#i don’t CARE what’s in there. i will not be mysteriously disappearing because the fucking shadow creatures got me

[shaunamilfman]

Dating Rhiannon Lewis HC's

pairing: Rhiannon Lewis x reader note: she's my pathetic, desperate, clingy gf so get your own.

Throws out an ily on the third date and tries so pathetically hard to play it off. “I love youR SHIRT. It's such a nice shirt.” Before running off to the bathroom to hide. She's so smooth. Pacing back and forth in front of the mirror for ten minutes before she manages to gather enough courage to come back to you and pretend nothing happened.

Keeps score of who’s texting who first and how often. It doesn’t stop her from still texting first, though.

Cannot ever get her hands out of your hair. She's so fucking gentle about it, caressing your hair and gently scratching at your scalp with her nails. Won't go near your hair on her bad days. Running her fingers along the back of your neck instead of your scalp. Fingers flexing like she wants to touch it but won't. Just doesn't trust herself not to hurt you. 

Always makes the house so fucking cold when you sleep over so you're forced to cuddle with her for warmth. Her ass is running around the whole house opening windows and creating drafts in the twenty minutes she has in between your text and when you arrive. Oh, also, all the blankets are in the wash but hers. So sad, guess you'll just have to share. Mysteriously, all of your long-sleeve shirts have disappeared too. Weird. 

Makes you do those stupid couple quizzes in magazines.

Rhiannon “We have food at home” Lewis. Once the initial excitement about having people to go out with dies down, she comes to an important realization: the more the two of you are out, the more you're exposed to dating options that aren't her. That's just not allowed. Doing anything and everything she can to keep you at home short of telling you to get your ass back inside. 

God forbid you try to go out somewhere without her. Why would you need to go see your friends while she's stuck late at work? Who's going to walk with her to the bus station? She starts asking so many questions about it, sounding so hurt that you eventually cave and don’t go. It’s not blatant manipulation, not when it’s you, but it’s usually enough to have you rethinking the whole thing anyway.

So jealous, but won’t directly say anything about it. Just starts holding onto your hand tightly with this strained look on her face.

She always misplaces your things when you're going out, or just if it suits her better. Your car keys? She hasn't seen them. The shirt you were going to wear that she doesn't much care for? You probably lost it. Here, she found her personal favorite of your shirts, though. You’ll find the other shirt mysteriously hung back up neatly in your closet the next day, like nothing ever happened.

Rhiannon wearing your shirts when she knows you're looking for them to entice you to stay home. Laying back on the bed, pouting up at you. Long sleeves that her hands just barely peek out of. “What, are you looking for this?” Making you give her a kiss if you want your shirt back to go to work. Maybe even two if she’s feeling greedy.

Tries to fix all your problems for you the second you mention them to her.

So incredibly clingy. If you're with her, you're with her. Sitting on the counter, talking to you while you cook or while you take a shower. You step out, and she's holding the towel out for you. Makes a show of breathing hot hair on it and pretends she was keeping it warm for you. You wake up every time with all four of her limbs wrapped around you, no matter how the two of you actually fell asleep.

She texts you about the weather all the time just as an excuse to talk to you.

So incredibly sensitive. Bottom lip trembling and tearing up because you said you weren't sure if you'd be able to make drinks with her coworkers tonight. Her ass trying to play it cool all like, “That's fine 🥺.“

Detailed plans for any outing she takes you on.

She plays those like little girlfriend games all the time. The like, "Would you love me if I was x, if I did y, if z happened?” Just hours and hours of it. It starts off so innocent and teasing, but it ends up getting really serious and real specific. “Would you still love me if I, like, killed someone? Accidentally. Hypothetically, of course.”

Gets really drunk one night and starts trying to get a concrete list of breakupable offenses. Pulls out this like color-coded Excel file of info with terms and conditions and shit. She takes this girlfriend stuff seriously, bro. Debating the details of it like she’s making a contract.

Stalks your socials all the time.

I just know Rhiannon pulls those like "ten tricks to keep a man" shit they have in those magazines on you. Goes down it in a list deciding what you react the best to. Tries maintaining eye contact for a freaky long time until you finally call her out on it. Insists that it’s not what she’s doing, but you realize she’s hidden all her magazines from you the next day.

Double, triple, quadruple texter. You better not fall asleep on her, or her ass will be knocking on the door within a few hours.

She likes to surprise you with dates, but she’s so horrifically bad at it. She gets nervous and ends up asking you a billion different questions about things you like, that by the time you get to the date you’ve basically already planned it all for yourself anyway. Rhiannon looks so proud of herself that you can’t bear to say anything about it.

You catch sight of her search history over her shoulder one night, and it’s like twenty variations of “What to do on a date.” / “What to say on a date.” / “Where to go to dinner in…”

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.6 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7 pt.8 wordcount: 1249

You don’t know if it was the fact that you already knew Lando as a kid, or if you were just outright stupid, because it hadn’t really crossed your mind that an F1 racer fucking his stylist, fit the picture perfectly. You didn’t feel like that. He didn’t make you feel like that. Or you were just ignoring it. You had seen photos with other girls sometimes. You didn’t think much of it. But when it started to be the same blonde girl quite often, you actively ignored it. 

The tabloid headline came out that morning—Lando pictured walking with the same girl you’d already seen him with a few times in random social media sightings. It wasn’t a big deal before. You knew what this was, what it wasn’t. But the way the headline framed it—Lando Norris and mystery blonde spotted again—F1’s most eligible bachelor off the market?—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But still, you find yourself pulling away, responding to his texts slower, keeping things short. Lando’s behavior, however, hadn’t changed one bit. He was still texting you daily. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks after he was in London. You didn’t have work at the previous race weekend. But there was an event tonight, which you were dreading now. Luckily you didn’t have a private fitting.

When you arrived at the event, you spotted Lando almost immediately. He was in the center of it all, drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. 

And somehow, as if he could feel you watching, he turned.

His gaze found yours through the crowd, and there it was again—that shift, the unspoken thing that neither of you had addressed. He didn’t look away.

Instead, he smirked.

You tried not to let it affect you. Tried not to let the fact that he abandoned his conversation and started making his way toward you send a thrill through your stomach.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low as he leaned in, just close enough for you to hear over the music, pulling you in a tight hug.

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, skipping slightly. “I styled myself.”

He grinned. “That explains why I like it.”

It was stupid, the way he made you feel—like this was something more than what it was.

Like you weren’t just orbiting each other for the fun of it.

‘’Missed you’’ he added.

But before you could say anything, someone else pulled him back into conversation, and you let yourself disappear into the party again.

Only, it was impossible to ignore him. Every time you glanced his way, he was already looking. Every time he passed by, his hand would brush against your lower back, the touch fleeting but deliberate. Every interaction was like a thread pulling tighter, winding something between you.

But then you saw her.

Blonde, leggy, the kind of girl who fit into his world seamlessly. She leaned in close, laughing at something he said, her fingers grazing his arm.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this was the dynamic you had set. But that didn’t mean you had to stay and watch it.

So, you left.

You weren’t dramatic about it. Just slipped out, phone buzzing in your hand a few minutes later.

Lando: Where’d you go? Lando: Come with me. Lando: Or I’ll find you myself.

You hesitated before replying.

You: Already back at my hotel.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

And when you opened it, he was standing there, looking like he had run his hands through his hair a few too many times, like he had left the party the second you did.

“You left,” he said.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Observant.”

His lips quirked, but there was something in his eyes—something not entirely playful. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how to.

And maybe he didn’t need you to, because a second later, he was stepping closer, slipping inside, closing the door behind him.

Another beat of silence. Then—

“You’re acting weird.”

That makes you pause. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he counters, voice light but probing. “You’ve been weird all day. Actually… since yesterday. Barely texting. One-word answers. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You finally turn to face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. “I’m just tired.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Tired of me?”

“No, Lando. Tired. You know, that thing that happens when you don’t get enough sleep?”

He smirks. “Could’ve just said you missed me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“See, normally, you’d have a better comeback than that,” he muses, tilting his head. “But you’re just shutting me down. Which means…” He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Did I do something?”

You look away. “No.”

“Did Max or Keegan say something dumb?”

“No.”

He squints. “Did you see something?”

Your stomach clenches.

Lando notices. His smirk returns, slower this time, like he’s figuring out a puzzle in real-time.

“Don’t tell me…” He starts, stepping toward you. “You’re jealous?”

You scoff immediately. “I’m not—”

“Hah,” he lets out a laugh, standing right in front of you now. “Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.” His grin widens, like this is the most amusing thing that’s ever happened to him. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

‘’I’m not’’

‘’You’re the one who said this was casual’’ he continued, your eyes widened. 

‘’Flo told me’’ he grinned. ‘’Which, by the way—ouch."

You huffed, trying to sidestep him, but he’s faster—grabbing your waist and pulling you toward the couch. You stumble slightly, and before you can protest, he’s already guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the cushion.

“Lando—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He nudges you down onto your back, climbing over you in one smooth motion. He catches both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the couch. His other hand settles on your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your skin.

“Say it,” he teases, mouth hovering just above yours. “Say you’re jealous.”

You glare up at him. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Liar.”

Then he dips his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck, to your collarbone.

You shift beneath him, but he tightens his grip, keeping you in place. “Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above your chest. “No need to be jealous, you know.”

“I’m not,” you insist, voice thinner now.

He chuckles against your skin. “Right.”

His mouth moves lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your chest, across your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you then, eyes dark with amusement—and something else.

“You’re the best fucking stylist, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “Take such good care of me.”

You swallow hard. “Lando—”

“Hm?”

He kisses just above your belly button, watching your reaction carefully. “Just want to take care of you too,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. Whatever you were mad about, whatever had been making you pull away—it all feels irrelevant now.

And when he smirks, feeling the tension melt from your body, he knows he’s won.

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

SOME TYPE OF SKIN (1).

PAIRING — billy russo x reporter f!reader

CONTENTS — ficlet; fluff; tiny bit of angst if you squint really, really hard; a dash of pining; references to some canon-typical violence; some very mild innuendo.

SUMMARY — after a harrowing experience, billy surprisingly takes the matter of your personal safety into his very own hands.

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

NOTES — so I decided to write something short and fun for @elixirfromthestars’s cinema writing challenge and honestly, i’m not 100% satisfied with this (when am i ever tho?) but also trying not to overthink this too much. please excuse me while I continue to scream into the void about this stupidly beautiful man. I apologize in advance for the person I have been and am going to be for the next few weeks; ben barnes has such a firm grip on my fucking throat lmao 🤭

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

When he asked you to meet him here at Anvil headquarters so you could finally interview him for that story in the Bulletin, this isn’t exactly what you were expecting. 

Instead of being seated in his second floor office overlooking the main part of the warehouse, you’re standing in the basement dressed in your crisp white blouse, hastily pressed pencil skirt, and low heels. You toy with the press pass hanging around your neck, unsure what to do with your hands. 

Your interview subject, however, seems quite relaxed save for the slight wrinkle between his dark brows as he very deliberately lays out several objects on a table in the middle of the room. He’s switched out his usual sharp business attire for a green pullover that looks soft to the touch, dark cargo pants, and a pair of combat boots. 

It takes you a few seconds to find your voice, because does he have to recline against the damn thing like that? He looks tall and lean, but damn it when he’s like this, showing off the corded muscles in his arms and shoulders, you cannot doubt that he’s an ex-Marine. 

“Russo?” 

“Hm?” He hums distractedly. 

“Are those knives?” 

Well, that gets his attention. He lifts his head and finally makes direct eye contact, and a shiver shoots down your spine. 

“Yeah, they are,” he confirms casually, as if you’ve just asked him if the sky is blue. He leans his hands on the table, shamelessly giving you a slow and careful once over before he frowns a little. “You’re gonna have to change.” 

“I feel compelled to tell you Karen knows I’m here,” you say quickly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow when he just chuckles like you’ve said something adorably funny. “Also, I thought we were doing an interview?” 

Billy Russo stares expectantly at you for a few seconds, lips slowly turning upward into a mysterious smile that you know has captured hearts all over the city. 

But you won’t fall for that, will you? 

Nope. Not in the slightest. 

“Nah, not yet anyway. Sorry, darlin’.” 

Ignore that! You scream mentally, but your brain does not cooperate. “Then what am I doing here, Lieutenant?” 

Whoops. His head snaps up again, his already sunless eyes getting darker by the second. Without breaking the intense eye contact, he just gestures around the room as though it’s oh so obvious. 

“Self-defence training.” 

“And why would I need—ugh, I don’t have time for this, Billy.” You heave a sigh, dropping all pretenses now, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

You’ve always known that Billy marches to the beat of his own drum, ever since the two of you met when Karen introduced you a few months ago while you were researching for a story about army veterans—a friend of a friend’s, she’d said, but never elaborated—but this seems excessive. 

“You wouldn’t have come if I were honest,” he says, his smile falling away in an instant, the glint of amusement in his eyes disappearing like smoke in the wind. “I don’t need to remind you of the… unpleasantness that happened last week.” 

“And yet here we are,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m fine.” 

“You were attacked,” Billy corrects, walking around the table to perch himself on the edge closest to you. You roll your eyes; as if you’ve forgotten. Getting ambushed in front of your apartment by two masked assailants isn’t exactly an easy thing to forget. 

“Everything worked out, didn’t it?” You uncross your arms and saunter over to the table, ignoring the heavy weight of his gaze on you. And it really had! 

Just as one of your would-be kidnappers, whatever it was they wanted, hit you in the face in retaliation for you kicking him in the shins and biting the other on the arm, your neighbour had come out of the apartment building just in time and began screaming bloody murder. They had no choice but to drop you and run, leaving you dishevelled and bruised, but otherwise fine, on the sidewalk. 

“They could come back,” Billy points out, since they obviously didn’t get what they’d come for, the same thing the police had said when they arrived just minutes later. You didn’t think much of it, though. Karen had had her fair share of run-ins with such undesirables, and she assured that this just meant you were pushing precisely the right buttons as a reporter. 

Even so, she still urged you to call Billy for protection.

You wonder if he gets all of his clients to undergo this self-defence training, or if he always personally offers to instruct them.

“Can’t guarantee it won’t happen again,” Billy doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. The two of you stare for a moment, engaging in a silent battle of wits that you, of course, end up losing when you’re the first to look away. He nods at the various knives and daggers strewn across the table. “C’mon, pick one and we’ll start small.” 

“Small?” You squeak as you eye the particularly ornate handle on one of the knives that honestly looks more like a short sword. 

“Aw, don’t be scared,” Billy chuckles and pats you on the shoulder, watching with those hawkish eyes of his as you consider your options. “This is a safe space.” 

Is it though? You wonder as you pick up a small dagger closest to you. “Wouldn’t guns make more sense since I’m not exactly trained in hand to hand combat?” 

“I am training you. And you’re not ready for guns yet,” Billy grins when you unsheathe the dagger, eyes widening just a fraction at the way the blade glints in the light. “‘Sides, picturin’ you with a knife is way hotter. You gonna wear a thigh holster?” 

You flick the tip of the blade in his direction, “Watch it, Russo. I’m armed.” 

But he just laughs, a sound that comes with a dangerous surge of pride in your chest, “That’s not how you hold a dagger.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you bristle, cheeks warming and trying not to watch, enraptured, as he stands up to his full height, his boots thumping heavily on the concrete. 

“Careful,” he warns, but he sounds more amused than offended as he closes the distance between you in just a few small strides. “You’d better play nice if you still want that interview.” 

But there’s nothing professional about the way he steps behind you, the way his arms pull you back against his chest, or the way his hand lands on yours to adjust your grip on the dagger’s handle. 

“Not all of us can be badass ex-Marines, can we?” It takes everything you have not to stammer, not to gulp nervously when you feel the calloused ridge of his trigger finger caressing the same spot on your own hand. 

“Yeah, well, I believe in you,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as his free hand comes down to rest on your hip, warm and heavy as it guides you slowly into a proper stance. “Bend your knees a little.” 

“Pretty sure I hired you so I wouldn’t have to take matters into my own hands like this,” you huff in annoyance, grumbling but following his instructions anyway, feeling a bit silly doing this in your work clothes. He never did give you a chance to change. 

“Please, you couldn’t afford me,” Billy murmurs so low against your ear that it sends a shiver down the side of your neck, all the way to a certain part of your anatomy you refuse to acknowledge at the moment, his beard slightly rough against your cheek. Is he doing this on purpose? “Also, did you technically hire me if I’m doing this pro bono?”

