me grab my keys and we'll go." He made his way to the kitchen counter and grabbed his keys before heading towards his front door, opening it, and holding it for you. He waits until you're out before locking his door and guiding you back to his car. He seats himself in the driver's seat, you following suit as you buckle yourself in beside him. He turned the engine on with a quick flick of his keys and drives off towards your home with the help of his GPS and your directions.

The drive grows quiet as you looked at the window and watched people and cars pass you by. The sky had grown dark and the air cooled as the winter months neared. You liked this time of year and also dreaded it. It was usually nice weather and allowed you to have an excuse to hoddle up in your home in blankets and hoodies. But it also brought on a horrifying electricity bill due to the heater being used the most during this time. You wondered what Titus would think about doing during the winter. It was already starting to take a toll on him, you could see the heating pad on the couch and a mini heater nearby on the floor. You wondered if he worried about the bills like you did. You doubted it since he looked to be doing well for himself but it was still a nice thought, that maybe you and him were not so different after all.

As he pulled onto your street he took note of the state of the neighborhood. Old homes that have been left to rot or have been neglected were everywhere. Even as he pulled over and parked in front of your home he noticed how the paint on your homes walls not only had yellowed over time but also had begun to peel. He understood that people were struggling, and he had no place to judge as he was practically living like he was homeless when he was deployed, but this was something else. He wondered what had led to this being that situation you were thrown in, if you felt comfortable or even safe in this place you called your home.

He noticed a man sitting by the porch with a cigarette in between his fingers. The man waved at you both, no smile present as he he did. You sighed, annoyance already settling in as you began to unbuckle your seat belt. You were about to open the car door but was stopped by Titus' hand reaching out and grabbing you by the wrist. His hold was loose, almost as if he feared that he might hurt you if he tightened his grip.

"Do you want me to... stay until he leave?" You listened to him but the words didn't process. You merely blinked at him.

“I’ll be fine, Demetrian.” You pull your arm away and he gives way without hesitation. He nods at you but not before telling you that he has no issue with waiting if you don’t feel comfortable being left alone.

“It’s sweet of you, but the most he’s going to do is give me a nasty key fee since he had to replace it.” You reassure.

“Well then, I’ll see you some other time.”

“We’ll talk soon. I promise.” You gave him a reassuring smile before closing the car door and making your way over to your landlord. Titus watched as you and the man spoke before shaking his head and driving off.

You eyed Titus’ car as it left, turning to watch it drive and take a turn that made him vanish from your sight.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Your landlord joked. His breath smelled of nicotine and it made you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"No, he's a friend I made when grocery shopping."

"You always get attached to the weirdest people." He comments before leaving your porch and walking towards his car. He peels off with no regard for the other cars on the road or the speed limit. You enter your home, the new key unlocking the door without a hitch, unlike the one you had before. You're home was a mess. Canvasas, sketch paper, portfolios, and drawers filled to the brim with tubes of paint and brushes. The space felt full and yt to you it was empty. You had no pets, you had no other person to share the space with. You were alone coming to live out here just as you were back home where you were always last to receive praise or recognition while your sibling got all of it.

[qin-qin16]

Murder Time Trio as a poly... or something else

NOTE: This was supposed to be a relationship chart, but I couldn't find any that I liked, and I got frustrated trying to make one, SO I decided to do it in the form of text and headcanons and is slighty ooc because i can’t write them realistic, its against my policy

Before I elaborate on my thoughts about Murder Time Trio poly, I will present to you a summary of the BACKGROUND that I will use for my upcoming discussions about this trio.

In this post I share a bit about that thought and there is this au created by @what-have-i-unleashed named Mermaid Bunny AU, you can find it on their pinned post (is focused on kist in some parts, read the warnings before reading!)

However, since that post I made was more focused on Killer, I will also comment on the other parts of this relationship below!!

NOTE²: To avoid confusion, the first Killer will be called Kei (as a way to start fresh, he chose to abandon the name given to him after his code was altered), while the second Killer will simply be called Killer, as he has neither the desire nor the order to change the title given to him – a title his best friend, his partner, gave him. That being said, let’s move on to their background

HORROR'S ARRIVAL

Horror was the second to arrive, dragged by the slimy tentacles against his will – Kei vaguely remembers hearing his screams calling for someone, spitting threats at Nightmare as if he had no fear for his own life. He didn’t even notice his soul subtly writhing when Nightmare did nothing but toss the skeleton at his feet. "Show him his new home." Those were the orders he heard, and not even a minute later, they were already walking through the abandoned place (whatever it was, the hallways were too long to be considered part of a house, and the rooms were dark enough to make Horror question the things he saw inside them).

It wasn't for lack of trying that their almost-friendship was created – as fragile as a thin twig. Kei had been ordered to teach Horror everything he knew: what Nightmare liked to hear when they returned from missions, how to act when spotted by any resident of the universe they were exploring, what not to do when the hallways of their home (Kei called that dreadful place home, even though it was worse than the hell Horror said Snowdin was) seemed to grow darker and darker, how to ignore the torn and moldy paintings when they appeared to move in the shadows… Everything Kei had learned, he passed on to Horror, but like a mule being whipped to carry its load, Horror would always stall at the most important moments.

Like the time he screamed to go back home, for Nightmare to throw him back into the deep hole that was his past problems. Kei never heard Horror mention his old home again after that night – at least, not while Horror was conscious; only on nights when he finally fell asleep, so light that even the faintest sound would bring that red orb back to life. Of course, Kei knew this – who else but him would keep an eye on his copy to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid? He had to check and act as the loyal right-hand man he was. It wasn’t as if Horror was the only somewhat safe company for him there, no – he couldn’t allow himself to get attached to someone that he would abandon at the first chance he gets.

But Kei could be a little selfish, couldn’t he? Horror was selfish too when he claimed the least uncomfortable bed would be his when they were traveling, or when he shrugged whenever Kei questioned the disappearance of some witnesses who had seen them lurking too close to AUs near the Omega Timeline. Or when Horror got too close to his body on freezing nights, trembling after hours of walking through the thick snow surrounding their home. “This thing is warm.” He pointed at the circle in front of Kei's chest, seeming to hesitate – or not wanting – to call it a soul.

Kei could be selfish if Horror was the one to blame for making it impossible for him to sleep in separate rooms after that.

MURDER'S ARRIVAL

Horror never thought that a third member would be added to the chaotic and dysfunctional duo that was him and Kei. From what he could hear through the poorly closed and fallen door of the room where Kei and Nightmare often argued about their performance, the boss (even though Horror would never call him that) never mentioned anything about adding another screw-up monster like them to the group.