“Yeah, and on that note,” you grow bold when he squeezes your hip in encouragement, leaning back against him with your arm extended, your hands joined together, the tip of the dagger’s blade angled upward at an imaginary assailant. “Why are you? The Billy Russo I know never works for free.” 

You see, you know precisely the kind of man Billy is. He would never invest this kind of time and energy into something like this, not unless he had something to gain from it—

Even without looking back, you feel his dark obsidian gaze on the still healing bruise that’s formed on the side of your face. His fingers tighten around yours, there’s a slight hitch in his breath you can feel with his chest pressed to your back, and the hand on your hip slides forward and around to your other side in an almost embrace. Protective, possessive, and maybe even a little petrified.

—or unless he had some type of skin in the game. 

And suddenly, despite the way you’re dressed and your hilarious lack of experience, you start to feel pretty invincible. You allow yourself a proud grin, squaring your shoulders so you stand a little taller in his arms.

They fall instantly, however, when Billy steps away and moves to stand directly in front of you. You feel immensely colder at the loss of proximity. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got,” he’s smirking again, all that vulnerability and whatever warmth you sensed in his body language once again hidden away behind a layer of arrogance and swagger. He beckons you with a come here gesture of his hand. 

“What?” You blink. 

“I’ve just broken into your apartment,” he states matter-of factly, “what do you do?” He coaxes you again with another wave.

“But wait!” You almost shriek, your bout of confidence once again faltering. “You didn’t even teach me anything yet!” 

“I need to see where you’re at first before I can teach you, darlin’,” he’s still smirking, half condescending and half amused, and your hands twitch to fling the knife at his stupid head.

“I’m at nowhere! I’ve got nothing! And you don’t even have a weapon, I could slice your damn face off!” Or worse, scar it. 

Billy laughs again, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. “Oh, sweetheart, you can certainly try.” 

to be continued…

PART 2 »

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[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINETEEN: INTERTWINED, SEWN TOGETHER

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SUMMARY ↳ And the universe said, "I love you." You stare at them. "Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities." pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none wc: 4.6k

It’s nighttime in Gotham, a city of shadows and contrasts that you've come to know well. The skyline is a jagged silhouette against the dark canvas of the night sky, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of lights from skyscrapers and streetlamps below.

You swing gracefully through the city, the rhythm of your movements second nature after months of navigating these streets. The cool breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and distant echoes of Gotham's perpetual hustle.

Arriving at a familiar rooftop, you land softly and take a moment to survey your surroundings. Oftentimes this is where, Damian and Jon often met you, a secluded spot where you can discuss plans, share moments of quiet, or simply enjoy each other's company away from the chaos of your nightly duties.

Tonight, however, the rooftop is empty when you arrive. The absence of their familiar presence gives you a moment to reflect on everything that has brought you to this point—the life you’ve led, the friendships you cherish, and the burgeoning feelings that have taken root in your heart.

You find yourself replaying conversations and moments in your mind, Jon's warmth and Damian's complexities intertwined with your own thoughts and uncertainties. The city seems to hold its breath around you, as if waiting for your next move.

You don’t get to, because you feel a sudden and violent gust of wind, and then there’s someone right behind you.

“[Name],” Jon breathes, pajamas and all. You turn around slowly, senses buzzing at his presence.

He takes two half-hearted steps towards you, before using his speed to get right in front of you in the split of a second. He reaches out a hand, almost instinctively, as if to steady you or perhaps himself. His gaze searches yours, his expression a mix of relief and something more complicated, something you can't quite decipher in the dim rooftop light.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” he says, reverently. His eyes trace your face, taking in every feature. “There’s no one else with that heartbeat.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t just completely do you over.

He places his hands on your arms tightly, pulling you to him. As if you’ll disappear if he isn’t holding onto you. “What happened? Where were you?”

You try to speak, but no words come out. “You were just gone. I couldn’t hear you at all,” he whispers. He spots the Web-Watch. “What is this? Did whoever took you put it on you? Is it hurting you?”

His hand wanders over to it, and you suddenly remember how you first got stuck here in the first place. You snatch your wrist out of his range, because his strength is no joke. He looks at you confused. “It’s mine,” you choke out.

Jon's eyes narrow slightly, searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery that surrounds you. He grabs your hands in his, gently bringing them up his face. “[Name], [Name][Name][Name],” he mutters. His lips move against your fingers, breath warm. “We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” Jon's grip on you loosens slightly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. "We missed you," he admits quietly. "Damian's been impossible, you know. He wouldn't rest until..."

You sigh deeply. “I honestly… didn’t think you’d care all that much,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the city's distant sounds.

“Why wouldn’t we care?” he near growls, looking at you fiercely. “With how we feel–” he cuts himself, breathing deeply. Jon's expression softens, his gaze holding yours with a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet rooftop air. His hands remain on yours, a gentle warmth that anchors you in the moment. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, hands moving to run down your sides. It feels nice.

“No.” Your hands lay gently on his, not moving them. “I need to tell you something. You and Damian.”

Jon's hands pause their gentle exploration, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that reflects both concern and a hint of apprehension. The rooftop seems to hold its breath around you, the city's distant sounds providing a muted backdrop to this moment of intimacy and vulnerability.

“Can you take us to the Den? To talk?”

"The Den," he repeats softly, as if testing the idea. "Yeah, we can go there. Whatever you need." His voice carries a reassurance, tinged with an unspoken question. "Are you sure you're okay to talk about this now?" Oh, Jon. Ever the sweetheart.

You nod, taking a moment to steady yourself. "You deserve to know.”

He scoops you up in his arms tentatively. His eyes linger on your form wrapped in his arms, almost longingly. He sighs when he feels your arms wrapped around his neck. He flies you across the city, urgent but at the same time leisurely. Trying to savor whatever time with you.

As you arrive, Jon gently sets you down, his concern apparent and his touch gentle. The Den's interior is familiar and comforting, the place a testament to your resilience. It looks just like you left it, like it was frozen in time. The sight of it makes your heart squeeze.

His hands gently cup your face, turning you to him. “I’m gonna go get Dami,” he says, not making any move to let you go.

Your gaze is filled with infinite amounts of fondness for the boy. “I’ll be here,” you promise. You bring your hands to his face and angle him so you lay a sweet and cherished kiss on his cheek. “I promise.”

His eyes fall to your lips for a few aching seconds before he nods.  Jon lingers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek before he reluctantly pulls away.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance as he turns to leave the Den.

You watch Jon go, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness settle in your chest. Alone in the quiet of the Den, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. . The soft light from the fairy lights cast gentle shadows around you, creating a cocoon of solitude.

Minutes stretch into a timeless space, each second filled with the weight of anticipation. You find yourself replaying moments with Jon—his earnest concern, the warmth in his touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to hover between you both. Damian's complex presence also flickers through your thoughts, his sharp wit and guarded vulnerability leave an undeniable mark on your heart.

Finally, the soft sound of footsteps heralds Jon's return. He enters with Damian in tow, the atmosphere shifting subtly with their presence. Damian's expression is a mix of relief and something harder to define—perhaps a blend of concern and guarded hope. He approaches with a measured stride, his posture betraying a readiness to hear whatever you have to say.

Jon moves to stand beside you, a reassuring presence at your side. His hand finds yours, offering silent support and encouragement. Damian's gaze flickers between you and Jon, his demeanor a mix of curiosity and a hint of apprehension. 

"Where have you been?" Damian demands, his voice edged with a mixture of relief and frustration.

Jon looks at him sternly, and, surprisingly (is it really, though?), Damian’s demeanor stutters. The silent signal calms his initial intensity. His gaze softens fractionally as he looks back at you. Damian contemplates for a moment, before sighing and approaching you. He takes you in with a mix of guarded concern and curiosity, his usual stoic demeanor softened slightly by the relief of seeing you safe. 

“Beloved,” he mutters without constraint. His use of the endearment catches you off guard, a rare display of vulnerability from someone so often guarded. It almost makes you want to cry. He takes your face in his hands, the same way Jon did.

You feel his fingers trace your lips, a gesture that speaks volumes in its tenderness. Damian's gaze searches yours, his usually sharp eyes softened by an emotion you rarely see openly displayed. "Where have you been?"

"I thought... we thought..." he continues, voice faltering for a moment, as if grappling with the weight of his own emotions. "Are you hurt?" he asks quietly, his concern palpable in every word.

You shake your head slowly, overcome by the intensity of the moment and the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. "I'm okay," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the Den.

Damian exhales sharply, a mixture of relief and lingering tension leaving his frame. He pulls you into a tight embrace, surprising you with the strength and earnestness of his hold. His arms wrap around you protectively, as if to shield you from any harm that might dare to approach.

"I wasn't sure if you would return," Damian admits quietly, his tone tinged with a mix of vulnerability and something deeper, something you're beginning to recognize as a bond that goes beyond mere partnership or friendship.

Jon's presence beside you feels like a grounding force, and as Damian's arms wrap around you, you realize just how much you missed this—missed them. You close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of their concern and the strength of their embrace. It's a moment that transcends words, a silent affirmation of the bond you share with them.

When Damian finally releases you, his gaze still holds that unspoken question, the need to understand where you've been and why you were gone. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart.

Silence stretches between you, filled with words not said and emotions too raw to name. Finally, Damian breaks the silence, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet plea. "Don't disappear again."

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent promise passing between you. "I won't," you assure him, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart. Jon and Damian's eyes remain locked on you, their concern and anticipation on display in the quiet of the Den.

"Where do I even start?" you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me, things I’ve kept hidden because…well, because I thought it was for the best." Jon's hand tightens around yours in silent support, while Damian's expression remains intense and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m not from here,” you state, hesitant be damned. You’ve spent far too long hesitating. “I’m from Earth-143258 in an alternate universe.”

Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions shifting from confusion to curiosity. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, while Damian's intense focus on you doesn't waver.

“A universe where you, where the Justice League and Gotham and Metropolis don’t exist…” you look at them, “...outside of a series of comics.”

Damian's brow furrows, and Jon's eyes widen with a mix of intrigue and concern. The weight of your revelation hangs heavy in the air, the enormity of it settling in their minds.

"A different universe," Damian echoes, his voice filled with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. "And in this universe, we're...fictional?"

You nod, feeling the intensity of their gazes. "Yes. In my world, you’re all characters in comic books, movies, TV shows... You’re heroes in stories, legends. But here, you're real."

“A man named Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of Earth-928, made an autonomous multiverse jump using a device like this.” You lift up your wrist to show them the Web-Watch. “Using it, he amassed an elite force of others like him from different universes. Including me.”

“Karen, would you mind?” you ask. Suddenly, a hologram forms, showing the intricate base of operations that is the Spider-HQ. “Our purpose is to protect the multiverse from anomalies and threats that could destroy entire realities. Sometimes people end up in the wrong universe, and we send them back to their home universe as well.” The hologram casts a gentle glow on their faces. “We call it the Spider-Society.”

The hologram shifts, changing into a bright tree. An intricate veil of webs expands around you, filling the space. “This is all of us. All of our lives woven together in a web.” You take a moment to admire the image. “The web of the multiverse.”

Jon and Damian stare at the hologram, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. The tree of webs illuminates the Den, casting intricate shadows that seem to weave the narrative you’re sharing. Jon's grip on your hand remains firm, a silent anchor as you delve deeper into your explanation.

“All of our stories are pretty much the same. We get bit by a radioactive spider that gives us powers, and we use those powers to help people.”

Damian listens intently, his usual skepticism softened by the gravity of your words. He glances at Jon, silently exchanging a look that conveys both their shared disbelief and the realization that your story, no matter how fantastical, is being delivered with sincerity.

“Was there an… anomaly in our universe then?” ask Damian, looking at you.

“No,” you sigh. “I was never supposed to be here.”

Your legs carry you closer to the hologram, Jon following in an effort to not lose his grip on you. “I found a particle accelerator. Most of the time that means nothing good. Turns out, an alternate version of me,” you emphasize, “[Name] [L.Name], had gotten stuck in my universe and was just trying to get home. But seeing me,” you pause, taking a breath.

“All they saw was someone trying to get in their way. They activated the particle accelerator and threw me in it.” You turn to look at them. “That’s how I ended up here.”

Damian and Jon exchange a glance, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and determination.

“So, you’ve been… lost all this time?” Jon asks softly, his voice carrying the weight of the revelation.

“The whole reason I wanted to create the badassium was so I could use it to power another watch,” you say, looking down at it. “Since other me destroyed it.”

“A while ago, they visited me. In this universe.” You look at Jon. “On New Years.” You watch as recognition flickers in his eyes. “You can imagine how well I reacted.”

“That’s why you were crying,” he says softly in realization. “Suddenly seeing the reason you were… stuck.”

“I told them to find Miguel O’hara. And he did, a week ago.”

Jon's hand brushes your cheek gently, his touch a comforting presence amidst the weight of your words. Damian stands nearby, his expression unreadable as he processes the implications of your story.

“So, this entire time,” he begins, voice hinting with disbelief, “while we have been over ourselves with worry that you were somewhere hurt–”

“Damian,” cuts in Jon sternly.

Damian ignores him. “You were enjoying yourself, finally home and away from this cursed place you got stuck in? Somewhere we couldn’t even begin to look for you? Is that it?”

Your heart sinks at Damian's words, his anger and frustration cutting deeply. You can see the mix of emotions in his eyes—relief, betrayal, confusion—all battling for dominance.

“No,” you whisper desperately. “No, it wasn’t like that. In fact, the whole time I was home I couldn’t focus on being happy because I was focused on you,” you state. “On how I left things and how I wished I could explain everything to you but who could I when there’s such a disconnect between us–” you choke, cutting yourself off.

“Didn’t you think we cared? That we deserved to know?”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them hitting harder than you expected. “I… I didn’t know what to think,” you admit quietly, meeting Damian’s gaze with a mix of regret and vulnerability. “In my world, you’re… different. Fictional. I never expected…” Your voice trails off, unable to find the right words to express the complexity of your emotions.

“I would’ve never even considered the possibility of your existence before now,” you whisper. “I really should’ve known better.”

You stare at them. “Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” Damian asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you were finally home, why come back?”

You take a deep breath, the weight of Damian's question hanging in the air. Your gaze shifts between Jon and Damian, their eyes reflecting the depth of their concern and the complexity of their feelings.

“How could I?” you ask them. “After everything, how could you expect me not to feel the way I feel?”

"When I first got here," you continue, "I felt lost, out of place. But then I met you both, and everything changed. You became my friends, my partners, my family. The thought of leaving you behind... pretending everything that happened never happened. It was unbearable."

“You're real,” you say softly. “Everything about you, and everything I feel about you is real.”

Silence descends upon the Den, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Damian's gaze remains fixed on you, his usual guarded demeanor momentarily faltering under the weight of your sincerity. You feel Jon’s grip on you tighten, a constant presence of support and understanding at your side.

You breathe in. “I’m telling you this now, because you deserve to know. And if you’ll have me..”

Looking at them now is like looking at destiny. “I’d like to stay in your lives.”

Damian's expression softens imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of contemplation and something deeper that you can't quite decipher. Jon squeezes your hand gently, a silent reassurance that speaks volumes amidst the unspoken tension in the room. They look at each other for a heart stopping moment.

"Beloved," Damian murmurs softly, his voice holding a rare vulnerability. "You've been missed."

Jon nods in agreement, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that mirrors your own. "We want you here," he says quietly, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

You nod, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you step closer to them. Jon's arms wrap around you first, pulling you into a warm embrace that feels like coming home. Damian joins, his embrace steady and reassuring, his presence a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of their embrace resonate deep within you. "Thank you," you say, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for choosing me.”

Jon presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and Damian's hand finds yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "We always will," Jon vows, his voice steady.

“Well,” starts Jon, grabbing your shoulder to turn you to face him. “If it’s no trouble, I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Your chuckle breaks the tension, and you nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. Jon's eyes light up with a mix of relief and affection as he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

It’s different from Damian’s kiss. His lips move in tandem against yours, intertwined, sewn together. His hands rest on your waist, squeezing lightly.

Jon's kiss is a symphony of warmth and tenderness, a stark contrast to the urgency and passion that often defines Damian's touch. You can feel the depth of his emotions in every gentle movement of his lips, the way he holds you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. The kiss is a promise, a reassurance, and a declaration all at once.

Damian watches the exchange with a soft, almost imperceptible smile. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin, tilting your face towards him. "Beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "My turn."

His kiss is different from Jon's—more intense, a reflection of his complex emotions and the guarded vulnerability he's allowed himself to show. It's a kiss that speaks of his longing, his relief.  When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

Later that night, you sit between Jon and Damian, cuddled up on a worn-out couch in the Den, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm light around the room. Small talk fills the space.

“Wait, so, Wonder Woman doesn’t exist, but Thor, God of thunder, does?” asks Jon. You’re not paying all that much attention to him since the feeling of his fingers caressing your side is quite distracting.

“I guess the universe picked and chose,” you hum.

“So there’s no Justice League?”

“There's the Avengers,” you say. “Just as cool as the Justice League. And they’re my friends,” you grin triumphantly.

Damian listens quietly, eyes lidded and content. “Were you a fan of these comics you mentions earlier?”

Your grin turns a little shy. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Jon's fingers trace idle patterns on your arm, a comforting gesture that grounds you in the present moment. "Does that mean you know all our secrets?" he teases lightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I don’t need pre-knowledge to figure out all I need to know about you.” Your hand flattens against his chest, rubbing along it.

Jon sighs at your touch, eyes fluttering. “Smooth,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, the warmth of Jon’s lips against yours sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moves to cup your cheek tenderly, his touch gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that speaks of promises and shared moments.

Across from you, Damian watches with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the intimacy between you and Jon. He clears his throat, drawing your attention. “As much as I appreciate witnessing this... display of affection,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of dry humor, “perhaps now is not the time.”

Jon presses a few more kisses to your lips before breaking away. “You’re just jealous,” Jon teases, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin.

Damian rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward in a rare display of amusement. “Hardly. You two are insatiable.”

“Insatiable is right,” you mutter, staring at Damian’s lips.

Damian raises an eyebrow at your comment, a hint of amusement coloring his expression. "I beg your pardon?"

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I mean, you're not exactly innocent in all of this," you tease, leaning closer to him. "The way you kissed me back then..."

You turn back to look at Jon. “Did you know he picked me up and pinned me against the wall?”

Jon’s eyes widen in mock surprise, his playful demeanor matching yours. “Did he now?” he asks, leaning closer with exaggerated curiosity. “You have to tell me all about it.”

Damian's cheeks color slightly, but he meets your teasing with a smirk. "I don't recall you complaining," he retorts, his voice laced with amusement.

You move, placing yourself on Damian’s lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. Damian's hands settle comfortably around your waist as you settle on his lap, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of amusement and something deeper, a warmth that lingers beneath his usual stoic demeanor. Jon watches the exchange with a playful grin, leaning back against the couch as he enjoys your dynamic.

Damian’s expression softens slightly, his sharp features betraying a hint of the turmoil beneath. “I… I apologize for my earlier insensitivity,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a rare humility. “It’s… difficult to process.”

You lean forward, your hands playing with Damian's hair as you look into his eyes. "Don’t apologize," you say softly. "I get it."

Damian's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a vulnerability that speaks volumes. "Thank you," he murmurs quietly, his voice holding a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon watches the exchange with a soft smile, his hand finding yours once more as he leans in closer. "We're here for you," he says gently, his voice a steady reassurance amidst the lingering tension.

You smile warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian's forehead. "We're in this together," you assure him, your voice filled with sincerity. Jon leans in from his spot beside you, pressing a kiss to Damian's cheek with a fond grin.

Oh, you remember something. “You know what I found out?” A small grin spreads across your face. “I went to have a talk with alternate me.” Your finger gently traces patterns on Damian’s chest. “Found out something really interesting.”

“And what would that be?” Damian mutters, subdued by your touch. Jon’s hand comes up to rest on your back.

“Most of us Spider’s usually have the same people in our lives,” you begin, voice dropping. “A Gwen Stacy, an MJ, maybe a Felicia Hardy,” you lift your head to look at Damian. “AKA, the Spider’s very own cat burglar, Black Cat.” Damian raises a brow at that.

“However, they didn’t have any of those people. You know what they did have, though?” you ask, pausing for dramatic effect.

“They had you two,” you say softly, gaze shifting between them. “Damian Wayne and Jon Kent. Not Superboy or Robin, just completely normal people.” Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation.

“I love you,” you say, smiling softly. “I love you in every universe.”

Jon stares at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and affection. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a silent affirmation of his feelings.  Damian looks up at you like you're a thing to be worshiped, face one of awe. “We love you too,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon sighs contentedly, leaning back into the couch with a smile. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that," he admits, his voice smitten.

You laugh softly, the warmth of their affection enveloping you in a cocoon of happiness. "Get used to it," you tease gently, resting your head against Damian's shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Damian's hand finds yours, his touch grounding and reassuring. "We wouldn't want you to," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper that echoes through the room.

Jon nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving yours. "You're stuck with us," he says with a playful grin, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

The three of you settle into a comfortable silence, the Den filled with the quiet intimacy of shared moments and spoken promises. As the night stretches on, you find yourself surrounded by the warmth of their presence, knowing that in this moment, and in the countless moments to come, you've found who you truly belong with.

Wrapped in their embrace, you let all your worries wash away, the echoes of their voices and the steady rhythm of their hearts lulling you into a state of peace. In the quiet darkness of the Den, amidst the city's distant hum, you find solace in the knowledge that you are home—at last, and always—with Jon and Damian by your side.

notes: see you guys sunday for the epilogue :)

[gothamhappiness]

Demon Head!Bruce Wayne headcanons (x f!reader)

Because this was living rent free in my head, I needed to share with you all these quick ideas about Demon Head!Bruce being madly in love with his wife (yeah some things never change in my writing, sorry not sorry!)

Warnings: no proof reading, a few strong words, dark!Bruce, obsessive!Bruce, possessive!Bruce, jealous!Bruce, paranoiac!Bruce, killer!Bruce, mentions of violence, mentions of a failed kidnapping, mentions of sexual activities (a little bit NSFW at the end),

Demon Head!Bruce doesn’t have time for any kind of bullshit and lost all kind of patience he could have had before in his life. When he has plans, he wants things done right away and his soldiers better obey him if they don’t want to be kicked out - aka killed.

Bruce doesn’t care about the no killing rule anymore, he is merciless and ruthless. He is not a dark presence scaring off bad people, he is the ruler of the darkness. He is the most powerful person on Earth. He can literally change the course of events just because he wants it.

He is very serious about it; he is aware of his power and he is quite proud of it. Sometimes he looks at his parents photo and just thinks that he outmatched everyone in the family. And because of his pride, he barely stops working.

Sometimes however he decides to fuck with something just because he feels like it. He is like a cat, who knocks a glass off the counter. No one would dare ask him about it, but it is obvious that he is just curious about the consequences or about the chaos it will cause. In a way, it amuses him.

He is even more eager to interfere if it could amuse you.

God, Demon Head!Bruce isn’t kidding when it’s about his wife. And everyone knows you’re off limits, especially after some idiots tried to kidnap you once. The kidnapping turned into a massive failure and mess. Not only did you know how to defend yourself (there is no way Bruce wouldn’t train you, to make sure nothing could happen to you), but the consequences for said idiots were a long agony. You rarely saw Bruce so full of rage. He also killed the guards who were supposed to look after you.

You tried to save them, out of pity but he told you that “I don’t work with weak and unqualified people. If they wanted to stay alive, they should have done their duty. They simply needed to keep those men away from you. They failed. And I don’t give second chances”. You didn’t argue anymore.

After that, your guards became his best warriors and Bruce tests them every week. You are feeling quite safe with your husband and his soldiers. You even made friends among the scientists working for Bruce. You try not to think that these people would probably be friendly with you even if they didn’t like you, out of fear of your husband.

Bruce is also very possessive of you and can quickly be jealous. It happens when you spend too much time with someone else. At some point, this person will mysteriously disappear. If you ask about it, Bruce will simply tell you that they weren’t doing a good job or that they ask to leave.

But you know that no one leaves Bruce.

And especially not you. You don’t even want to imagine what would happen if you ever go to Bruce and ask for a divorce. You are pretty certain that hell would break loose and the world would go into total chaos while Bruce would lock you up in your shared room.

It is not his fault if his love for you is beyond everything. It is not his fault if he would lose his sanity and health without you. It is not his fault if you are the only thing that can bring him peace and happiness. 

You are the only thing he is soft with. He loves you with every atom of his being and nothing is too good for you. He would offer you the whole universe on a silver plate if it could please you. 

You are his queen, his divinity, his everything.

You are well aware of it - difficult to miss the way your husband looks at you and speaks to you. It is quite jarring sometimes with the way he addresses his soldiers in a cold and sharp tone, and then his voice becomes all honey like to talk to you. His eyes always look for yours and he checks on you all the time.

But sometimes he scares you a little bit.

Even more when you realise he places cameras everywhere so he could keep an eye on you wherever he is.

When you leave your home, guards are by your side. But he knows your guards like you - he can’t blame them, you are so nice to everyone - so he also asks a spy to follow you, just in case you would meet someone he doesn’t know or doesn’t approve of. 

The worst is when his paranoia reaches its peak and he refuses that you leave Wayne manor for a couple of days - weeks, months -, for safety reasons. You don’t like to be locked up.

He knows you will pout at him, and sometimes you even push him away - which drives him absolutely even crazier than he already is. He makes it up to you with gifts and everything that you could enjoy and make you forget about the way he chained you to his home.

When you are forbidden to leave the manor, and once you are not pouting anymore, it is when you grow the most creative to distract Bruce from his work and soldiers. After all, if you can’t go out, it is your husband’s duty to entertain you and take care of you.

The most effective way to get Bruce’s undivided attention on you is to show up cheekily and sexily dressed up. He is definitely distracted when you sit on his lap and gently bite on his lower lip while pressing your body covered in jewels and lingerie against his.

He can’t even pretend to be annoyed or to try and push you away. His hands automatically find your waist to bring you closer. And whatever he is working on, is completely forgotten, no matter how urgent or important it was.

“Busy, husband?” you pur

“Not at all” he always replies, his fingers gently tracing your skin “Bored, my beloved?”

“Just want you” you continue to flirt with him

And Bruce remembers he is just a man when you talk to him like that, because he just can’t resist you. He can’t even pretend to think about it for a second. His lips just need to find yours while he carries you to your shared bedroom, where he can take his time to worship you in peace.

He is very big on intimacy and privacy, so he would never pleasure you in front of his soldiers on his own fantasy.

But once or twice, you convince him to finger you while you are on his lap in his throne room. If one guard dares look at you, Bruce promises them to rip their eyes off and to let them bleed to death. God forbid it makes you cum even faster.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

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@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

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@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

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Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

[doveentrails]

Heaven Can't Be Sweeter Than This (Chapter 1)

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. You type back.

**Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

**Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You're lonely. You're bored. You're unsatisfied with your job, still not over your last break up, and your closest friend is your cat. You want someone to hurt you. You want to feel something. So you venture into the depths of a kink forum and start chatting with a mysterious stranger...

This was a fun idea I had that I'm so excited to write! What if Art was a lurker on various weird, dubious online forums looking to lure victims, but then meets someone who's into it, like really into it. He's confused, annoyed, he's into it too?? What could go wrong! Will probably be a little slow keeping this one updated, but I love the idea so much and I promise I'm gonna see it thru!!

Yes, this fic will be very NSFW, but nothing here in chapter one...

Word Count: 3800

All chapters

A mug of tea sits steaming on your desk as you stare at the monitor in front of you. You just have a few more emails to reply to, but you feel your eyes growing heavy. You were swamped with extra work tonight, still on the clock hours after you’d normally be done. Lifting the mug to your lips, you feel the warmth of the apple blossom black tea seep into your fingertips. You take a sip, hoping the caffeine will tide you over. Grogginess pulled at the corners of your vision, but the frustrating part was that without fail, every night when you lay your head on your pillow, sleep was hopelessly out of reach. You’d toss and turn and stare at the ceiling for hours, imagining arguments that would never happen, horrible ways you could die, dredging up old embarrassing memories. It was torture. 

The insomnia had been an issue for the better part of a year, and you weren’t sure what the reason for it was. You’d had a sleep study done to not much avail, and you hated relying on prescription sleep aids, though you often had to. The weeks you went without them were brutal, and you’d have to make up for it with an 18 hour crash brought to you by your friends seroquel and nyquil. 

People told you it was because you spent so long staring at screens. The blue light messed with your circadian rhythm. That’s what it was. You just had to quit that damn job you always complained about and get outside more. The long hours of screen time, of course, were courtesy of your job as a cyber security operator for a large corporate health and beauty company. You got to work from home though, which you loved. Staying at home with your fluffy, grey ragamuffin cat, Mia, was a perk of the job. The work itself was something you could take or leave. You didn’t care much for being a cog in the corporate machine.

Ever the practical type, you went into the tech field for job security. That stuff has always come naturally to you anyway, and you didn’t mind it. Some of it was actually interesting. Being one of the few women in your field was a novelty that soon wore off though. That’s why you opted for the health and beauty route. It was a company with more women and general diversity than the average cyber security sector. You liked your coworkers enough, even though you saw them almost exclusively through screens. Not much of a people person, you tended to prefer things that way. 

You had a comfortable routine, but you had to admit that you were bored. The days tended to blur together, and you’d sometimes go weeks without leaving the house until you’d realize you’re about to run out of something essential and have to go to the store. The cashier would be your only socialization for the month. Mostly, you liked to exist this way, but recently you were finding yourself feeling more and more unsatisfied. Maybe that’s what the insomnia was trying to tell you; something needed to change. 

You finished your email replies and signed off for the day, taking another large gulp of your tea, now cooled to the perfect temperature. Getting up from your ergonomic, cushioned rolling chair, you switched your apartment from work to relax mode. It was a distinction you had to make. You hated the lines between work and leisure becoming blurred. The switch entailed turning off all the overhead lights in favor of string lights, kitchy neon signs and lava lamps that filled the apartment with a diffuse, multicolored glow. Next, you put on a record, taking the time to choose something that matched your mood. Tonight you were feeling melancholy and melodic, opting for some acoustic singer songwriter to waft through your gigantic sound system at the perfect decibel. You stripped off your jeans (you opted to wear them to put yourself in your work mindset, even though you didn’t have to), and changed into a pair of pajama pants and your Garfield slippers. Lastly, you took your tea to the kitchen and poured in a shot of brandy. 

Officially off the clock, you sat back down at your desk with a sigh. You clicked around your usual sites for a bit, scrolling social media, reading forums and checking ebay auctions for vintage clothing. Your spiked tea warmed you from the inside out. It was your favorite pre dinner ritual. Mia came over and rubbed up against your legs, chirping softly at you. You scratched her behind the ears and cooed back at her. This was your typical Wednesday evening. That nagging urge to search for something more surfaced, and you took another sip of tea.

The dull ache of boredom in your chest propelled you to open the web browser and begin typing. The brandy supplied you some boldness as you navigated to a page you rarely visited: a fetish forum, specifically a heavy BDSM forum. Even though you were alone, you felt yourself blush as the page loaded, and you glanced over your shoulder. Mia blinked at you judgmentally. 

Admittedly you had some kinks, quite a few, and you’d never really found a partner who matched what you were into. Once you got into the details of your fantasies, you scared any potential mates away. Some would go along with it, but you could tell they were performing, not being genuine, and that just put you off. It became frustrating, and you dreaded opening up about your unconventional tastes. You had one partner (your now most recent ex girlfriend) who you felt was on your level, and it had been great while it lasted. She let you try things you’d never done with anyone else. She had indulged your fantasies, even yes and-ing you and giving you more than you’d asked. You had thought she was your perfect match, Liz. 

But around this time last year, the relationship went up in flames. You hadn’t been seeing each other particularly long, just 9 months, but it was a passionate whirlwind 9 months. Real stereotypical lesbian stuff. She was actually the first woman you’d ever been with. You had gotten tired of men trying to play the tough dom role, laying it on too thick and making you cringe. Liz made it look easy. She was a breath of fresh air. She gave you something you never knew you wanted, and then she was gone. The insomnia started after your break up, your longest relationship since. 

Post-Liz, you took a big step back. You were depressed and bitter and entirely uninterested in dating. The handful of times you tried, you got cold feet and backed out, calling off dates or just ghosting them entirely. Liz had really done a number on you. All your friends knew it too. You weren’t very social to begin with, but once you started seeing Liz, your social life went out the window. You were entirely consumed in her orbit. You still haven’t made a full recovery socially, letting the bridges of your friendships atrophy due to apathy and embarrassment. (Surely, it’s been too long to reach out now.)

So here you sat behind a screen, a voyeur into the lives of other kinksters. People who were actually getting some, you thought with no shortage of self pity. You read several discussion posts, questions about bondage, cnc fantasies, people bragging about glorious encounters that made your mouth water. You thought about pulling up some porno, jerking off and going to bed, but something stopped you. Instead, you decided to type a post. 