But it wasn't as if Nightmare cared about their opinion on anything, or even cared about their existence - as long as they stayed alive, that was enough.

Murder's entrance was so different from his, so much more... silent. No sudden movements, no explosion of LV, nothing but incomprehensible murmurs beneath that dark hood. If Horror thought Kei was unpredictable and full of weird traits, Murder had just stolen his place. It wasn't as if Horror was a healthy or sane person either, but Murder was an extreme even for him: clothes covered in monster dust, eyes — when lit — always twitching, looking side to side as if others were in the room besides the three of them.

And it was agonizing to see someone so similar to his former self — when there was no danger around them, or when Murder seemed to finally relax those pale bones, those two little lights would glow in white, in a nostalgic way. Horror didn’t like that feeling. Kei was another one who seemed out of place with Murder’s addition to their little group.

“You’re real…” he murmured between laughs — an almost undistorted reflection of himself.

It was hard to adapt Murder into their already chaotic and unpredictable routine, almost like caging an euphoric animal alongside two others already in captivity — the rare calm of before was quickly torn apart by Murder's trembling and impatient presence. As sadistic as the last one, Kei once commented, referring to Horror, who just scoffed and mumbled something like "don’t compare me to that..." It wasn’t a good start between them, definitely.

And no matter how much Horror tried to deny it and even fight with himself, he wasn’t so different from the other two. Nightmare’s motivation in handpicking each of them was clear — it almost had a bitter kind of charm to it, if it weren’t so inconvenient. At least he and Murder seemed to want to be as far away as possible from there, but Kei? Why was he so loyal to that demon?

Horror never knew Kei’s deep desire to escape that hell, to crush Nightmare’s rotten soul underfoot like an insignificant insect. At least, Kei never confessed it to them specifically. No, no.

"As if I care who you talk to outside of work..." Horror once huffed, sounding strangely genuine. "If you want to chat with that rainbow skeleton, that's your problem, don't drag us into your issues, capiche?" And so Kei did.

Part two is on their way~

[pricegouge]

I saw you were asking for horror prompts 😈 so here’s my scary perverted one:

Vampire!Nik who’s turned when his milaya is still a baby. Comes back 20+ years later to haunt and turn her so they can spend eternity together despite the fact that she doesn’t even remember him❤️🥀

-🗡️

okay, yeah. i had fun with this one, thank you!

cw: incest. age gap, but only kinda cause vampires. horror elements. vague vampire lore, including thralls. dubcon kissing/heavy petting. blood. unedited as usual, sorry. abrupt ending cause i ran out of steam. ~5k

he can't be bothered to watch over you for many years. life (death, rather) is just all so very exciting. he spread his wings. proverbial, maybe, though he's heard tell of something more ancient. more literal.

he doesn't forget you. how could he? you haunt his waking hours for what seems an eon, days and nights blurring until he has to rest for long years, wakes to a different time entirely and worries about how much he's missed.

much, as it turns out.

you're a proper woman when next he sees you, headstrong and borderline unrecognizable. he follows you for days, weeks. learns all your patterns, the quiet parts of yourself you seem to keep hidden behind locked doors he can only pass because he installed them, the bones of the house shaped by his own hands - an estate that's fallen to ruin, once-lavish halls picked apart by collectors, barren and drab with the dwindled staff. he tells himself it's a morbid type of curiosity but he knows better the second he lingers too long, sees you for the woman you've become when you undress before him, gazing upon yourself in a mirror that won't betray his presence, even if he wants it to. wants to see confusion cloud your face as recognition wars with your fear. you must have seen photos of him, your governess keeping you educated on the man who'd given you a name and a fortune and left in the night. he doesn't look quite look like himself anymore, but he more closely resembles you than he does his re-creator. and surely that in itself should sway you?

for you must be as lonely as him.

night fall is the worst for you, those lingering hours after the staff have retired where sleep eludes you, entices you to pick up hobbies which have not given you joy for many years. you'd been moved to the master suite some time back, the overlarge bed as tempting as a siren. you'd grown slovenly, your governess always said so. lax in your studies and far too melancholy to find a suitor.

but what could it matter, really? the estate had been searching tirelessly for a match since your first season, the only bachelors who'd made offers old and penniless. you still had a pretty enough dowry, but no one wanted to be saddled with the get of some wayward lord. not when there'd been no proper abdication. not when the specter of your father loomed over every inch of the estate, his fist still clutching at every gem. sometimes you imagined the sheets even still smelled like him, a faint trace that would linger some mornings and burn up with the sun when you finally let the maid in to draw the curtains.

but it was just a silly fantasy, some trace of comfort born from loneliness. in truth, the only possible clue you could have of your father's scent rests in the humidor tucked in the corner by the secretary - fine cigars turned stale, full-bodied notes now arid. hollow as the house itself.

you're sat with one, dry, peeling paper tickling your philtrum as you try to discern what flavors still linger. licorice, certainly; heavy and cloying. something earthier under it, a fine balance. leather, maybe. it's a distraction, a mindless way to pass the hours before you could feasibly fall into bed without your prying governess saying anything, shut your thoughts off for a time. you'd already written in your diary, another dull entry. brief with the monotony of your life. honestly, cataloging the notes you can pick out of these ancient, abandoned cigars would make for a more interesting read. this one still smells the strongest, though the paper has turned brittle with handling. sometimes you watch the gentlemen of the ton, carefully memorizing the precise way they snip the ends off, roll the cigar over the open flame of their lighters. you often imagine doing the same, like to picture yourself smoking the aged rolls expertly.

really, you know you'll end up in a coughing spell loud enough to wake the whole house, but the truth is you've never tried. it's a curiosity that's grown on you, the slow creep of moss over rotting trunks. you swap the cigar for something less flavorful, something that won't be missed, and rifle through the secretary until you find the little cigar kit you'd kept safely tucked away. maybe, like the rest of society, part of you expects it's owner to return someday, reclaim what's his.

the cigar falls apart a little, once clipped. flaky shreds of tobacco and other strong herb shake out at first, but you moisten the edges of it delicately, lick your fingers as daintily as possible and fuss about the paper until becomes slightly more malleable. lighting it is less of a chore than expected, the oils long dried. shake catching like tinder. you yelp and wave it out, stamp the little ashes that rain onto the carpet with a slippered toe. feel silly after. sillier still when you take your first drag and think for a moment you've managed to imbalance all your humors - immediate expectorant clogging your nose, inflaming the column of your neck. rough wool, still matted and nettled from the field fills your lungs and you cough, ragged and silent.

small blessing, no prying governess to heed your call.

light-headed, you wobble to the window, breathe deep of the frigid breeze you let in. winter steals in around you, rattles the pane on it's way past and sends the curtains fluttering. it makes your chest ache in a new way, but is a balm to your overheated skin, soothes your throat as you gasp for each breath. clutched in your fingers, the cigar glows brightly in the strong wind, crackling away happily. as your sinuses clear, you note the lingering heaviness of licorice, a black tar that seems to seep down your throat, gags you. you give it up for a bad job and smother it on the pane before tossing it onto the roof below. with any luck, a curious crow will snatch it away before spring melt off can dump it into the pasture, catch the attention of the gardeners. you've no clue how well-acquainted your governess is with the brands your father used to smoke and you've no plan to find out, resolving to leave the window open all night if you have to in order to clear the stench of your foolish endeavor.

the candles have guttered but it's no matter, the moon bright enough that you can disrobe and navigate to bed even without them. it's not a difficult endeavor anyway, the bed such a ridiculously oversized piece it dominated most of the room and called into question the size of the man who'd commissioned it. you drown in it most nights, restless, twisting yourself up in sheets that stretched on forever, wound around you until you'd wake gasping, clawing at your own belly as if to loosen the stays of a corset that wasn't there. the physician who'd come to see to you was unsympathetic to your claims that the bed was simply too large - had suggested sleeping in your corset instead, claiming it would soothe your nerves and prevent you trying to bind yourself in your sleep.

it did not work, but your maid, alice, was loyal to the governess. tied your stays in the back, much too tight for you to undo once she'd left you alone. even now the boning digs at you, chest still heaving from your foolish endeavor. you settle on your back, try to keep your shoulders set back to encourage deep breathing and watch the shadows play about the room, curtains billowing with each icy gust. there's still too much smoke in the room, lingering up near your ceiling where it swirls about, never quite low enough to escape when the curtains ebb in a back draft. you hope you won't be stuck with the window open all night. already, fine dustings of snow slip past, tip toe up your bed to catch your covers and set your legs shivering.

the blankets twist about you again when you turn to your side, but for once you don't mind, your own body weight keeping them tucked firmly in place so the wind can't steal your heat away again. your breath evens as you finally begin to relax, body forming to the mattress just as much as it forms to you. sleep finds you slowly, lulls you into it with deep sighs, your breath matching that of the house itself. you time idly, watching the curtains in the cloudy mirror of your vanity - the only concession to your residence in the whole room. a gift from some minor lady who'd once hoped to sway your favor toward her son - only to have him elope a month later with a merchant's daughter -, the piece stands out singularly in the dark, masculine room. gilded framework and ivory inlay, it catches the moonlight beautifully, pearlescent in the chill. you let yourself be entranced by the vision it makes, orpheus overtaking you, settling over you like a calming, physical weight which shifts, presses a knee between your own -

it feels like the chill has taken your blood when your eyes tear open, body frozen in place as you watch your reflection stir, pushed slightly further onto your belly while the blankets move seemingly of their own accord. you tell yourself it's the wind tugging at them again, but the way the flatten against the mattress makes no sense - and it's the not the wind that whispers your name in your ear.

still trapped in the bedding, you thrash uselessly before you're able to escape its clutches, only realizing you're screaming when the breath is knocked out of you as you thud to the floor. help comes to lift you to your feet before you are able to do it yourself, alice's hands surprisingly firm when they dig under your arms and lift. you can't even manage to thank her, breaths stuttering out high and thin as you stare at your bed in wide-eyed shock: two distinct impressions of bodies, one curled around the other, yet completely empty. smoke curls above it, oddly thinner than that what still lingers around your ceiling. it breaks up on the next gust of wind, shatters around you with a cloyingly sweet scent.

---

your governess is cross to say the least.

the next day is spent in the kitchens, working away your transgressions into a particularly hard dough batch. she is unsympathetic to the terror that had overtaken you just before they'd rushed in to help. says she's certain they'd only heard your fresh coughing, although you try to point out that the cigar was already gone by then.

"don't be clever," she warns, an adage you've heard many times over the years. What man wants a clever wife?

she has the humidor emptied, says it should have been done long ago. you say nothing because probably, she's right.

alice isn't your friend, but sometimes she can be friendly. unlike your governess, she at least seems to have noticed your distress from the night before, simply nods in agreement when you ask her to warm your bed after she's done helping you dress that evening. perhaps she still sees it, the fear. she hums at you like she thinks you need at, at least, and maybe you do because it works quickly, your body exhausted after so much hard work and such little sleep.

---

despite your exhaustion, you do not sleep soundly. the midnight hour finds you fretful, though you're careful to remain still so as not to wake alice. you breathe in sync with her in an attempt to soothe yourself until you realize it's not her that moves but the house itself, curtains billowing in a breeze that shouldn't exist, windows locked tight for the night. strangely, the realization does not frighten you - not even when you turn to find alice staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes glossed over and vacant. skin leeched pale in the moonlight. you roll over to her, curious, and her eyes track over you uncomprehendingly, focus on a point at the far side of the room.

there's no decision to sit up, you simply do - chest rising first as if an anchor knot is rooted in your sternum, woven between the hollows of your ribs. the world tilts for a moment, and then rights itself, as if alighting with you on this new level. you observe the room much as it had been the night before, cold light filtering through whorls of smoke, though there's more of it now - thin trails of oily residue curling all around the room. it seems to ebb about the edges. even with the window locked tight, the room still seems to contract and compress, pressure increasing rhythmically before expanding again, fresh smoke rushing to fill it. you track the trail back to its source, a pin point ember which builds and gutters with swell, bobbing along on a tide. it takes a minute for your eyes to adjust but you make out the hand that holds it first, long fingers painted warm in the low light. it's the only bit of skin you can make out, the body attached to it settled so far back into the shadow it appears only as one itself - darker, deeper. barely distinguishable.

by its immense stature, you reason it is a man sat at your secretary. like alice's composure, there is a part of you that knows this realization should frighten you, but you're much too tired and curious to care, crawling to the foot of the bed so you can get a better look, continuing on over the edge and onto the floor when you still can't make out his features. your palms scratch against the worn wood, bearing too much weight in your awkward crawl, and room stills when you feel blood on the heel of your hand, the heat of it almost shocking in the cold air.

you only make it another stretch closer before the man recovers, the ember of his cigar flaring and popping as he takes a long drag, leans forward in his seat until you can make out a broad, stubbled jaw, two perfect white streaks glowing in the moonlight revealed when he finally drops his hand. his lips are wine-dark when they part, reveal a neat row of pearly teeth. he's impolite, blows his smoke directly at you. cloyingly sweet licorice and heady tobacco. you do not cough this time, though it's a near-miss. it seems to please him, lips tugging into a cruel smile as the smoke grows denser, begins to pour from his mouth in a thick, black cloud. it stains his chin, his teeth a black tar-like oil that smells too pungent. rotted.

you startle when alice screams, overcorrecting when you turn to her because she's there beside you, not behind, both of you still lying in bed.