ISO someone with dark tastes. I’m looking for a sadist who will hold nothing back. Someone who will push my limits (Trust me, I’ve yet to discover them - Maybe you can help me?). Aiming for bruises I can’t leave the house with, and stories I can’t tell at parties. The more blood the better. An offer not for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach. (Medical knowledge is a plus!) Reach me here, and we can discuss further, xoxo. 

You let the text sit in the type box, looking back at you. Rereading it several times, you still debate whether or not to post it. You get up and change the record, putting on some 80’s new wave to boost your confidence. You deserve this. You can find someone twice as kinky as Liz. Someone who will actually get you to safeword for once. That’s what you're really looking for. Honestly, you’re so bored of everything, so numb and detached most of the time, you just want someone to scare the shit out of you. 

You walk back to the computer, holding your breath and hitting post before you can think better of it. Then you slink over to the full length mirror in your bedroom and sexy dance in front of it, hyping yourself up. Internally you repeat the mantra, ‘you deserve hot, depraved sex’. Feeling a little better about yourself, you finish your tea and then make yourself some dinner. You get comfy on the couch with more brandy and some shrimp pasta to watch your usual bad reality TV.

Picking up your phone, you decide to text your long distance friend, Nic. He works for the same beauty company as you, but in regional sales. You met years ago at a large holiday event, and have been friends ever since. Even though you're seven hours away from each other, you talk nearly every day. 

Ur not gonna believe what I just did…

Nic: What? Took a shit thru someones sunroof

Lmaoooo nooo wtf

No I posted on KinkBound

Nic: Shut up! Finally! Get some, girl

Nic: Show me what u posted!

Nooo wayy, too personal

Nic: Whatevr I know ur a freak

Well, leave it to ur imagination

Nic: Fine, I’ll just imagine ur into shitting thru ppl’s sunroofs lol

Works for me :-)

You text back and forth for a while as you eat your dinner. Then you finish the episode of trash TV you’re watching, and sip the rest of your brandy. Once the show’s over, you hop in the shower. 

You can’t help yourself from fantasizing while you’re in there. You think about all the things you want to try, all the things you’ve been too afraid to ask for. There was stuff you even held back from Liz, though she was the one you opened up to more than anyone else. But you never shared with her the darkest thoughts. The literal torture you’d like to endure, the true breaking point you want to be pushed too. It’s too real, too raw, too heavy for most people.

You’ve always wondered why you’re like this. Why isn’t light bondage and spanking enough for you? It’s all too tame. You want to really feel like you’ve given up control, like your life is in someone else’s hands. You’ve psychoanalyzed yourself about this enough. You could blame your parents for raising you an over-achieving only child, always type A, always with a plan. Nothing was ever up to chance, nothing was ever out of your hands. For once, you want someone to take it all away from you. 

And the pain, god you love pain. You couldn’t really explain why. Maybe your safe, comfortable life has made you an adrenaline junkie, an endorphin addict. Everything is always so predictable, and the pain snaps you out of it, makes you feel alive, puts you right back in your body. It’s just so good. You’ve never explored it to the full extent that you’d like to. You want to know what it’s like to get seriously injured. To heal. The body’s ability to heal has always fascinated you. 

You know you could get away with it too. Working from home, you’d be able to recover from all kinds of heinous injuries in peace. No one would be the wiser. You just need to find someone willing to inflict that kind of suffering upon you. To rend your flesh, steal your breath, maybe even break your bones. You just want to know what it feels like. This is the shit you don’t tell people. Here you are, scrubbing yourself with eucalyptus sage body wash and imagining someone breaking your leg in a sexual context. Some Stephen King, Misery, type shit.

You towel off and throw back a couple sleeping pills. You don’t want to be up all night thinking about who will reply to your post on the forum. Sliding between the silk sheets of your bed, you feel calm and strangely optimistic. You succumb to sleep much quicker than usual, all the while hoping it could be possible for you to find your freak.

***

Morning comes, as usual, all too soon. You reach for the blaring alarm clock and silence it. Early morning sunlight streams through your window, and your second alarm clock, Mia, jumps up onto the bed and starts pawing at your face. You allow her to curl up on your chest, scratching her head until she begins meowing in your ear for breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” you tell her, pulling yourself out of bed. In the kitchen you procure Mia’s half can of fishy smelling wet food, avoiding taking in a full whiff of its odor. She runs to the dish on her little paws and gobbles it down appreciatively. Then you put on the coffee pot and head to the bathroom.

Slowly, you awaken and come fully into your body, going through the motions of your morning routine. Drink half a cup of black coffee, get dressed, jog around the block, shower, put on your work clothes, and finish the rest of the pot of coffee throughout the morning as you sit at your desk. 

The light run, your cold shower, and the strong coffee have you humming to life with your computer like always. Mia naps in the sunlight at your feet. You check your inbox first thing, and see that you have a couple messages from the kink site. You can’t believe it, honestly. It takes everything in you to not open them, and instead direct yourself to your work. Excitement bubbles up inside you, but you quickly remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high.

Weirdos are about a dime a dozen, and that’s bound to be who’s messaging you. But maybe the right kind of weirdo… You steer your thoughts back to your screen, loading up the morning check in meeting. You’ll leave those unread messages as a special treat for once you’re off the clock.

The day drags by, all you can think about are the mystery messages waiting for you. 4 ‘o’ clock can’t come soon enough, and once it arrives, you're navigating to the kink site without a second thought. You don’t even bother to change into your comfortable clothes or switch the lights.

The first message is a bot, and your heart sinks. The second message is from some guy with a handlebar mustache that puts you off immediately and the screen name BigMistressMaster, but you figure you should give him a chance. His profile is full of giantess fetish posts, so you really don’t think he’s who you’re looking for. In no hurry to reply, you get up to put yourself into relaxation mode. You’re going to need a double brandy for this.

Mia follows you dutifully as you change, put on a record and pour yourself a drink. Sitting down at the computer, you type a friendly hello to Mr. Mustache. He tells you his name is Ivan, and even the name makes you roll your eyes. Maybe it’s his real name, you think, telling yourself not to be so mean. You chat with Ivan for a bit, drifting to other tabs and leaving space between your replies. You keep the conversation dry while Ivan flirts and tries too hard to win you over. After a couple hours, you lie about the time zone you’re in and tell him you’re going to bed.

The boredom thrums painfully in your chest again. You get up and walk to the freezer, pulling out your bottle of brandy and pouring yourself another double, neat. You don’t usually drink this much, especially on a weekday. Spending so much time alone makes for a slippery slope, and you make an effort to not form a habit, but tonight you indulge in your disappointment. Walking over to the record player, you put on some whiney, sad boy music and let it fill your deflated heart. You think of Liz and take another drink. 

Avoiding the computer, you walk a slow lap around your apartment and decide to water your neglected house plants. Then you make dinner and turn on the TV like always. You send Nic a self pitying text message.

Convinced I’m going 2 die alone

Nic: Online dating not going well huh

It’s abysmal

The one reply I’ve gotten is from the most boring white bread man on earth

Nic: White bread on the kink site?

Nic: That’s crazy

More common than u think

Nic: Why don’t u try a real dating app

🙄 ugh

Nic: idk what u have against it

Dating is just so hard

I want something else

Nic: She’s so mysterious…

Nic: So aloof….

Nic: Not like other girls

Stoppp

I hate 2 admit it but I still miss Liz somtimes

And you do hate to admit it. You hate that you’re thinking of her right now. You wish you could give yourself everything you want, be completely self-sufficient. You try, but some things just can’t exist in a bubble like that. You crave excitement, and you haven’t figured out how to get it without bringing someone else into the picture. 

Nic: Aw babe

It sucks

Nic: Don’t drunk text her ok, call me instead

Nic: idc what time it is 

Thanks <3

You weren’t planning on drunk texting. Although, those things are never planned. You want to defend yourself and argue that you’re not even drunk, but when you get up to bring your dishes to the sink, the world swims beneath you for a brief moment. No more texting, you note to yourself. Really, you should just delete her number already.

You leave your phone on the couch and go back to the computer, planning to check some clothing auctions you’ve been watching. However, the KinkBound page is still up on your screen, and you see you have another new message. The screen name isn’t anything clever or fancy, just Art. At that you feel some relief, just a normal person for once. You open it, hating yourself for feeling another rush of excitement.

Art: I’m interested in your request.

Short, to the point. There’s no profile picture, which should be a red flag, and the account hasn’t made any posts. Still, you can’t stop yourself from typing back.

Hi, glad to hear you’re interested. Have you been on this site long?

You get a reply right away.

Art: No, not long. Why do you want someone to hurt you?

What a weird question. The answer should already be baked in, but you suppose he wants to know more about what you’re looking for. You’re not completely sure how to answer.

It’s exciting… I like how it feels

Art: Exciting… tell me more.

I guess it’s the adrenaline, you know. I really don’t have a lot going on. I get bored, and I guess I’m looking for something to make me feel more alive.

You can’t believe you’re being so candid. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you stare at the screen, waiting for Art’s response. 

Art: More alive, that’s interesting. You don’t feel alive?

You realize how desperate and angsty you sound. You get up and refill your glass with brandy. Already, you feel like this guy can see right through you somehow. You gulp down the brown burning liquid and start typing.

Well, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but everything just feels dull. I do the same things every day. It’s boring. And honestly I’m lonely.

Dear god. You didn’t even reread that one before you sent it. Well, you might as well lay your cards on the table. 

Art: Bored isn’t good.

What do you do when you’re bored?

Art: Oh, I’m never bored. I make sure of it.

Normally a statement like that would make you roll your eyes, but instead you’re genuinely intrigued. 

Wow, well that sounds nice. You’ll have to show me how you do it.

Art: Maybe.

What do you do, Art?

Art: You wouldn’t want to know, it’s boring.

Okay, fair enough, my job is boring too

He’s a tough one to crack. Usually these people are spilling every detail about themselves, aiming to impress. Art’s approach is refreshing, and it’s definitely working on you. You swirl your glass, and can’t help but smile as you see him typing a reply. 

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. 

Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

You want to jump through the screen and hug him. Who is this person? Why are you suddenly compelled to bear your soul to him? God, you really are lonely. 

Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You find that hard to believe, but for now you’ll take him at his word. You check the time and decide to wrap it up for now. You want Art to stay mysterious, living in your brain as three letters on a screen and the promise of something more. 

Well, it was nice meeting you Art, do you want to talk tomorrow? Same time?

Art: Sure, same time. It was nice meeting you too. 

You close the tab and just sit there for a moment, processing the new, exciting possibilities that have opened up for you. Biting your lower lip you smile to yourself, and then finish the drink that remains in your glass. For a moment, you consider texting Nic, but you decide you want to keep this to yourself, at least for now. 

Getting yourself ready for bed, all you can wonder is whether Art will live up to your expectations. You know literally nothing about him, so you try to stop your mind from running out ahead of you, but it’s no use. You’re lying awake, thinking of him, wondering what he could be doing, and if he could be thinking of you too.

[cringefailvox]

Sometimes it makes me so sad nobody went looking for Alastor after the battle. Sure, maybe they knew he was still alive from Husk, and that he likes his privacy , but your hotelier goes MIA after fighting an angel only the devil from the Bible can beat? And you don’t follow up on that?

“So long as I have all of you with me!” 🎶 she sings, notably NOT having everyone with her.

I really hope they bring this up in season 2. Does it get to Alastor that he is not considered part of the group? That nobody was thinking of him after all he did to get the hotel started?

Can Vox use this point to discredit the Hotel? “ The Hazbin Hotel, where everyone is welcome and everyone deserves a shot at redemption! Unless, of course, we deem you too far gone, in which case, you can go f*** yourself while we eat pancakes” ( side by side videos of Al beaten up and the crew recovering with Lucifer’s promised pancakes)

i ALSO think about this all the time. on a practical level it makes sense that we'd have to trim the finale down to something manageable, and really all they had time for at the very end was a resounding musical finish, which necessarily glosses over some loose ends like this, BUT. on a personal level i would've killed to see whether the hotel actually thought alastor was dead or not. because as soon as adam joins the fight, charlie says "alastor was supposed to handle him! oh, no, he must be—" MUST BE WHAT??? and then we simply never mention him again. they're all clearly delighted to see him (except lucifer and husk, of course) when he comes back, which makes me think they at least knew he was alive, but might be unaware he was seriously injured—it seems possible that they wouldn't really consider alastor could be genuinely harmed, after all the time he's spent building himself up as the terrifying guardian of the hotel that can't be fazed by anything. think blitzo's "he can get hurt?" moment in western energy: the radio demon can't be dead. he can't be hurt. he's alastor.

now, would alastor himself be bothered that they didn't look for him? one hundred percent. perhaps he tells himself good riddance, he didn't want to form genuine bonds with these people anyway, friendship makes you vulnerable, friendship invites intrusions on your life and privacy that you never asked for, etc. but the night before the battle he basically confessed to niffty that he's grown accustomed to the hotel gang and enjoys being around them. he's not antisocial, he's just maladjusted and values his independence, and it visibly stings when he learns that not a single overlord cares to investigate his disappearance at the meeting in ep 3. whether or not he would have told the truth or welcomed any line of questioning is irrelevant. it's the principle of the thing—he wants people to be curious about him, he likes to cultivate a mystery, he wants to be chased. and then... no one does.

so ohhh yes i think it gets under his skin, and he absolutely resents that it does. i'd also love for this to get brought up in s2, i think it could make for a scene where charlie pulls him aside, thanks him for helping them during the battle, and that they were worried about him in the aftermath, because i'd LOVE to see alastor 1) immediately brush this off and redirect her energy somewhere else, and 2) have a Moment of conflicted emotion about how that open statement of affection makes him feel before visibly crushing it to dust. repressed king

i'm very intrigued by the vox thing too. that'd be such an interesting tack for him to take, to discredit the hotel by trying to form a wedge between alastor and the hotel through a kind of warped sympathy. like "i'm not a fan of the guy either, but yeesh! sure does paint a picture, doesn't it?" which alastor would fucking hate, but can he really bring himself to disagree? SO delicious.

[hopelesswrites]

Music Boyfriend part 2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part 1 / 2 / 3

Summary: Eddie is an anonymous frontman of Corroded Coffin and meets his long-time pen-crush while on the run from the law.

Notes: This is HEAVILY inspired by movie Dinner in America, I was obsessed with the dynamic and felt it fit Eddie and Reader so well. general plot similarities but not a complete retelling of the movie

Eddies POV

Without a word Eddie stormed out of the house, leaving the girl alone and confused.

His mind was racing as he marched his way through town, careful to use the backstreets to stay out of the way of police. Eddie had put a lot of effort into staying anonymous. It was good for the band, and it was good for him.

Somewhere along the way of Corroded Coffins career Eddie had made a particularly strong impression on a fan. Eddie knew this obviously, by the letters he would receive regularly. Letters of passionate love confessions wrapped up in the form of lyrics, addressed solely to him, no one else in the band. These letters had made possibly a stronger impact on Eddie, and he had begun responding in corroded coffins songs, it fuelled him and his own creativity. But he enjoyed the anonymous back and forth, never getting too familiar with each other, just enough to completely infect the other one’s mind.

Eddie snuck around the back of the trailer park his uncle lived at, staying in the trees to not be seen. This was extra dangerous territory because it seemed everyone in this place was out to get him. He eyed his uncle’s trailer and the window that he broke sneaking out as a teenager, that was his way in. He could see his uncle tinkering underneath his car out the front. He just needed to get in and out.

Checking the coast was clear he bolted past neighbouring trailers and caravans until he was flush with his trailer wall before hoisting himself through the window, landing on his bed in a heap.

Inside he made quick work of changing into clean clothes, his current jeans smelling of sweat and booze from the gig the night before. He then grabbed a bag packing an extra shirt in anticipation that he’d be laying low somewhere for the next couple of days, as well as a half empty bottle of bourbon he had beside his bed and his tin of medicinals. Eddie didn’t deal so much anymore but if he was going to be staying with this girl, he was going to need something to calm his nerves. Lastly, he opened his bottom drawer to find his stack of letters he had collected over the past year, careful to put them in the front pocket of his bag.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, he wasn’t even sure he would come clean to her about who he was and how he knew her, but he wanted to keep the letters with him in case.

Back at her house he spied a car out front that wasn’t there before. He watched from the road as a woman unpacked groceries in the kitchen, his mystery girl beside her, it seemed having a heated discussion.