"alice?" you start, trying to wake her, but your hand slips across her chest, slick with something dark and hot, and you freeze, unable to do anything as she continues to sieze and shriek beside you.

the governess comes, and then a doctor. in the confusion, you're shuttled off to the chair across the room. you're already settled into it by the time you realize it's where the man had sat, and you briefly take inventory of it, as if perhaps you could feel the traces of his body heat lingering. but the only thing of note is the trace whisps of dark sweets, easily explained away by your own mishap the night before.

they clean alice's wound and find a neat ring of teeth marks, your own good name saved by virtue of the doctor recognizing that they'd had time to heal - must have happened some other night, that alice must have been picking at them in her sleep. your governess's obvious distaste stills your tongue, unwilling to face her wrath if she believes you sympathetic to some street hussy. so you say nothing, even as alice shrieks about a man, about being accosted. even as they call her hysteric and pack her off. instead you sit silently, picking off the blood the that had dried to your hand when you'd gone to wake her. never mentioning the scrape you find beneath it and the congealed line of your own blood; the cut from when you'd flopped out of bed to crawl to his feet. because you can still smell it, the stomach-turning sweetness, and the heavy scent it had given way to, and you know what it was now, staining his handsome chin just as much as alice's breast.

and it's not fear, or even pity that settles low in your belly, simmers hotter than that ember which had sparked to life, woken you to his call.

you follow them when they walk her out, a small team of men needed to keep her restrained. she fights to be heard, but a part of you worries she fights to stay as well, the claws she sinks into the door frame intended to keep herself put for him. you feel ugly and selfish when you traipse back to your room, but you do anyway, stopping only long enough to smell the beautiful bouquet of dark winter roses you pass on the sideboard. they're lovely and sweet, though you can't help noticing no one has bothered to cut the thorns off. careless. you wonder who got them.

---

it's not the only life taking root in the house.

despite the grueling winter, you notice sunshine in the halls, dust motes dancing in the pale light. sconces you've not seen lit in years keep the shadows of night at bay. spices find their way into your meals, a small luxury you've been missing greatly. you can see your governess watching the staff suspiciously, but don't dare ask if she has her theories.

---

there are cigars in the humidor. or maybe they aren't cigars, much thinner than the ones you're used to seeing. you've no idea how they got there, but neither do you know who to ask. who you can trust to believe you, even just long enough to look, see the proof for themselves.

but then, you're not sure you want anyone else to know.

they smell like his. dark and heavy, sickeningly sweet. it makes your stomach turn but you fish out the lighter anyway, throwing the windows open decisively. fresh air pours in around you, chases cobwebs from the corners. the sconses gutter before flaring back to life, leaving the room brighter than it's been in months, cleaner than it' felt in ages.

you hardly notice, too busy fighting the cough that builds in your throat as you take your first drag. you don't manage it, smoke sputtering sputtering from your mouth in fits and starts as you heave your way through a coughing fit, stomach turning with an unexpected wave of nausea. face turned to the cool relief of the window, you've got your cheek leaned up against the side of the pane when the smoke begins to waft away. it takes you a moment to make sense of the image revealed, inverted and near as it is. fear grips you before you even manage it, some fine-tuned instinct recognizing the viper at your feet and turning to run before you're even sure what you've seen.

but this is no viper, and the reaction warranted when faced with the immense silhouette of a man hanging inverted in your window, mere inches from your face, is to go still as a deer in the hunters' sights, evidently, and play the docile little pray.

he turns properly toward you, the shaggy hair dangling around his face catching in the wind. your cigar flares with it, wan light revealing pale skin and dark eyes which seem to glint in amusement when you stumble away, the whole of the picture revealed to you just as long fingers wrap over the top of the casement and pry it open, hinges groaning as they overextend to let his broad shoulders pass. he pours through the sill like butter from the pan, pools on your ceiling with a strong grip on your curtain rod. except, when he drops from it, he sinks from the rafters like a feather, none of the might his huge frame suggested anywhere to be found.

still reeling, your hip catches the edge of your wardrobe and you slip past it, put your back to the wall as quiet cries spill from your lips, pleas incomprehensible.

he greets you by name in a thick russian accent, and somehow, impossibly, you know, but you ask anyway, voice trembling. "who are you?"

a step closer, movements so fluid you can barely discern them. when did the candles go out? "your cleverer than that."

strange compulsion, you can't stop yourself before reciting, "men don't want clever wives."

"is that what you think i want? a wife?" amusement curls around the words, turns his accent lilting.

"i don't know what you want," you whisper, and he grunts - edging closer to irritation.

"and is that what you think i am, then? a man?"

"no…" the truth shocks you, has you casting about for an anchor. you only find confirmation when you catch sight of your vanity, the man in your room leaving no reflection. your cleverer than that. "you were here that night, weren't you? on the bed with me?"

"well, what's a man to do when he returns home to find a pretty young lady in his bed?"

"you're my father." it's not a question. you're not even certain you mean it as a chastisement. it is simple fact, roiling in your stomach like the nausea that lingers.

a fact he ignores, slipping closer and trailing cold digits over the inside of your wrist before taking the slim cigar from between your fingers. you weren't even aware you'd still had it. it glows back to life when he takes a deep drag, smoke spilling from his mouth when he speaks again, "do you like this one better than that other? they're very popular in paris."

you latch onto the wrong part of the question. "is that where you've been?"

"there," he shrugs. "everywhere."

more nausea, sinuses prickling with the added smoke. "anywhere but here?"

he doesn't seem to like this question, either, a stillness overtaking him. "i was… called away."

but if he can be angry, so can you. "for twenty four years?" you snap, voice ragged and sharp as it had been after your first inhale.

his stillness snaps, exasperation turning him away from you. he paces to the window and finally you can see more of his features - the high peaks of his hairline, the heavy brow and the broad nose. he's an older man, you know, and yet - he doesn't really look it, fine lines of his forehead no worse than a man ten, twenty years his younger. his voice is gruff when he speaks again. quiet. "a man can't help being needed -."

"you were needed hear!" you shriek, a reservoir of emotion you didn't know you'd kept dammed breaking free.

when he turns on his heel the candles flare again, and you gasp, shocked to find him suddenly before you, the wool of his overcoat scratchy even through your shift. he waits for you to settle, for your chest to stop heaving against his and your pulse to stop hammering so loud in your ears that you can't hear what he says when his lips move, tongue darting out to wet them. "am i no longer needed, then?" he finally asks, and you wilt against him.

"of course you are," you sob, trying not to notice his own breaths never come.

---

there's no precedent telling you what to call him. his name is improper, but 'father' leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. you plead of him 'my lord!' when his kisses linger too long and he groans, pleased.

you're not sure if you like him when he's pleased.

he frightens you, takes too much. he's a man of appetite as you should have known by the marks he'd left on alice, but you'd foolishly thought yourself untouchable, too gently borne to suffer such indignities. of course, the station of your birth matters little to your own father - if it indeed ever would have mattered to anyone at all.

but it's hard to refuse him when he's your father, and so huge, besides. his broad frame corrals you easily back toward the bed. he doesn't let you sink onto it until his kisses have trailed to the hinge of your jaw, cold nose nuzzling behind your ear. when he does breathe, his chest eclipses your own, tries to turn you concave, carve a space within you. his exhale stinks like his cigar, pressed into the corner of your lip.

it's improper. leaves you teetering between disgust and a guilty sort of pleasure, which only serves to repulse you further. your stomach turns, guilt eating its way up your throat. acrid with smoke.

the hand splayed over the column of your throat tightens minutely, long fingers threatening to pluck the tendons which flex when you gag. he misunderstands. "not supposed to inhale, you know?"

your head spins, the only relief from your mounting sickness found in the the cold relief of his hands against your cheek. "i didn't… i don't..?"

"shh. that's alright. papa will teach you. take this, it will help you feel better."

and your mouth when he does. wide, mimicking. eager for some tincture to help soothe your nerves. a strong dose to put you under, perhaps. he grins when you show him your teeth and a finger finds his own, long claw catching minutely on his lip when he drags the pad of his first two fingers over his canine. you're shocked when it comes away bloody - more so when he coos, eases them into your own mouth to stroke against your tongue. for a moment you're too shocked to respond, but then the heavy taste of blood coats your mouth and you thrash about under him, swatting and biting.

it only seems to encourage him, voice too thick with hunger and approval to be as soothing as he intends it when he tries to gentle you beneath him.

he gives up trying when his blood overflows your mouth, spilling over your cheeks as you continue trying to shake him off. he mutters something about a waste and then his other hand is pinching your nose, cutting off your air supply fully. you gurgle, trying to clear your mouth and he snarls, shoves his fingers deeper.

you're forced to swallow your mouthful when your vision begins to tunnel. he sighs in relief when you do, breath nearly as heavy as yours when you gasp and wheeze. he has the decency to drag his fingers down your chin as you struggle, staining all down your throat as he traces the path of the load you've swallowed.

"not so hard, was it?" he mutters, still painting your skin. you glare at him when you can finally manage it and he just chuckles, forces his fingers behind your bottom teeth again. even still the taste revolts you, tongue crowding to the back of you mouth to try and escape the cold copper, the thick licorice. if he notices, he is undeterred. makes you take even more when he pries your jaw open and spits in your mouth.

the vulgarity makes you heave, but his weight fights even that. keeps you in place when he shoves his fingers back until the webbing nestles against the corner of your mouth and his fingernails scrape against your throat. he feels when it constricts around him reflexively and his free hand smooths the hair back from your sweaty forehead, cold breath against your temple as he tells you to relax, voice fragmenting - somehow both soft, ethereal, and a very real rumble in your ear.

it's that quiet one that gets you, webs its way through your nerves until you're limp with it, energy sapped along with your will to disobey. his fingers pull back minutely, give you enough space to swallow the blood that's gathered at the back of your throat. when they push back in, he bids you suckle them in that same distorted voice and you do. easily, gratefully, and this time, the blood pools in your belly like an antidote. it soothes your nausea, leaves you hungry for more. he doesn't hesitate to provide it, fingers pumping in and out of your mouth as you begin to suckle at them, entreating him to stay nestled in the heat of your mouth each time he starts to pull away.

you're unsure how long he feeds you. long enough you that you feel sated and sleepy when he withdraws entirely. a strand of saliva follows him, snaps back to fall down your chest when he licks his own fingers after, thick tongue wiping clean what mess remains. his skin comes back whole and healed, a prospect that should surely frighten you, but there is no fear when you grow bold, pull him closer by a strong grip on the long strands of hair at his nape. his tongue is slick when it slides against yours, chasing the taste of himself. he follows it down your chin, panting against the column of your neck as his hands work up your chest, the pressure of them on your waist having been having gone unnoticed through your corset. his nails scrape your skin when he catches the hem of your dressing gown and finally, some base instinct flares back to life, tries to stay his hands with your own, fingers scrabbling against his. he just hushes you again, voice echoing softly between your ears. this time, when your fingers wrap around his wrists, it is simply an anchor for you, body feeling as though you may simply drift away under his care.

when his mouth finds your breast, you arch into him, bucking hard enough that he groans, lays his body flat over you to keep you in place as he feasts. even his weight is decadent, a relief from the way you feel untethered. he pinches your nipple between too-sharp teeth, soaks the fabric of your shift in saliva just to soothe you after. his mouth offers no heat, no balm for the frigid breaths he ghosts over the wet material. you beg for it anyway, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. an instinct that will do you no good here, the man at your breast inhuman and cold.

it's a fact you can't escape from, not with his cold blood in your belly and his will in your head. not with his lupine teeth spreading wide over your heart, or the ecstatic relief when he finally bites down. your breath steams in the air as you pant beneath him, chest heaving into his mouth even as you try pulling him impossibly closer, and here, finally, is the heat - the bloom of blood that soaks your shift and warms your skin, even as you grow colder with the loss of it. he's insatiable, a man of appetite as you knew, and yet you give yourself freely, even as your breath grows stilted and shallow and your fingers twitch in his hair. he only surfaces when your vision grows cloudy, looms above you in a grisly mask of death turned two-tone with the moonlight and your fading vision. jaw stained dark, it appears an endless maw from which he speaks, demands to know if you'll join him in eternity.

and what girl could ever live without her papa?