Eddie readied himself to enter the house, not caring too much about the girl’s mom or how she would react to him. He opened the door and closed it with a bit of force to alert them of his presence, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“We’ll discuss your job later” The woman spoke turning the corner and stopping abruptly when she saw Eddie.

“Who are you?” She asked in horror, slowly backing away.

“Don’t worry, he’s a friend” the girl explained eyeing Eddie curiously. He assumed she had a million questions about his disappearance earlier in the day.

“Your daughter had offered me a place to crash for a few days, my place is getting fumigated” Eddie continued, catching the surprise in the girl’s eye.

Her mom looked between them speechless, and Eddie took it as his opportunity to slip away. “Thank you for your hospitality, its greatly appreciated” He called, dragging the girl back up to her room.

“Is your mom going to be a problem? And what was she lecturing you about anyway? That fucking job?” Eddie made himself comfortable on her bed, lounging back with his arms crossed behind his head. He was courteous enough to leave his boot clad feet dangling off the edge of her bed instead of on her pristine comforter.

He looked up at her stood in the middle of the room searching for answers, or arranging them in her head, he hadn’t quite worked the strange girl out. He knew she had a talent with words, there was proof of it in her letter, but she seemed to struggle to find them in person, unless he guessed it was to do with his band, so he tried a different approach.

“Answer me this then” he started, shuffling over and patting the bed beside him. There was a small space left against his hip, noticing her hesitation he shuffled over more offering another inch or two of space.

“I don’t bite, c’mon, I have a serious question.”

Slowly she lowered herself onto the bed, angled to look at Eddie, hip flush with his.

“What is it about Vandal that you like so much?”

Eddie watched the cogs in her brain tick 10 times faster and her eyes light up.

“He’s so passionate, his lyrics are so raw and angry but the mask he wears, he’s obviously more reserved, lives an anonymous life and I relate to him. I think I share his passion, but I didn’t discover my outlet for it until I discovered Corroded Coffin. Writing to him is my way of letting it out.”

Eddie took a moment to take in her answer, it was so profound, something he hadn’t heard from a fan before, usually they fawn over him, throwing their bras and begging to see his face.

“You don’t care about what he looks like? What if he’s ugly”

Eddie anxiously waited for her response, which seemed to have struck a drop of hesitation from her.

“He doesn’t sound ugly, but no I don’t care what he looks like”

A sudden wave of panic washed over him. What if she recognises his voice? He felt a strong urge to control his anonymity until he was ready. Anxiously he coughed, lowering his voice when he next spoke.

“You got a boyfriend? What would he think of all that?”

The girl looked away shaking her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend; Vandal is my music boyfriend”

“Your what?” Eddie questioned, heat rising up to his cheeks.

“My music boyfriend, I don’t need a real boyfriend” she said looking at him now, a stern look on her face as if to tell Eddie to drop it.

Eddie let the words sink in, music boyfriend. He was a music boyfriend.

The heat from his cheeks suddenly travelled south and Eddie couldn’t help what the unintentional flattery was doing to him.

“Where’s your bathroom?” He asked, getting up and snatching his bag up as he headed for the door. He needed a cold shower, or a hand job, ASAP.

Once alone Eddie slumped against the bathtub, rubbing his forehead and willing a thought that could completely turn him off to appear into his mind, but all he could keep repeating was, ‘music boyfriend’.

It made him feel sick, but he acknowledged that feeling in the pit of his stomach was far less sinister than his reaction permitted. He’d never felt this way before, at least not since he was a kid. Girls didn’t like him, not like that, not in a mushy romantic way. And neither did he, he was stubborn like that, if he wasn’t allowed to receive that kind of attention, he wouldn’t give it out. But he could tell this girl understood him on some astronomic cosmic level. He scoffed at the idea of soulmates, but he had felt that connection ever since the first letter. It had been a fantasy up until now, and Eddie was stuck with the decision to allow this girl into his life physically or keep up the façade, let her write him letter until the end of time.

Eddie pulled out the letters from his bag, shuffling through them to find his favourite. It was the one that first inspired him to respond in his own song. Reading it now gave him a different feeling. A feeling of need and desperation. The girl who wrote these words was no longer a mystery, she was sitting in the room down the hall from him. But it didn’t feel right to walk back in there and ambush her with her own dirty little secret. He had to do it right, make it special, for his music girlfriend.

-

“Do you like arcades?” Eddie asked, entering the girls room again. She was sat on her bed fiddling with an envelope and a sheet of glittery stickers. It was a letter for him.

“Yeah” She replied, concentration completely on her task.

“Do you want to go?”

The girl looked up at Eddie then to her alarm clock beside her bed. “It closes in like half an hour” she answered.

“I know a guy, he can get us in, whole arcade to ourselves” Eddie explained. His buddy Dustin worked the arcade and he knew if he asked nicely (threatened him) Dustin would let them in after hours.

The girl perked up at the idea, “Okay, yeah, but can we stop at a post box on the way?” She held up a decorated envelope with his name written on it. Eddie hesitated before agreeing, rushing her to get dressed so they could get there before Dustin left.

“Your mom need her car tonight?”

Eddie received a confused look then a scowl. “We cannot take my moms car, plus I don’t know how to drive”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Why did you never learn how to drive?”

“Mom said I needed to gain more confidence before I could operate heavy machinery and Dad said he didn’t want to teach me”

Eddie scoffed, “Your parents are useless, I’m driving there, then you’re driving yourself to the post box out by the old diner.”

The girl looked at Eddie in horror, “No I can’t, and it’ll be dark, it’s too dangerous, there’s one in town”

“Sweetheart, you’re going to have to do it eventually, don’t you want to get out of here? Don’t you want your freedom?”

All Eddie got from her was a grunt and a shrug as she pushed passed him and down the stairs. Eddie watched from the landing as she checked the kitchen entry then returned to the front door where she fished out a set of keys from a bowl on the side table. The girl looked back up at Eddie motioning for him to come down then pressed her finger to her lips in an attempt to shush Eddie and his clunky boots.

“This your first time sneaking out?” Eddie whispered by her head while they walked to the car, reaching over to take the keys from her hand.

“First and last”

Eddie chuckled, not believing that for a second. He could practically feel the buzz coming off the girl as they entered the car and drove off. A swell of happiness filled his heart at the thought of creating excitement in this girl’s life. He wanted to continue to do it, he knew he would have to come clean in order for that to happen though.

Once they arrived at the arcade Eddie parked around the back, just in time to catch Dustin locking up.

“No! No! No!” Eddie heard Dustin scream once he stepped out of the car. “Not this time Munson, you almost got me fired last time” Eddie ran up to his friend gripping him by the shoulders and getting real close to whisper, “Please, I have a date, do me this one solid”

Eddie watched Dustin look around him and at the girl awkwardly standing by her moms’ car. “Fine, don’t rage on space invaders again we had to replace the joystick”

Eddie punctuated his gratitude with a big kiss to Dustin’s cheek which was not well received and dragged his date over to the back door.

“Power switch has the green tape!” Dustin called before getting into his own car and driving off.

Inside Eddie was quick to open the control box beside the back door and switch on the switch Dustin had instructed. Instantly the main room lit up in a wild buzz as each machine began to power on. Eddie watched the girls’ own eyes light up at the sight of the colourful room come to life.

“Popcorn?” Eddie offered, making his way to the kitchen of the small cafeteria and turning on the popcorn machine. He watched her frantically nod still admiring all the lights. It felt more alive at night when there weren’t snotty kids running around, you could hear the buzz of the machines.

“There should be a box of coins in the office, grab it and pick a game” Eddie called while he prepared a small batch of popcorn.

“This is so cool; your friend is awesome for letting us in”

Eddie listened for the girl, heard her grab the box of coins and jangle all the way over to a machine. He heard the machine process the coin and the game erupt with music. Poking his head out he spotted her enthusiastically tapping buttons on a game he had never paid much attention to in his time here as a kid. His heart swelled again, he knew he was royally fucked and in the span of one day his whole world had shifted. He thought back to how angry he was earlier in the day at the prospect of someone as strange as her knowing of Corroded Coffin, how in just a few hours his anger switched to possessiveness, how he would defend this girl to the end.

“Having Fun” He spoke, approaching her with a box of steaming hot popcorn.

“It’s so much better without kids crawling through your feet” she giggled, popping another coin in the machine. “What’s your favourite?” She asked, keeping half her attention on the game and half on Eddie.

“Dragons Lair” Eddie replied, handing out the popcorn for the girl to take. She was fully invested in the game now, both hands in action. “Feed me some” She rushed, opening her mouth for Eddie to place popcorn in.

Eddie hesitated, willing every perverted thought to the back of his mind as he gently placed two pieces into her mouth. She snapped her mouth shut, capturing the tip of Eddies finger and thumb, sending those thoughts right back to the forefront of his mind.

“We can play Dragons Lair next?” She spoke, looking up at Eddie briefly with a smile. He resisted a groan at the sight of her, he was so infatuated it made him sick.

Once her game had finished, she walked them to his game and started it up. “Ill feed you while you play” She giggled, taking the box out of his hands. Eddies stomach dropped at how innocently she spoke. He couldn’t even concentrate on the game, giving his worst performance yet. Each machine they moved to the more in his head Eddie got. He had to confess tonight, he had to know how she felt about him.

Soon they had killed about 2 hours in the arcade and the sun had officially set. Eddie considered his next move. He had promised to take her to the post box. In fact, he had ordered her to drive herself to the post box. Eddie watched as she made her way to the passenger side of the car, either forgetting the agreement or naively hoping he had forgotten.

“Wrong side Darlin’, drivers over here” He called, jingling the car keys.

He thought he caught an eye roll before she walked around to the other side of the car. He plopped the keys in her hands and strutted over to the passenger seat, getting in haphazardly.

In the car he guided her through the steps to start the car and exit the carpark. With a couple of fumbled manoeuvres, they were out on the road, headed towards the edge of town. The road was relatively straight, so he didn’t have to pay too much attention as she drove knowing there was little for her to mess up on. This gave him time to think about how he was going to do this. He couldn’t let her post the letter, it was going straight to him anyway, he had to tell her now.

As she pulled up to the post box Eddie’s mind was racing with anxiety. “Ill just be a second” She mumbled, taking off her seatbelt.

“Wait!” Eddie yelled entirely too loud for the confined space they were both in.

The girl looked at Eddie confused, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re mailing it to Vandal, right?” He started, building up the courage to tell her she didn’t have to go through all that trouble to get a letter to him.

She answered with a nod which encouraged Eddie to go on. “Don’t do it”

“Why?”

Eddie groaned, unsure of how to even word it. “Don’t mail it to him, it’s a waste of time, you can give it to him personally.”

Eddie waited for her response, heart pounding in his chest. “Do you know Vandal?” She asked.

Eddie nodded, holding out his hand for the letter. Hesitantly, she placed it in his palm. He took a deep breath before unzipping his bag, pulling out the other letters she had sent.

“How do you have those? I sent them to Vandal; how do you have them!?” She questioned in a panic.

Eddie looked at her hoping he could telepathically send her the message. “I am Vandal” He almost whispered.

“No”

“Yes, I am” Eddie argued. “Look, you’ve sent all these letters to me, I’ve read them, every fucking word, every lyric, every confession, I’ve read them.”

After an extended moment of silence she replied, “Why?” It was quiet, Eddie barely heard it.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Eddie laughed, letting out a sigh. “How am I supposed to do that, its fucking awkward isn’t it? You really want me to sit in your bedroom and tell you I’m the one you’re calling your music boyfriend?”

Eddie watched her face turn into a deep frown. He cursed at himself for being too rough. “Hey” He tried gentler, getting her attention.

“Do you know how awkward it felt for me? To know the girl I’ve been in love with was right in front of me and I didn’t have a clue? How would I have confessed to that then?”

“In love with?” She asked, eyebrows raising in excitement.

Eddie chuckled, “Yeah, truly madly deeply or whatever it is they say, fucking head over heels and all you had to do is write me songs, you’re pretty incredible.”

She looked down shyly unable to look Eddie in the eyes and accept a compliment of that magnitude.

“Can I read this?” Eddie asked, waving around the letter. She nodded hesitantly, giving Eddie permission to read her latest song.

“Not here, can I take you somewhere else?”

With her permission, Eddie made them switch seats so he could enter phase two of what he was now calling, their first date.

Taglist: (Sorry it took so long)

@pupwrites @yourdailymemedelivery @princesssunderworld

[justwinginglife]

Could you please tell what happens in the hoshina episode? I don't care about spoilers, I just wanna know what happens

YES ABSOLUTELY OMG! It would be my pleasure 😂 for anyone else reading this, if you don’t want spoilers, keep scrolling. And for anyone else who watched it, please feel free to chime in with what I missed cuz my memory is horrible.

So basically it starts off with most of the main cast getting the day off at the same time. Ichikawa finds himself accidentally training and he’s like omg why am I training on my day off? So then Hoshina starts cracking up cuz he’s like omg you really don’t know how to have a day off, do you? I’ll show you how to party one of these days. Then he says he has plans though and walks away mysteriously.

Iharu and Ichikawa start making bets on what the Vice Captain is doing on his day off, Iharu thinks it has something to do with a lady and Ichikawa disagrees. So of course they decide to trail him on his day off.

First- Hoshina goes to the supermarket to get Ashiro a rare snack. Then he runs into Shinomiya and her friends waiting for a ride and he volunteers to drive them to their restaurant. After that, he runs into Aoi and Haruichi debating things for a camping trip and gives them advice on buying things for sale. He is also seen petting cats, and helping an old lady cross the street. All the while, Iharu and Ichikawa are following him still.

Then they see him in a parking lot, secretively handing off suitcases to a suspicious looking man and by then, the whole gang (Shinomiya and the girls, Aoi, and Haruichi) has all gathered to figure out what Hoshina was doing in the parking lot. While they’re arguing, Hoshina disappears.

They panic because they can’t find him.

Eventually he appears behind them and says with a devious look on his face something along the lines of “Well now that you saw the exchange you’re in this too.” So he takes them with him.

Turns out he was giving away his old suits and swords to a museum where kids can play and learn about the defense force, and since the gang was all butting into his business, Hoshina makes them play with all the kids too. And trust me, Hoshina playing with kids was fucking ADORABLE.

Anyway, eventually a Kaiju attacks nearby and the kids are crying and freaking out and Hoshina comforts him like the perfect man that he is and he sets off to go take care of the Kaiju.

The gang tease him for being a workaholic cuz he had his suit underneath his clothes, but they all go with him to take on the Kaiju.

I think that’s pretty much the whole thing summed up quickly! But yeah, I very much enjoyed it. Hoshina is basically ridiculously wholesome and adorable the entire time.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 27 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-“I have a surprise for you.”

Hearing this fills you with what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of trepidation.

However…consider the source.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but…I think I’d better.”

You are not sure what to think about this, so you remain silent.

He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

As you walk down the hallway you are filled with more and more apprehension, convincing yourself that there is some trick he’s pulling around the corner. He has been disappearing on and off, refusing to tell you where he was going, but vaguely hinting that he was cooking something up for you.

You fear it’s something you don’t want at all, like a red room fully fitted with racks and restraints and hooks hanging from the ceiling. If he frames that as a gift you swear you will pull a Bertha, and burn this personal version of Thornfield Hall to the ground.

You do not like it, when he insists on covering your eyes as he walks you through a door close to your bedroom upstairs. By the time you take three steps into the room you have damn near worked yourself into a lather, a fine trembling running through your limbs.

“Shh, baby, you’re going to like this,” he assures you, which is no real assurance at all.

Five more steps before he stops you, removing his hands with a flourish.

Your heart leaps to your throat.

Floor to ceiling windows let in a flood of morning light to the room. There is a big table, and copious shelves, and…an easel.

You realize he has made you an art studio.

Your feet move forward of their own volition, taking in the various boxes stacked on the table and the shelves. They’re art supplies, and you recognize brand names that you could hardly afford on your barista’s salary. Sennelier. Windsor and Newton pigments, top tier. Fine brushes from France and Germany that cost fifty dollars a piece. Tablets in every size and every tooth of Canson paper.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You…like it?”

He almost sounds vulnerable in that moment, which is entirely ridiculous.

You imagine how you would have reacted, if your relationship had been normal. You would have thrown your arms around his neck, showered him with kisses.

This studio is everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, as an artist.

As it is…he is buying your complacency, if not your love, trying to distract you from your situation with expensive trappings and let’s face it—adult arts and crafts.  

It hurts.

And yet, you know you’d better fucking say something, or Mr. Nice Wick is going to flee the scene.