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/adornedwithlight

[mullermilkshake]

The rose garden - Chapter 5

I will be uploading the whole thing here, it's just going take a little time, but if you want to read more right now, there's more on my AO3 <3

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader / Detective!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader (Sort of one sided)

Word count - 3.8k

Tags (master list for the entire fic, will add TW for significant tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!,NSFW,SMUT,NO USE OF Y/N,Yandere!Getou Suguru, Graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Porn With Plot,Porn with Feelings,Established Relationship,PleasureDom,Codependency,Murder,Torture,Conspiracy,Cunnilingus,Orgasm Control,Multiple Orgasms,Minor Original Character(s),psychiatry,Medication,Power Imbalance,Vaginal Fingering,Disembowelment,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Rimming, Praise Kink,Grinding,mentions of blowjobs,Dry Humping,thigh riding,Dark,Autopsy,Aftercare,Hunting,Guns,Perceived infidelity,Body Horror,Smoking,Vaginal Sex,Misogyny,Public Stimulation,One sided sexual tension,Invasion of Privacy,Strangulation,Reader-Insert,Serious Satoru Gojo,Orgasm Edging,Obsession,Accidental Voyeurism,Angst,Questions of masculinity, stabbing, shooting

A new player has entered.

Suguru may have gotten too close to the sun.

Tags for the chapter - Mentions of death, murder and bodies, mind games, interrogation

Thank you, 

Thank you, 

Thank you, 

Thank you. Keep up the good work. 

—

Suguru eyed the detective as he stepped over the threshold.

If he recalled correctly, Suguru knew who this man was. And he was not a man to be fucked with.

His face came with some familiarity from his forensic route before he decided to open up his own practice. Suguru saw enough shit profiling the bad guys that he couldn’t bear it, and it was the right choice. If he hadn’t given that up, then he wouldn’t have met you.

Profiling took a toll on people, thinking like criminals and diagnosing heavy mental health conditions of someone linked to horrid crimes. Helping those around him and supporting the management of addiction and everyday struggles were where his heart was.

The man in front of him, Suguru knew him as Satoru Gojo. He was certain of it. The news of an investigator with white hair wasn’t hard to miss, and from what he remembered, from keeping up to date with the law side of things, was that Satoru Gojo was once the youngest investigator on the force.

A force to be reckoned with and once he started, he didn’t stop. Though he was unsure of what he was up to these days. Either way, he watched his footing around this guy.

And a homicide too? The Detective must have been referring to Mr Simmons.

“Can I get you a drink, Detective?”

He shook his head and observed the front hallway of the cabin. “I’m good, thanks. I just want to ask a few questions and I’ll be on my way. I just need to confirm your names?”

Satoru Gojo was already naturally suspicious. That wasn’t good. He read them out and waited for Suguru and yourself to confirm.

You took Suguru’s hand and led him over to the sofa, “Please, take a seat Detective. We’ll help in any way we can.” God, you were always so perfect.

Suguru was shocked he had slept in as long as he did, he would have left you to it napping away, maybe carried you to bed and let you sleep the entire night’s events off whilst he made breakfast.

But instead he woke up to this. Suguru kept his trademark smile and sat down next to you, making sure he rested his hand on your knee, if anything to show that you were protected.

“You were talking about a homicide?”

“It’s purely house calls at the moment until we have all of the evidence available to us. I’m going through my list. You just happened to be the closest.”

“Closest?” You were naturally inquisitive.

He shrugged at you. “I went to your house, but no one was there and I found this second address listed so I thought I’d shoot my shot, but it turns out you’re the furthest away now.”

“What’s going on, Detective?” Suguru waited to see what he was going to say about Mr Simmons, he was one of the last to see him alive, it was natural to come to see him.

Detective Gojo cleared his throat and leant his elbows on his spread knees to show that he was relaxed. “Well, the person in question found this morning nearby was a woman who attended the ‘Dark author’s award ceremony’ the night before last.” He said a name and Suguru was sure he recognised it.

Ella.

You certainly did, lifting your hand to your mouth in shock. “Oh my god… We saw her before we left, she was throwing an after party.”

“And did you go?”

Suguru jumped in before you could add a motive to the Detective's repertoire. “We were invited, but we came straight home. My fiancé won an award that night, so we came back to celebrate.”

“And can anyone else provide that alibi?”

“The garage camera, it’ll show when we arrived home.” You were hot on it. Suguru still saw the welling wetness collecting in your eyes. “What happened to her, detective?”

“I can't divulge that information just yet until it’s made public, but it’s best not to think about it. All I need to know is when you last saw her, what was discussed and an alibi. Once that’s corroborated, I can cross you off my list.” He spoke directly to you, not once did he look at Suguru.

He should have felt threatened by another man in your presence, but that wasn’t that case. Suguru could not put his finger on it just yet. What was this sniffer dog's aim?

“Well.” You spoke before Suguru could even get a word in. “We saw her at the event, she was inviting others to her house for an after party and invited Suguru. He declined and we left. We came straight home and remained there until the morning when he left for work.”

He was invited. He hoped the Detective didn’t pick up on your phrasing. “You say your fiancé was invited. Was it just him? I thought you were both invited?”

It was Suguru’s job to clear up the misunderstanding. “The invite was extended to me, but as we’re together, it was pretty much given that we were both invited, yes.”

“Right.” Detective Gojo wasn’t so convinced.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask.” 

What were you going to say now? “Was it quick at least?”

“What do you mean by that?”

No… That’s the worst thing to say. 

“I mean, she didn’t suffer at least, did she? The thought of someone I know dying is…” The wetness in your eyes fell with subtlety. “You hear it on the news and read it in the papers and never think you’ll be affected by it, and then it happens.”

You sat forward and even took your hand from Suguru’s. “Please, give it to me straight. Did she suffer?”

“She did.”

“Oh my god.” You leant into Suguru to seek comfort. “You see someone and never think it’ll be the last time.”

“Let me get you some water, sweetie.” Was Suguru being way too blasé about this? He hardly knew the woman, she hadn’t said more than two words to him before that invitation.

You drank the water down fast, Suguru didn’t leave much time for you to be on your own with the Detective and came back faster than he should have. But it made no difference. The man still began grilling you with questions and it got you a little flustered.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” You placed the glass down, how much had Suguru missed? “Am I being interrogated- are you going to detain me?”

“What’s going on?” Suguru didn’t like the look of this.

The Detective shook his head reassuringly. “I'm not interrogating anyone, I’m not slinging anyone in the back of my car either. I’m just trying to get a grasp on what sort of woman she was, the type of relationships she had. So far, you are the only two people I’ve been able to see in person, most of the others have been over the phone.”

This was an interrogation. The Detective was looking for motives. Poor relationships, scorned arguments which resulted in each party not relenting to being on speaking terms. 

Satoru Gojo was very much interrogating you.

Suguru was not going to have it. “Detective, how about we step into my office? This information is quite a shock and we’re here on vacation. I think it’s doing the opposite of what a vacation is intended for,” He gestured to you. “She’s stressed out and I think it’s better if we discuss it more privately until you need her again. Does that sound good to you?”