“How did you know?” you ask, fingering a box of brand-new oil pastels. “It’s perfect in every way.”

You are trying your best to sound happy about it, but your throat is tight, and you know he’s going to get mad about it any second now.

He couldn't have surprised you more, if he'd stood on tiptoe and performed a pirouette, as when he simply gathers you into his arms. 

“I had help from the owner of the art supply store,” he admits. “Pretty sure they'll be sending me a Christmas card for the rest of my life.” 

You laugh at that, settling into the hollow at the base of his throat. It feels so good, just to be held like this. A part of you cautions not to trust it—but most of you is so exhausted from living on edge, you just take the comfort at face value. 

“Did you go to Mr. Morton’s shop?” you ask, referring to the local art stop in town. You don’t know why this gives life to a glimmer of hope in you. It’s not like the kind old man would have any reason to suspect you’re here, with John Wick, just because the mysterious newcomer suddenly had a yen to buy out the store of all its art supplies.

“No, I went a little farther afield.”

Almost as though he was covering his tracks.

“Oh.” You cannot conceal the note of disappointment in your tone. “John…” You muster your courage for the next question, hoping you won’t blow the day all to shit, but you suddenly need to know. “Am I a missing person?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and speaks quietly against your skin. “Technically, no. A friend of mine will ping your passport entry at JFK soon. You’ll tender your resignation with regrets at the coffee house. I’ll have your little apartment cleaned out. You don’t need it anymore.”

He really did think all this through. You digest the details of his Machiavellian plan rather distantly, as though you are on the outside watching from above. He has orchestrated your disappearance masterfully, but also in a way that won’t raise questions with authorities should you happen to resurface in his company. In a twisted way this gives you a sliver of hope, that maybe he doesn’t intend to keep you locked away forever.

A fool’s optimism, perhaps, but at the moment it’s all you have.

“Where’s my phone?”

“At the bottom of the Grand Canal, I’m afraid.”

“That’s littering.”

He just snorts in answer. You find that you regret the fact that all your photos are lost. You never did back them up on the cloud. How strange, that such a record of your life could be erased with the destruction of one electronic device.

Talking about this doesn’t seem to scuttle his mood, so it gives you the courage to ask, “Can I come in here whenever I want?”

You are so hopeful in your request that you sense him war with himself, in the end unable to outright say no. “If you're a good girl,” he qualifies with his lips still on your forehead. 

Hiding beneath his chin, you grind your teeth at this caveat, but don't voice aloud any of the pithy comebacks that come to mind. 

 Then you notice your sketchbook from Italy is sitting on the worktable, along with your custom bound copy of Jane Eyre.

After everything, you’re not sure why seeing it there, knowing it had been in his hands, makes your heart skitter in your chest. He follows your gaze, a dark eyebrow lifting. It is filled with sketches of him from before you met up in Venice. The whole fucking thing is practically a confession of the grinding longing you'd felt for him, in the first couple weeks after you left. You can’t deny it now, but you can choose not to acknowledge it aloud.

He stares you down, clearly hoping for…something. A confession, perhaps, or at least an admission. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in the sun, fixed with that gaze. But you hold fast, and in the end he sighs. “I’m going to go clean up breakfast,” he tells you. “Have fun with your new toys.”

He kisses your forehead before quitting the room, and once again you fancy that if one were to squint, you could almost mistake the two of you for a normal couple.

-He actually leaves you to your own devices until darkness begins to fill the trees beyond the window.   

By the time he comes to collect you he has changed into a black button down and dark jeans. It suits him to his bare toes, and inwardly you sigh. Why does this devil of a man have to be so goddamned handsome?

“So, what has my little artist made today?”

You are loathe to admit, the answer is nothing.

You opened every box, gazed at the pastels and paints and pencils longingly. And yet with charcoal in hand the fine white paper taunted you, inspiration an illusive thing.

You had no idea what you wanted to draw, or paint, or make. The past week has been so jarring, you would think you would be bursting with something, but all you draw is a blank. 

You shrug, curled up in the comfy chair by the easel, your drawing pad open in front of you. He takes the seat opposite, regarding you quizzically.

“You don’t like it in here?”

“I love it,” you assure him, and its no complacent lie. “I just…have been soaking it in.”

“Hmm.”

You can tell that he’s disappointed, and your treacherous heart skips a beat.

You failed to turn on any lights, as the sun is setting. John flicks on a single lamp on the side table, washing his one side in a dramatic glow. It is as though something clicks into place, as you look upon him. Your dark angel, your sinister lover, your obsessive captor, a man you should hate, but you are drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Perhaps now, he shall also be your muse. Was ever there a man better suited to embody the mysteries of Caravaggian shadow?

“Don’t move,” you say softly, and begin to draw.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

You Truly Are A Merchant of Death.

Warning ⚠️; mention of human sacrifice, mention of the future end of the world, blood, grief. 🔞

Pairing; Tony Stark/ Cult!Leader!Male!Reader

Summary; You were an enigma, a mystery that Tony never really understood. That was made your charm. That was what made him fall and allow you to pull him in the dark.

Note; How the hell did I write that Mastodon??? I think that is the longest story I have written until now. I think I am like around 3k words if not more but that is because I love Tony ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~

The coldness was infiltrating the armour and Tony could feel his fingers and toes going numb. His body shivered, trying to keep him warm to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. He was stuck in his amour waiting to die.

No one had come for him and Tony doubted anyone would.

That was until he heard his armour cracking as someone tore it open. Tony blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light when his mask was taken off before his eyes fell on you. Leaning above him, he could see the sparkle of joy in your eyes behind your own mask. Your gloved hand rested on his cheek for a second before you spoke to him.

- “Who did that to you, Tony?”

Your voice was soft, gentle like always but there was an edge to it like you are trying to hide your anger. He tried to talk, to tell you everything, but Tony only managed to cough, his throat way too dry. You hushed him like a scared child, fingers brushing off the blood on his lips.

- “Okay, don’t talk right now. I’ll get you out of that thing in no time, and will speak when you are better.”

Tony wanted to ask you how you were going to free him but never had the chance to open his mouth. With your bare hands, you ripped apart his amour, being so careful around his ark reactor. Once he was free, Tony sat, panting while you petted his back telling him to breathe deeply.

His eyes stared at what was left of his armour and noticed it had corroded as if you had used acid. No, not acid, Tony corrected himself mentally, but magic. How could he forget that you could use fucking magic, something he didn't understand, to do even more weird shit.

Tony had so many questions, among which why were you here? You were his enemy, a villain that he had tried so many times to stop and failed to. You had no reason to help him. But here you were, taking off your ceremonial robe to put it on him. Tony couldn't hold back the sigh of relief when he felt the warmth from your robe enveloping him.

You helped Tony to stand up and he leaned against you, feeling frail. Which wasn't a surprise when he had passed the night in the cold and was probably suffering from hypothermia. Yet, Tony felt his body turn to ice when his eyes landed on the dozen of silhouettes standing around the two of you. They were wrapped in the same kind of ceremonial robes masks, but of a different colour than yours.

Your followers.

The members of your murderous cult.

Tony tensed as he felt your arm wrapping around his waist as you kept him close to you. Your body radiated heat, more than any human should be able to. You looked at him and Tony felt all his fear and worry disappear. He was safe. Which was a weird thought since you had murdered more than a hundred people. Sacrifices for those things you called your Gods.

- “Come on. Let us bring you home, Tony. You went through enough for now, you need to rest so you can tell me all that happened.”

Your velvet voice was hypnotic and Tony found himself nodding before he followed you. Your followers began humming something he couldn't understand as all around you things began to transform. The walls melted and the ground cracked. Slowly, everything transformed and before he knew it, you two stood in his lab.

You helped him sit down before going to grab him a bottle of water. Without thinking about it, he took it from your hands and drank it almost all while you sat by his side. It was the first time you two weren't fighting and Tony didn't know what to think about it. He was supposed to stop you and make sure you couldn't kill more people, but instead here he was, being cared for by you.

Tony groaned when he saw you summon the first aid kit. You patched him up, without a word but your eyes spoke for you. He could see sadness and anger flashing in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, you were the first to spoke.

- “Tony. What happened?” You asked with a honeyed voice. “Who did that to you?”

- “Roger.” He croaked, his eyes staring at the floor as he felt tears building in his eyes. “It was Roger and Barnes.”

And just like that, he told you everything. From the botched mission in Sokovia to the murder of the Wankada’s king to the Accord, without forgetting the tensions in the team. Tony closed his fists as he recalled Steve’s betrayal and the battle that cost Rhodney his legs. He chocked telling you about the video of the Winter Soldier murdering his parents and then his battle against Steve and Bucky.

He told you how Steve hit him in the chest with the shield and then abandoned him.

You sat next to him, hand gently caressing his back as you listened to his story. You squeezed his shoulder when he finished his story.

- “I am sorry, Tony. Very sorry about your parents, they didn't deserve such an end. You were right to be angry at Steve for hiding it from you.”

Tony could only nod, chasing the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of your robe. It smelled like you with a touch of blood and sea. A bit fishy too.

- “Anyway, how did you find me? Why do you care?” He asked, blunter than he intended, but you only chuckled.

- “The hows aren't a mystery, I simply used magic to localize you. And how couldn't I care? We are friends after all.”

This time it was Tony who laughed. Friends? Friends? He had tried so many times to catch you and even fought you, severing your limbs and hurting you, yet you called him your friend?

He looked at you only to see honesty in your eyes. Gods, you were serious.

He snorted and looked away, wondering how in hell did you managed to see him as a friend after everything. You were sicker than he thought.

- “So what now? You expect me to stop trying to conter your plan of world destruction and just stand watching while you butcher and sacrifice people?” Tony asked, sarcastic, making you chuckle.

- “No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop me Tony. You could throw me in a bottomless pit and the end will still come. The fate of our world was written a long time ago and there is nothing we can do to stop it from happening. If it isn't me who will free Them, then it will be someone else.” Your voice was sweet as you finished cleaning his cheek. “But fear not. You’ll be long dead when it happens. The stars won't align for a few more centuries.”

Tony sighed as he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Your words sounded like a dead sentence, like there really wasn't anything to be done and that opposing you was useless. So many death. None that could be avenged.

- “I don't expect you to stop, Tony. I know you won't, but I wish you would pour your energy into something more rewarding.” You added when he didn't answer you. “You have the greatest brain I ever met and you put much of yourself into everything you create. You could do so much more if you didn't focus on me.”

Again, you were right. You knew him more than he thought.

Sighing, Tony shook his head, feeling anger rise in his heart.

- “Yeah, and what did it get me? Ultron was a terrible mistake that took too many lives and even destroyed a whole city. The Sokovia Accord? It tore the team apart and got me a fucking shield in the chest!” Tony snapped and threw the empty bottle of water against the wall. He felt tears fill his eyes. “Whatever I do, whatever I make it only leads to destruction.”

- “You truly are a merchant of Death, Tony.”

Your words were like a slap in the face and Tony fought back a sob. No matter what he did, he would always be stuck with that title right? Burying his face in his hands, he ignored yours squeezing his shoulder.

- “Don't be sad, my friend. Some of us are cursed with a terrible fate, it is not your fault.”

- “Shut up. Just fucking shut up! You are not helping.” Tony hissed, fingers digging in his scalp.

And you did. You fell quiet but stayed close and Tony knew it because he felt your eyes on him. He tried to fight it, but failed as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was an idiot. A moron who destroyed everything he touched and always disappointed his friends. He couldn't forget what Barton had told him, couldn't forget Roger choosing his parents’ murderer over him. After everything, he had been thrown away like a dirty tissue.

He sobbed as he felt your arms wrapping around him. His first reflex was to try and push you away but instead melted in your embrace. The warmth of your body sank into his, chasing away the coldness from the hypothermia and your smell was familiar, like stepping on his balcony facing the sea. Except you also smelled like fresh blood.

Tony tensed slightly when he felt one of your hands on his as you slowly forced him to let go of his hair. Then, you passed your finger through them, massaging his sore scalp.

- “Don't hurt yourself, Tony. You don't deserve this, you didn't do anything wrong.” You whispered, making Tony scoff.

- “Everything I do is wrong. I’m a walking disaster.” He hissed, looking away as you held him closer against your chest.

- “That is false and we both know it.”

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he rolled his eyes before closing them, resting his cheek against your chest. He sighed when he felt your chin on top of his head, but decided to allow it. It has been so long since he was held like that and since he felt like someone actually cared for him. Which was weird coming from a psychopathic murderer like you.

But Tony couldn't deny that you never hurt him. No matter how much he wounded you, severing your limbs and tearing you apart with his beams, you never used your magic against him. You would talk, tease him about your immortality and then disappear with your goons and sacrifices. Sometimes you would take the beating while talking about your beliefs and Gods, not caring that Tony had his hand right through your stomach.

You truly were an enigma, a mystery that Tony didn't truly understand and a part of him didn't want to.

After what felt like an eternity, you gently nudged him, forcing him up. Tony didn't have the strength to fight you, so he simply followed as you led him up. He sighed as you pushed him into the bathroom and he understood immediately; that he had to shower.

After you got him clean clothes and left the bathroom, Tony took his shower. He stayed longer than necessary under the warm jet, trying to forget everything that had happened but couldn't. The damn video kept replaying in his mind with such accuracy that he threw up a few times, bile burning his throat. Yet you never intruded on his privacy.

When he left the bathroom, he found you had pulled a chair to face the door. You sat with your legs crossed reading one of Tony’s books about engineering. Behind your mask, he could see your curious eyes moving with each word you read and the joy in them. You were enjoying the book and didn't knew how to feel seeing you so… human.

After a few seconds, you raised your head and Tony threw your ceremonial dress at you. It landed on your head and you laughed, thanking him before putting it back on. He ignored you and went to his bedroom, guessing where you wanted him to go next. His wounds burned as he had taken off the bandages, yet didn't want to go through making them again.

He was surprised when you didn't follow him as Tony had expected you would make sure he was resting. Getting under the cover, he sighed realizing you really weren't going to intrude in his private place. He didn't notice when he fell asleep, but Tony hadn't had such a restful sleep in a long time.

He woke up hearing a soft knock on his door. Blinking, Tony sat on his bed and frowned as silence filled the room. There was no light as night had fallen. Through his window, he could see the moon. Large and round, it was almost hypnotic. He shivered has the knock repeated and coughed as he tried to speak. After a few seconds, he managed to call you in.

You entered, your ceremonial robe dancing around your feet as you walked in the moonlight. Like a cat, your eyes reflected it and for a second Tony thought he was facing a predator.

You sat on his bed and rested your hand on his forehead. Tony slapped your hand away, only making you chuckle softly as you were amused by his childish behaviour.

- “I am happy that you rested, Tony. You look already better, even tho those bruises seem painful.” You said, voice gentle and low, as if you thought speaking louder would give him a headache.

You would be right. His whole body was sore as if he had been hit by a train. Groaning, Tony passes a hand on his face, wondering what you wanted, and why you woke him up. As if you could read his thoughts, you laughed before offering him your hand.

- “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

In the dark of the room, Tony stared at your hand, weighing the good and bad of following you. For all he knew you could lead him to his dead. Maybe you had decided he would be the perfect sacrifice tonight. Maybe you planned on devouring his corpse after stabbing him in your unholy altar of debauchery.

Yet, Tony thought, nothing you would do could be more painful than what he had experimented on lately. With a sigh, he took your hand in his. He almost shivered when you squeezed his hand as you got up, waiting for him to do the same.

Tony wondered if he had lost his mind. He followed you as you led him across his house and then outside. Barefoot, Tony shivered as he felt the cold damp sand against the soles of his feet. The sound of the waves crashing had something calming and eerie at the same time.

You stopped close to the water, close enough for the tide to tickle his toes. Your thumb gently strokes his hand, making small circles before you let him go, entering the sea silently. Tony can do nothing but stare at you. Under the moonlight, your ceremonial robes seemed to glow slightly. The broderies at least. They formed strange designs, some alien to him and others weirdly familiar as if they were memories from a dream he had since long forgotten.

He watched as you pulled out a round piece of golden metal from your sleeve. You murmured something, like chanting, but so low Tony couldn't understand anything, then dropped the piece of metal. The sea swallowed it up and a soft light began to glow from the water. A pulse of energy disturbed the waves and water while a soft buzzing sound rose like a bee flying around his head.

- “Fear not, Tony. I won't let anything happen to you, you are safe by my side.” You said and Tony almost wanted to believe you, even tho he didn't know what you were protecting him from.