At first, Suguru assumed he’d decline, but he didn't, he just nodded and got to his feet. “I apologise for the upset, I’d very much like to speak with you privately, Doctor.”

He nodded and got up as well, taking your hand briefly with a smile. “It’ll be alright, sweetie. I won’t be long. Why don’t you go out to the garden for a little while? The fresh air will do you good.” A quick peck to your forehead and he was showing the Detective to his office.

As soon as the doors were slid shut, Suguru spoke to him man to man. “Satoru Gojo. I remember who you are now.”

‘You know who I am?” He studied the art mounted on the walls.

“May I call you Satoru? I remember you from my days with the police, albeit brief, I don’t forget a face. You’re pretty famous if I recall?” He also noticed the distinct pungent smell of cigarettes too, one of which he had very recently smoked. Possibly on the way over here and one he would not forget.

Satoru shrugged. “Either name will do, but I’m not here to discuss names and pleasantries. There was another homicide nearby that happened last night, which I would have discussed in front of your partner, but here is just as convenient.” 

“Alright then.” This must have been about Mr Simmons.

“A man was killed in a hit and run at around ten o’clock last night. Then his body was moved and placed somewhere close by.”

Suguru knew all of this already and by Satoru’s tone, it was as though he was trying to bait him. “Okay, do you need an alibi for that, or?”

“You’re a therapist, aren’t you?”

“A licensed psychiatrist.”

“There’s a difference?” Yeah. He was definitely trying to bait him.

Suguru sat himself down in his little office chair and watched the Detective closely. “Well, I dabbled in crime psychology for a little while, creating criminal profiles and aiding the police, but I prefer treating calmer and less violent people. I prescribe medication and make referrals. I don’t just do talk therapy.”

“That’s right. You have your own practice don't you?...” Something caught his attention.

“I do.”

The window behind Suguru’s chair. He must have seen you sit down outside. But it wasn’t what his eyes were focused on. “That’s a pretty rose garden.”

Suguru’s cheeks tugged for just a moment. “I planted those a few years back for her, roses are her favourite so we have tons blooming every year.”

Satoru’s cheeks did the exact same thing. “It’s funny… this hit and run had red roses on the body.”

“Really?” Suguru pretended to think, lacing his fingers together. “Were the roses placed there meticulously or haphazardly?”

“Does that matter?” Satoru was challenging him.

He’d take it.

“Of course. Haphazardly suggests the person wanted to hide the body, make it pretty while also trying to alleviate the guilt of what they did. But placing them with purpose suggests something more than that. It suggests that the person knew what they were doing and in doing so gave them power. To make a statement.”

A good diversion to throw the Detective off.

“They were placed haphazardly.” A total lie.

“So you’re looking at someone rushing then, most probably their first time killing. Though it doesn’t explain the roses. That would indicate that it still could have been premeditated. Where was the body exactly? You said it was nearby… near to here?”

“Near the first homicide. Which, coincidentally, is near your office if I'm not mistaken.”

Suguru didn’t give anything away. “I’m not aware, you never gave a specific location.”

“The lanes. In a residence and in the woodlands around the lane roads.”

“Ah yes, then that is near my office. There’s not much around there in terms of variety if I’m not mistaken… I can’t believe it’s so close.”

Time to lay it on thick. Though Suguru was still one hundred percent sincere. “If you could, would you mind not mentioning where the bodies were found to my finacé? She would freak if all that trouble was on our doorstep. I doubt she’d ever want me going down the lanes again.”

He didn’t agree. “How often do you go down those roads?”

“Twice a day when I’m working.”

“Were you working yesterday?”

“I was.”

“When did you leave, what way did you go?”

It was around nine when Suguru left the office, give or take ten minutes but autopsies were never approximated down to the minute, hence the hour given later than Mr Simmons’ actual time of death. So give or take half an hour wouldn’t make a difference.

It was close enough to the time of death not to be suspicious should Nanami be questioned, but far enough away that he wouldn’t have been an immediate suspect should he become a person of interest.

“Around nine thirty, I take the east way home, the roads are wider and with the fog that night, it was a safe choice, though I never drive more than thirty kilometres down those roads.”

“The fog?” Well, that seemed to throw him through a loop.

“Yes, there was unexpected heavy fog that came in last night. My fiancé messaged me to take care while driving. Visibility was bad and I ended up hitting a raccoon or rabbit that darted out in front of me when I was coming out of the lanes.”

He had no choice but to state that he had hit something, but Mr Simmons was at least two miles closer to his office than where he stated. Suguru needed some sort of alibi to link with the convenience store clerk should he get wind and speak with him.

“You hit something? Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Satoru stopped his observation of the room and gave Suguru the time of day this time.

“Because after you told me there was another body found near my place of work, to which I confirmed I was working,  I naturally assumed you would ask the question of my whereabouts. And you did.”

It was more of a power trip to Suguru now. He knew he shouldn’t have poked the bear, but it was far too tempting. The Detective was looking in the eyes of a murderer and was none the wiser. Plenty had reviewed evidence before, but none ever close enough to link Suguru.

Mr Simmons was number…. Seven? If he remembered correctly. He hadn’t played that game for a while. Just Mr Simmons, not the woman. Suguru was unsure of what happened to that woman, because that was nothing to do with him at all.

“I tried getting as much gunk out of the grill of my car, she’s a vintage one and I had to take the grill off, then I waited to see if the fog cleared and thankfully it did. So I went to the nearest convenient store a little while after and got my car cleaned- he has the facilities for it. We were driving up here late last night-early morning, and preferred it if my fiancé didn’t have to see animal guts all over the car.”

“And can the clerk corroborate this?”

“Of course. I’ve used his services on a few occasions.”

“Right…” Again, the Detective did not look convinced.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with? Like I said before, I did practise in psychological profiling.”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, but I do wanna circle back to the roses.” Satoru moved towards the desk and poked his head in the direction of the window as he came closer.

He was watching you. Suguru just knew it. “There were roses left at the other scene too.”

Suguru knew nothing about that. “Alright. What does that have to do with the rose garden?”

Satoru Gojo did not take his eyes away from you swinging yourself on the little chair swing, one knee brought up to your chest with the other lazily kicking the floor. You were watching the roses shuffle side by side in the afternoon wind and late autumn sun.

“There’s a lot of roses goin’ around. Somewhere to supply that many would be an interesting find to a local florist.”

Where was he going with this?

“Okay.” Suguru wanted to turn away from him, but he wouldn’t all the while he was watching you.

“I think the roses came from here.”