In the distance, Tony saw a small boat rocking with the waves. There were flickering lights coming from it and Tony recognized them as coming from lanterns or torches. He opened his mouth, ready to ask some questions, but before he could chants broke the silence. They were loud and made the air vibrate. Turning his attention to you, he watched as you moved your hand. A maelstrom began to form, becoming bigger and bigger until a tunnel formed.

- “I am not bringing you in for the choir, Tony, but for something way more exciting.” You said, offering your hand once more in an invitation to follow you.

For a second, Tony hesitated and almost stepped back, but his feet moved against his will and he grabbed your hand. The sea was cold and he felt the water soak the bottom of his pants. Normally it would bother him, but right now he didn't care. His eyes stared in awe as the tunnel closed between them while the current made them move like a treadmill. They move without walking.

Around them, Tony can see the fish swimming. For a quarter of a second, he even spots a great white shark killing its prey. He is so fascinated by everything that Tony doesn't even realize that time and space fold around them. Before he can understand what is going on, the tunnel comes to an end as everything turn black.

The water took a gloomy greenish tint and seemed to even glow slightly as if a few glowsticks had been thrown in it. Stepping out, Tony realized you had taken him into some kind of cave. But it is not really a cave as he looks up and sees the night sky. No, not a cave at all, more a crater. The moon is hung above them, enormous, so big Tony thought it was about to crash on Earth. The strangest thing was that some stars seemed to be black and yet shined brighter than Northern Star.

- “Where are we?” Tony asked, his voice wavering as he walked around, not looking where he was going occupied he was staring at the weird stars. “I’ve never seen stars like those. How are they black and shining? That doesn't make any sense.”

- “There are things in this world that don't make sense, Tony, and which would make you go mad if you tried to understand them. As for where we are, we are still on Earth. I just took you home.” You replied to him, walking by his side and looking up too. “What you are seeing are the stars of Carcosa.”

- “Carcosa…”

The name rolled on Tony’s tongue, but he couldn't pronounce it right. He heard you clearly yet his tongue refused to cooperate. He frowned as it almost felt familiar. Yes, Tony had heard that name before, he was sure.

- “Along the shore the cloud waves break, the twin suns sink behind the lake, the shadows lengthen in Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies but stranger still is lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, where flap the tatters of the King, must die unheard in Dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead; die thou, unsung, as tears unshed shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa.” You sang before turning your attention to him and Tony plunged his eyes into yours. “Cassilda’s song describes it pretty well in a beautiful poem. You might have heard it from The King in Yellow, a play from around 1895.”

- “Maybe… I don't know, but the name is familiar.”

Without another word, Tony began exploring the place. There are desks and bookshelves filled with books and scrolls and even school boards covered in a language Tony doesn't understand. It's primitive and yet complex.

Something else caught his attention.

An altar of black-greenish stone covered in offerings of incense and meat surrounding an idol. The thing was made of a green stone and looked terrifying. It had the appearance of a mix between an octopus, a dragon and a parody of a human. Sitting on a throne of the same colour, the creature seemed to be looking directly at him with its many eyes.

- “Cthulhu, Priest of the Great Old Ones, he who sleeps in R’lyeh dreaming, waiting to be free once more.” You said as you walked up to the altar, fingers brushing the idol almost lovingly.

Tony approached as well, his gaze drifting to the mural behind the altar. The gravure represented aquatic creatures as massive as the whales they hunted. They looked oh-so human and yet so far from one. The gravure had the same style as the idol and seemed almost as old.

- “Those… those are the things you are worshipping, aren't they?” Tony asked, feeling sick. How could such abominations exist? How could they be real?

- “Indeed. This mural represents the Deep Ones, inhabitants of the bottom of the seas and oceans and servants of Dagon.” You explained pointing at the creatures. “Sometimes they pass a deal with mortals. In exchange for gold, they get to reproduce with humans. When they reach maturity those offspring then join them underwater where they live and serve Dagon.”

Tony didn't know if he was supposed to be horrified or impressed that people were ready to fuck those things for gold. How far were people ready to go for money and riches? Even he would never stoop so low, not even to save the world.

As if you had read his mind you laughed and shook your head before signalling him to follow you. Again, Tony did. Why? He didn't know, but something, like a little voice in his head, was telling him to just do it. You showed him around, presenting more idols and gravures, even books and scriptures.

Tony’s curiosity and scientific mind won over his disgust and mistrust as he listened to you speak about your cult and its history. You had the books and scrolls to show as proof and Tony felt overwhelmed when you mentioned that your Great Old Ones were extraterrests. Memories of New York flooded his mind and Tony felt dread fill his head. He barely calmed when you rested your hand on his shoulder. Tony grabbed your wrist, holding so tight he knew he was going to leave marks on your skin.

- “Everything is fine Tony. They aren't the same kind and you have nothing to fear from my Gods. They cannot hurt you and I promised you to keep you safe, didn't I?”

But Tony couldn't answer. His lungs refused to work, preventing him from breathing and his heart was racing so fast in his chest that Tony thought he could feel every single piece of shrapnel around it. Gasping for air, Tony fell to his knees, tears threatening to escape his eyes. When you wrapped your arms around his trembling body, Tony grabbed you for dear life. A gasp and whine escaped him when he finally could breathe again.

- “That's it Tony, deep breathe. Do not stop breathing my dearest, you got it. I am right here, you are not alone and you are safe.” You whispered in his ear, gently rocking him and trying to help calm his panicked state.

Your hands on his body burned his skin through his clothes, but Tony didn't care. It had been so long since someone had held him like that and it felt just right. Your body fitted his just perfectly like the missing piece of a puzzle. Closing his eyes, Tony focused on you and your voice.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally calmed down. He felt so tired, his body empty of any form of strength or energy. He could fall asleep in your arms if he was given the chance, which was strange because he didn't fully trust you with his life. Even tho you were the only one who never hurt him.

- “If you feel the need to rest, do so Tony. I will carry you back home and lay you to bed.” Your breath tickled his ear and Tony shook his head, not wanting to embrace Morpheus. “Hush now, I won't abandon you my dearest. I will be only a whisper away from you and who knows? Maybe you shall have good dreams tonight.”

Tony rolled his eyes when you called him your dearest. What a flirt you could be some time.

After that, you took him home with the same trick you used earlier, but this time you held him against your chest. Your hand rested on Tony’s hip and he swore it was burning his skin through the pants of his pyjama. The walk back to his place was quiet, but the good kind. Tony didn't feel uncomfortable or anxious, but fine and relaxed.

As he went to bed, he watched you put some books on his desk for him to read later. It was strange how in your place you seemed as if you belonged in his room. Tony quickly chased the thought away as you turned toward him.

- “If there is anything I can do for you, just ask me, Tony. I will happily help you in any way I can.”

Tony looked down, away, almost ashamed of what he wanted to ask. The video of his parents’ murder and his fight against Roger kept replaying in his mind. He couldn't forgive Steve for lying and keeping such information a secret or for choosing a murderer over him. Especially after everything they went through and what Tony did for him.

- “I want Roger… I… I want you to find him and Barnes and bring them back to me.” Tony said, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

Silence fell between the two of you as you took in his request. For a moment, Tony feared you would refuse to help, but then he heard your footsteps then felt your hand on his shoulder.

- “If this is what you truly want, then I will. Rest my friend, I will contact you once I get my hand on them.”

Tony opened his eyes the second you moved your hand away, but you were already gone. He was alone in his room.

The night passed, then days which soon turned into weeks. Tony had no news from you and he didn't dare call or even whisper your name. He regretted asking for Roger and Barnes, not knowing what you were going to do to the two men. You weren't the kind type after all. Well, except with him.

Tony also took the time to read the books you gave him. They were theologic and historical about your cult and its beliefs. Tony was surprised at just how old it was, not expecting it to be as old as the Mesopotamian era. But here it was.

He also had to deal with Ross. Tony didn't want to expose you, to tell the world about your existence and that you stood by his side. It was selfish of him and for once Tony didn't care or feel bad. He didn't even care that Pepper wasn't around anymore, too focused he was on thinking about you.

But Ross bothered him day and night, so Tony finally admitted being in contact with you. Explaining to Ross what you were and your capacities wasn't an easy task and convincing the man that you were on his side was even harder. Yer he managed it. Someone like you was a dream come true for Ross surely.

Then he had the most surprising visitor, someone he never thought he would see again; Doctor Stephen Strange. Unlike before, Strange has changed his tuxedo for weird clothes that reminded Tony of yours. The second Tony laid eyes on Strange, he had a bad feeling.

- “Stark, we need to talk.” Strange had said with such a serious voice that Tony thought he had committed a war crime… again.

- “What do you want, Strange? Money? You clearly must be desperate to come to me wearing that. I pity the poor clown you stole it from!” Tony had replied, unable to content his sarcasm.

He didn't expect anyone to come find him as he admired the sea. Ever since that night, Tony couldn't see the sea or ocean the same. How could it when now he knew what swam deep under the surface?

- “Your friend, that's why I need to talk with you before you do something stupid again. Do you even know what he is? What he plans to do?” Strange asked, voice harsh almost angry as he stepped in front of Tony.

They've just started talking, but Tony already wants to punch the man in the face. Who does Strange think he is to come to his place and talk to him like that? He did nothing wrong. It's not his fault he can't stop you.

- “Yes I know who he is, I know what he can do and what he plans to do. What do you want me to do about it? I literally can not kill him or even cut his limbs, I know I've tried in the past.” Tony snapped, walking away and turning his back to Strange, who kept following him.

- “If you know all that already, then how can you stand there and let it happen? How can you be friends with such a monster?” Strange asked, raising his voice as his anger exploded on Tony.

That was enough for Tony to snap. Before he thought about it, Tony turned on his heels and the next second his fist collided with Strange’s jaw, knocking the former surgeon to the ground. They both groaned in pain and Tony held his hand, massaging his bruised knuckles.

- “Son of a bitch! You know nothing, nothing, about the fucking shit I've been through and why I do what I do! And who the fuck care? It's not like people expect me to do anything else than fuck up and blow shit up! Right?” Tony snapped, kicking a rock with his shoe and sending it flying away. “I just make mistakes and get people killed all the time! That's why they call me the damn Marchant of Death, right? So yeah, I ain't doing shit because it will among to nothing!”

Panting, heart racing in his chest, Tony stared at Strange as the man sat, spitting blood on the floor. God, Tony thought, he really hit the man harder than he wanted. Not that he had wanted to punch him! Yet, Tony didn't regret it.

- “Now, leave me the fuck alone and go back where you come from. I owe you nothing, Strange.” Tony spat before quickly going back to his home.

What wasn't his surprise when he found a letter resting on a tuxedo in his bedroom. It was written by you, an invitation to join you for a surprise. After so long, Tony knew what it was; you had gotten your hand on Steve and Barnes as you had promised. For a second, Tony stared at the letter and the clothes, wondering if he should join you. Why not? He had nothing left to lose and Steve wasn't his friend anymore, the veteran had made it clear.

After changing his clothes, Tony put on his armour and went to the dress you gave him.

The address him at a church facing the ocean. Made out of stone, it seemed to be centuries old and yet still stood proudly. As he landed and approached the doors, the bells began to ring above him as if announcing his arrival. With a deep breath, Tony opened the double doors.

The first thing he saw was you, maskless and standing proudly behind the altar. You opened your arms in an invitation for him to approach, which he did. Every banc inside the church was filled with your followers. All of them had taken off their masks and hoods, some looked at you while others had their head bowed and prayed in a language Tony didn't understand.

Then he saw them.

Steve, Barnes, Natasha and Clint were kneeling, tied with what looked like slimy tentacles and looked beaten up and starving. Roger had lost the spark in his eyes while Barnes had his eyes turned so far away, that Tony wondered if he was still sane.

- “Our most important guest had finally arrived! Welcome, Tony. As promised, I have found your former friends and your parents’ murderer for you.” You said, voice echoing in the church.

His former teammates raised their heads, staring at him in confusion and surprise. Especially Steve who looked both hurt and betrayed. Bastard. After everything, he dares act as if it was Tony who had stabbed him in the back?

Swallowing his anger, he ignored the rest of his former team and turned his attention to you. You circled around the altar and walked up to him, arms still open as if you were going to hug him. Which, thankfully, you didn't. No. You just rested your hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently.

- “I am happy you joined us, Tony. It wouldn't have been the same without you my friend.”

- “I asked for Barnes and Roger, not Clint and Natasha. What do you want to do with them?” Tony asked without looking at them.

- “Tony, you know him?” Steve’s voice was weak and harsh as if you had him swallow a galleon of sand. “Why…”

- “I haven't decided yet, but after all the pain they caused you? I will find the perfect punishment.” You said as you both ignored Steve.

Your words filled Tony with warmth as he sighed softly. It was still so strange to him that you cared so much about him after everything. You were doing more for him than anyone else ever did, being ready to hurt his former friends just because they hurt him. They were the true heroes, he was just a mistake and yet you choose to stand by his side.

Tony looked at Steve, feeling only anger and betrayal. Gone were his softness toward Captain America, replaced by hate and disgust.

- “My father was your friend, he believed in you and knew you were alive. He tried so hard to find you and how do you thank him? By siding with his murderer. You are disgusting.” Tony spat, voice filled with more venom than he wanted.

- “Tony, you don't understand…” Steve tried to talk, but Tony shook his head, stopping him.

- “I don't care. I don't give a fuck if he was brainwashed, used against his will. He still did it. Why does he is forgiven when none of you ever forgave me even when the same happened to me?”

There were no answers. Of course. What did he expect? They never cared, only saw him as a mistake and a liability, wasn't worth their forgiveness.

He was about to jump on Steve when you squeezed his shoulders again, catching his attention. Your benevolent eyes were filled with compassion as you stared at him and Tony felt like he was about to cry. Why did he find a friend in a fanatic murderer?

He looked away as you touched his cheek before you turned your attention on his former teammates.

- “Shame on all of you for the hell you put your friend through. You who used him like a puppet, like something not alive, see what you did to a man who only tried to do good. Did he make mistakes? Yes. Yet where you can find the strength to forgive a brainwashed assassin, you cannot do the same for a friend.”

- “Tony, what are you doing? Why…” Natasha tried to speak, but the tentacle wrapped around her moved to her mouth, gagging her.

- “Tony, you gotta stop this madness!” Clint snapped as he tried to untie himself only for the tentacle to constrict tighter and tighter around him.

Tony could only remember Clint’s last words, how he was a backstabber. He didn't feel anything toward Clint. Nothing. In fact, as he looked at all of them, he realized he had stopped caring. They meant nothing to him anymore. He was just tired.

- “Why? After all, that all I can do right? Stabbing people in the back once they trust me.” Tony said coldly tilting his head as you cupped it in your hands.

They all looked at him, their face twisted with shock and surprise. All, except Barnes. The man was crying silently, eyes staring absently at the ground.

- “I am… sorry.” Barnes said, voice croaking as he had difficulties talking. “I am so sorry. I never meant to do any of this, but please, take your anger on me, not them. They have nothing to do with us, not even Steve. He is just trying to protect me like I use to do with him.”

Tony didn't know what to say and just looked while Steve argued with Barnes, refusing to abandon him. It filled Tony with pure rage. Why wasn't he worth such love and loyalty too? Why was he always abandoned?

- “Really, what do you have planned for them? Are you going to sacrifice them to your Gods?” Tony asked, ignoring Barnes.

- “My, yes! They would make a great sacrife I think.” You said, letting go of his face.

Tony sighed and shook his head, for once not agreeing. He could accept any other kind of punishment, but death? No. For Barnes, death would be mercy.

- “No. Don't kill them, it wouldn't be a punishment. They are veterans and assassins, they are expecting it.” Tony whispered his eyes on them.

- “What would you have me do then?” You asked softly, taking his hand in yours and kissing his fingers. “Whatever you want, I will do my dearest.”

- “Make them read that cursed book of yours. You have it, don't you? The Necronomicon.”

You fell silent, gently squeezing his hand in yours as his fingers were still against your lips. He felt you sighing before you nodded your head.

- “As you wish, but you must know, Tony, that their mind won't survive it. They will go mad and won't ever go back to normal. That book isn't a toy and even I read it with causion.”

- “I know. That is what I want, that is what they deserve. Except Barnes. Let him watch, let him live with his guilt since his mind had already been destroyed.”

Tony turned his head to look at you. He felt tired, and empty and even revenge wasn't making him feel better, but looking at you did. There was so much understanding in your eyes as if you knew his pain. You had accepted him even with all his flaws and errors, calling him your friend and dearest when he had hurt you horribly. You had forgiven him without him giving any kind of excuses.