What? A stupidly absurd notion. The very idea that he suggested someone rifling through the garden and taking roses from your favourite place made Suguru’s very soul burn like ash.

He didn’t give that away though, he’d contain his temper until he was able to release it properly. “Well, we only come here a few times a year, I check more often so that I can be sure the roses haven’t contracted a pest or disease, but that doesn’t stop anyone else getting to them, they aren't exactly secure.”

Who was this man to be throwing accusations like that? He was supposed to be an extraordinary Detective. Now he was just throwing mud hoping that it stuck.

“It doesn’t narrow our search down, but a rose clipped here and there soon makes one large bouquet or two, don't y’think?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean? Are you saying whoever used the roses on those bodies took them out of my fiancés garden? This place isn’t exactly close by.”

He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips while he turned away from the window. “Who knows, I’m just throwin’ some theories out there. I won’t know all the facts until I have all the evidence presented to me, but I would like to request two things from you if I may.”

Here we go. Not without a fucking warrant. Suguru knew what he was going to ask. “Of course, ask away.”

“Can I examine your car and get security footage from your office?”

Of course. This man was so predictable. “Unfortunately, I cannot agree to that.”

“And why not?” Satoru’s stance was combative.

“You will need a search warrant for both. I must protect the personal information and the whereabouts of my clients. It’’s doctor-patient confidentiallity, I’ll need the written permission of every client that came by yesterday before I can even think of releasing that information to you without a warrant.”

Suguru already had written consent from all of his clients to allow the office to be filmed, but he would not give it to him.

Satoru seemed to take that on the nose. Suguru would protect his clients and their wishes until he legally prevented to do so. He had plenty of protection and he believed that there was not enough reason to collect the practice's camera footage of the road and parking lot just yet. 

“Okay. I’ll go and get that then. I’ll be back soon enough to get that car impounded. I just need to start ticking people off my list is all. I don’t wanna cause you more hassle than it's all worth y’know? I wouldn’t want to upset your fiancé.” He went back to the same kind routine that he was using with you, like that charade would put Suguru’s guard down.

Satoru would know better in time than to use you as a bargaining chip. “That’s fine by me, we aren’t going anywhere all week. It’ll give her time to keep calm while she’s writing her new book, she has plenty to keep her mind occupied while you do what you have to do.”

“Well alright then. I’ll see myself out and I’ll be back with that warrant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Geto. Please send your girl my regards. See ya.” He vacated the office and left the doors wide open on purpose.

Suguru could barely contain himself but held on until he heard a car drive off of the driveway. “That asshole.”

How dare he use you as a way to try and coerce him to give up his car and office like that. It made him fucking sick. Sick enough to shoot up from his seat, stomp over to the decorative vase he didn’t even enjoy looking at, pick it up and launch it across the room to watch it shatter into little pieces.

That fucking bastard thinks he’s so clever. He lied about the crime scene and tried to catch me out.  

Not likely. Suguru wouldn’t fall for it no matter how angry he was. There was never a time in his life where he would allow anyone to take him away from you.

You just wouldn’t cope without him.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Through the red, Suguru was barely able to recover himself.

“Don’t come in here, sweetie. I was going to rearrange a few things and the vase slipped from my hands and fell. There’s smashed ceramic everywhere, could you get the broom for me? I don’t want you cutting your feet.”

You moved without hesitation, trusting him blindly. 

It was better that way.

“Are you alright? I heard the noise and noticed that the Detective wasn’t here… did he leave already?” You reappeared just as quickly as you vanished.

“I’m just fine, don’t worry about me.” The ceramic clinked together as he swept, and for just a moment, Suguru tried his best to look at you, but he couldn’t. “Yes he’s gone for now, but he’ll be back with a warrant for the car and my office's security footage.”

He did not want to see your concerned face, something that was his own doing for jumping the gun and getting rid of a man who may not have hurt you. Suguru was conflicted by his reasoning and admitted to himself he may have made the wrong call. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Your car?… Alright.” You said, rubbing your arm and backing up a little from the large sliding double doors.

No, it wasn’t the wrong call. You were still safe and that was all that mattered. “I’ll take care of it all, it’s just to help with his investigation, but I can’t release it on my own. He’ll need a warrant anyway, it’s just procedure, that’s all.”

Suguru placed the broom to the side and wandered over to you for a reassuring embrace. “It’s all sorted, you don’t need to worry your head over it.”

“I just can’t believe she’s dead… Murdered. She wasn’t the nicest person, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.” You nuzzled into his chest close enough.

“I know, there’s not much we can do either. For now, we’ll just need to let the police do their jobs and wait for justice that’ll come with them.” He was curious to know what that body looked like and whether there was an active killer in the area, or just a one time thing.

The most infuriating part of all this, is that if Satoru Gojo posed a significant threat, Suguru couldn’t just kill him. He had a temper, but he was not stupid.

His only options were to either lead the intelligent Detective astray, or make it impossible to have any evidence to catch him with. 

To play the white haired Detective at his own game.

And Suguru would win.

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DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their own.

Also Please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[hdawg1995]

i'm learning 40k lore and getting ready to play a rogue trader game and my character is a void born void-master with Trauma, this 7ft tall string bean saw the horrors of the void and decided he was too scared of the Horrors to stay on planets for too long because he doesn't even know those Horrors, he doesn't want to know the Horrors on planets he wants to stay on the ship.

its canon that the rogue trader player went looking for a void-master for her ship and found my character like a stray feral animal and after seeing the notes from his therapist she said "you're hired".

[somegrumpynerd]

Thinking about how Nightmare has 4 mortals and 3 of them are so so bad at taking care of themselves

[bacchuschucklefuck]

species medley ft. gorgug and riz

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

For vaggie that spear is her support animal/therapist

For charlie, it's a rival she'd like to throw in lava but can't cause, it's vaggies support 'animal'

silly headcanon plot twist- Charlie's jealously at the spear ISN'T silly or irrational at all, it's a subconscious manifestation of Charlie's desperation for her girlfriend to actually open up emotionally to HER instead of to a WEAPON, confide fears and problems in CHARLIE, and a very frustrated, very also-emotionally-constipated-in-her-own-way Charlie doesn't wanna pin that frustration on Vaggie directly so she deflects all her anger to the spear, which as an inanimate objects, can't get any hurt feelings over this or decide Charlie is too much and dump her

we've done it. we've cracked the silly headcanon and found the angst waiting underneath XD XD XD

or maybe the above is all just what the hazbin crew speculates together, in their weekly "there's no way those two idiots don't have shit going on in their relationship" chaggie hotel gossip meet-ups