You were all he had ever wanted, except for the cult and sacrifice thing, but Tony could look the other way. After all, he too had blood on his hands and he knew that with you, whatever the future held, he was going to be fine. You would keep him safe and sound no matter what.

He didn't care about his former friends pleading. No. The only thing that mattered was the taste of your lips on his as he abandoned everything, choosing you as his future.

[yokumirumerafan]

hi again i want to thank you for the muzan request i ehoyed reading it so much i think you write him really well! i always appreciate how you answer requests in slightly different ways as opposed to just writing straight up headcanons (which i love too dont get me wrong) i just think it makes your writing so fun and refreshing! on that note, after reading your nsfw alphabet on muzan (🥵) i'd love to see a fluff alphabet on him for example you can find one here: https://www.tumblr.com/snk-warriors/173203415802/fluff-alphabet?source=share

hope you have fun writing this! and im so happy to see all the success you're having with your blog🥰 im rooting for you!

EEEEEEE thanks alot for the link I'll use it in the post. Also Thanks I try my best on the work I do (I don't, I just write whatever the fuck comes to my head) and I'm glad that I actually start getting acknowledged by people, because in the first place tumblr was just for fun and I expected to fail on all my fics like I did in any other platform. But here we are!! Also I do absolutely love writing for Muzan and demons/villians in general, but anyway enough of my yap-

Muzan Kibutsuji Fluff Alphabet

A - Activities

Muzan isn’t one for idle activities, but he enjoys walking through lavish gardens at night, playing classical music, or reading together.

He also likes watching his s/o dress in fine clothing—admiring them as if they were a work of art he possesses.

B - Beauty

Muzan admires control and poise, so he finds it beautiful when his s/o carries themselves with confidence and intelligence.

Physically, he has an eye for delicate hands and expressive eyes. The way his s/o looks at him—with love, fear, or adoration—fascinates him.

C - Comfort

Muzan doesn’t handle emotions well, but he will remove whatever is distressing you.

If it’s a person, they may disappear.

If it’s an internal struggle, he’ll command you to be strong. It’s his twisted way of caring.

However, he will let you rest beside him, playing with your hair in silence.

D - Dreams

He doesn’t dream of a peaceful, simple future—he dreams of eternity.

His ideal life with his s/o? By his side forever, as an immortal, free from weakness and mortality.

E - Equal

Muzan does not see anyone as his equal—not even his s/o.

However, he grants them more freedom and respect than others.

His dominance isn’t just about power—it’s about protecting what’s his.

F - Fight

He doesn’t fight with his s/o—he fights for them.

But if there’s a disagreement? He does not like being questioned.

Arguments are cold and sharp, and he expects you to apologize first.

G - Gratitude

Muzan doesn’t express gratitude openly, but he shows it in actions.

If you bring him tea, he accepts it without complaint.

If you support him, he ensures you live in luxury.

If you’re truly special to him, he won’t let anyone touch you.

H - Honesty

He keeps secrets. So many secrets.

But he expects you to be completely honest.

If he ever shares his true feelings or vulnerabilities, know that you’re irreplaceable to him.

I - Inspiration

You don’t change Muzan—but you intrigue him.

If you have a unique perspective, he’ll actually listen.

He may even adjust his actions slightly based on your influence, which is unheard of.

J - Jealousy

Oh, absolutely. But he won’t cause a scene.

Instead, the offending person will mysteriously vanish.

He may pull you close and whisper, “You belong to me alone, don’t you?” in that eerily soft voice.

K - Kiss

Deep, slow, and possessive.

His first kiss? Calculated. A test to see if you’d pull away or melt into him.

He doesn’t just kiss—he claims.

L - Love Confession

Muzan doesn’t confess in a traditional way. Instead, he’ll say something cryptic like: “You will stay by my side. There is no other option.”

He doesn’t ask for love—he demands it.

M - Marriage

Marriage in a human sense means little to him, but if you insist, he will grant you a wedding.

If he does propose, it’s with something ancient, valuable, and drenched in meaning.

The ceremony would be private and eerie, but unforgettable.

N - Nicknames

He calls you “My Dear,” or “Beloved.”

If he’s feeling possessive, “Mine.”

In rare soft moments, your first name, spoken like a secret.

O - On Cloud Nine

Muzan in love is dangerous. He becomes more obsessed, more controlling.

He watches you constantly, ensuring you’re always near.

Others might not see it, but his affection is all-consuming.

P - PDA

Private? Yes. Public? No.

Behind closed doors, he’ll have you curled into his side, tracing patterns on your skin.

In public, a simple hand on your lower back is enough to claim you.

Q - Quirk

He never forgets a single detail about you.

You mention liking a certain tea? It’s now stocked in your home.

He knows your habits better than you do.

R - Romance

He doesn’t do cliché romance—he does grandeur.

A garden of blood-red roses that bloom only for you.

A night where the entire city seems empty, just for you two.

Romance, to him, is power and devotion intertwined.

S - Support

If your goals align with his, he will make them happen effortlessly.

If they don’t… he will persuade you to change them.

His support is absolute, but conditional.

T - Thrill

He enjoys new experiences, especially ones that deepen your bond.

A new city, a new era, a new challenge—he thrives on power and control.

U - Understanding

Muzan knows you inside and out.

He can read your emotions with a glance.

But empathy? That’s harder. He learns only for you.

V - Value

You are as important as his goals—which is saying a lot.

Muzan does not lose.

If you are his, you are his forever.

W - Wild Card

His voice at night is different.

When the world is asleep, his usual sharp tone softens.

He speaks in low murmurs, words meant only for you.

X - XOXO

Not outwardly affectionate, but in private? Deeply intense.

His touches are slow, calculated—like he’s memorizing you.

He worships your presence in silence.

Y - Yearning

Muzan does not “miss” people. But with you? It’s unbearable.

If he’s away, his thoughts are consumed with you.

He’ll return sooner than expected—just to see you again.

Z - Zeal

He would defy death for you.

He’d tear apart the heavens if it meant keeping you safe.

If Muzan Kibutsuji loves you, then his devotion is eternal.

[fiendishartist2]

im not fucking around anymore. here's the full "Paul is Care" essay i've been working on:

“Alright. So there's uh, nothing out here, as far as I've seen. But actually, I think there is something out here. I just haven't seen it yet.”

In Petscop, the story is told between the lines. When you feel like you have a grasp on it, a single colour or date throws off everything you’ve built up. That’s why I like to look at Petscop in another way; not as a series of events, but an exploration of a single character: Paul.

Some people like to map everything out in a single timeline; when did Care go missing, when did the family get the game, when did Lina and Mike die. I think that every interpretation of Petscop has its own value, because Petscop means something different to everyone who watches it. But, when I look at Petscop, I don’t just see a series of events wrapped up in the mystery of Care’s disappearance. I see a video game used as a device to explore and understand the connection between the past and the present. I see the ways in which Paul Leskowitz is Carrie Mark.

I know that to some that notion might seem crazy; the broader discussion of Petscop is different to the niche ones held by crazy people in the tags of a Tumblr post . Obviously, this theory is personally significant and I hold it very near and dear to my heart. But, I want to share this theory in a way that makes sense to the general audience of Petscop because I genuinely believe you guys are missing out! So, keep an open mind and enter my Petscop mind-palace…

“...were signs along the way. Um, that I ignored. Because it would have been a completely ridiculous idea to me. Um. But when I found my room, it made, uh, well, I was shocked at first, but it made sense, especially considering where I found the game in the first place, um, that it would be tied, in some way, to me through you. Um. And I'm trying to think, when was the last time I saw any of you at all? It had to have been in like, 1999. I was a kid, I was a small kid. Tiny kid. Um. And after that, just, you know. But, it would make sense in the timeline.” (Petscop 11)

A lot of Petscop theories surround the actual textual proof found in the videos, so that’s where I’ll start. There’s many instances where Paul makes the connection between himself and Care, but one moment continues to stick with me. In Petscop 11, Paul finally enters the house and takes a look around. He’s on the phone with someone, presumably Belle. Paul goes up to the calendars and starts talking about Care, “Yeah, on that topic... I don't remember meeting this girl at all. Um, I don't remember knowing her at any point (…) Um, and I remember you saying that we were, that we, we are, um, exactly the same age.” (Petscop 11). He points out that he and Care share the same birthday, down to the year. We get further confirmation of this in Petscop 14, when Paul’s conversation with Jill that he had on his own birthday is superimposed onto Care’s. The next part though, is what really gets the theory started, “I do agree there's a resemblance. Um. Very strong resemblance between us.” (Petscop 11).

Faces are incredibly important in Petscop. Marvin thought Care and Mike could be rebirthed into Lina because they had similar features, and Care had to be given Mike’s eyebrows specifically to change her room. So, for Paul and Care to have such similar facial features that someone else pointed out the resemblance is significant.

They also happen to share the name “Leskowitz”, which is both Anna and Lina’s last name. We know this because his Reddit account is “p_leskowitz”.

If he’s a Leskowitz, then that explains his complicated feelings towards “the family”. “The family” is a foreboding presence throughout Petscop. Their meddling isn’t outright malicious, but even Paul admits that he’s intimidated by them. And it makes sense, as “the family” (comprised of Anna and Jill) each have a major role in the core mystery of Petscop. Anna is the mother of Care and the wife of Marvin, while Jill is Marvin’s sister and the mother of both Rainer and Mike. To be a Leskowitz, Paul would need to be blood related to Anna or Lina in some way. Paul shows that he has this relation to the family in Petscop 22, when he’s talking to Belle about finding the windmill, “And, I don't th- and you don't have to worry about it, right, 'cause... 'cause you aren't, you aren't family, so you wouldn't... have a room, that's the thing.” (Petscop 22). In this context, Paul is asking Belle whether Jill has contacted her. When he tells her she doesn’t have a room, this is in reference to the Child Library explored in Petscop 3 and 7. This means that in order to be part of the Leskowitz-Mark family (and in our case, related to Care), you have to have a room in the Child Library, something both Paul and Care possess.

Paul being related to the family is also supported by his casual mention of meeting Rainer as a child, “‘Rainer’... I saw him at a birthday party once. All the older kids were down in the basement playing video games, to hide from everyone. He was down there, too. He was older than the rest of them, though.” (Petscop 11), and his confusion of not knowing Care, with the implication that if she was real, he would have met her through the family.

A rarely discussed aspect of Paul’s character is that he can’t tell his left from his right. When he’s doing the disc puzzle in Anna and Marvin’s room is Petscop 11, “Um, we can see what the room looks like in that recording, um, on the uh, right? ... Left? Left? Right ... side.” (Petscop 14) and before he even enters the house, “And, I mean, I still get confused about that. Because, I mean, well, I know it's always the top, but, um, I still have to think. I have to think.” (Petscop 11), we can clearly see that he has trouble with directions. In a similar fashion, Care is described as “dizzy”, most notably in the end credits of Petscop. She is also described as blind by Rainer in Petscop 17, “You were blind. At some point, your movements stopped making sense.” (Petscop 17). In the counsellor’s office, the counsellor says to Paul, “Are you right handed, or left handed? You don't know? Really?” (Petscop 22). I’ll get more into it later, but this sequence is presumably a real conversation that the game is recreating. If this scene is taken from Care’s real childhood, then it confirms that she also had problems with her lefts and rights.

Now, this is the base level of the theory. It’s easy to figure out that Paul is a Leskowitz, he literally calls them “the family”. And while I think the bits about faces and birthdays and directions are significant to this theory, I wanted to get all of the textual evidence out of the way so that I could get into the fun part of this essay: the subtext.

”Some things you can't rewrite.” (Petscop 14)

Petscop is nothing if not a collection of symbols and metaphors. Ask me what Petscop is all about on any given day and there’s a non-zero chance I will start explaining why the car is orange. While it is necessary to analyse Petscop as a real series of events, I think that another approach can be taken; what if we analysed Petscop as a series of events that are happening to Paul specifically? That the game is creating meaning by placing Paul specifically in these snippets of the past. By looking at each moment as “Why did the game make Paul do this?” instead of “What is happening in the game?”, we can see everything through a new lens.

First, I want to discuss colour. Colour plays a huge role in Petscop; almost every character is assigned their own colour. This is most often used to denote who is speaking in text, but it’s also used for other things like the tool. You are probably aware that Care’s colour is yellow, as all of her text is yellow. What you might not know is that Paul’s colour is red. Paul has exactly one instance in all of Petscop where he has coloured text and that is in Petscop 22, when he gives the counsellor his name. The calendars in the house are also colour coded, as the one showing 2017 is red.

One of my favourite moments in all of Petscop uses colour in a way that supports this theory perfectly. When Paul takes Care out of the rebirthing machine, she has been transformed into an Easter egg. A red and yellow striped Easter egg. I will get into this egg later on, but for now, I want to point out how Paul and Care’s colours have been used here. Of course, it’s significant just that they've been put together, but it's more than that. Care’s final form, the egg she has been placed in to keep her safe from all of the trauma she has suffered, that she will spend the rest of the series in, is painted a combination of her and Paul’s colours. In the same sequence, when Paul is playing the Needles Piano for Care B, the “wrong” notes he plays to turn her into the Easter Egg are all red. There’s a joke about eggs and transness in here somewhere.

Right after Care’s rebirth into the egg, Paul places her in the locker with the purple egg and the “new life” letter. If we abide by the established colour theory, this second egg would be Belle’s/Tiara’s egg. By putting them together, alongside the letter, it symbolises Care and Belle’s transfer to Lina’s care; this can also be supported by the ending of Petscop. In the final scene of the soundtrack, Belle recounts when she and Paul were adopted, “There is Boss waiting for her son. Pall do you remember being born. Smuggled away driving to your new house. Boss in driver seat me in back.” (Petscop Soundtrack). “Do you remember being born” is a question posed over and over again throughout Petscop. It’s meant to be a reference to rebirthing, but here it’s Paul being asked if he remembers being born, not Care; you can also connect this to the “new life” letter, making it apparent Belle is asking if he remembers when he was given his “new life” with her and “Boss”. There’s also the implication of the wording “smuggled away”, implying that there was something stopping Paul from being taken to his new home. Paul and Care’s final scenes parallel each other; Care is placed with Belle’s/Tiara’s egg with the “new life” letter, while Paul is taken back to “Boss” by Belle. Care and Paul are both asked if they “remember being born”.

Another, smaller piece of colour theory in Petscop comes from the board games in the counsellor’s office. The board game “Accident” features red and yellow puzzle pieces that fit together, but are broken apart. Remember that Care’s colour is yellow, so assume that she symbolises the yellow piece; Paul’s colour is red, so assume that he symbolises the red piece. The red piece is bigger and fits into the smaller yellow piece, like it’s missing the beginning of it. The yellow piece comes before the red piece, as if it adds context to the red piece. When we think of this in terms of Care and Paul, we can see that Care is the “missing piece” of Paul; the small part of his past that adds the context that completes him. Paul’s piece is bigger because he’s been Paul for so much longer (if we interpret the counsellor’s office as a real event the way it is shown, then that could be the moment he changed. Or, if we consider Care’s rebirth into the egg as the moment Care turned into Paul, then that would be the moment instead), meanwhile Care’s piece is small because she was only a small part of his life.

Taking colour into account, we can get into the meat of the symbolism in Petscop. When we view the events of Petscop through our new lens, many things become significant. Paul is placed in the role of Care many times throughout the series; on Care’s birthday, in the counsellor's office, and in Rainer’s “you are Carrie Mark” monologue.

During the “strange situation” birthday scene, Paul carries around a yellow balloon, symbolising that he is standing in for Care. This is further cemented by Anna’s dialogue addressing Paul as if he is Care on the day she came home, “You made it. Happy birthday! (...) Why are you covering your face? (...) Of course I recognize you. Those eyes. That nose. That’s still you.” (Petscop 14).

This next dialogue from Anna is particularly interesting to me; she doesn’t just tell Paul that she’s happy Care is home safe or ask him where she’s been, but instead she says this, “I sure hope you’ve realised by now. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve changed. You aren’t lost. Stop wandering and come home.” (Petscop 14). When we talk about Petscop, we have the urge to deny any supernatural involvement in the story. Whether through AI or predictive programming or alternate timelines, we want Petscop to be plausible. Understandable. Easy to digest. But, we often forget that Paul poses the question of a literal “ghost in the machine” in the first few episodes. I want to consider this quote– Anna talking to her child who has been “lost” for many years– as an act of this ghost. The game is talking back to Paul, telling him that no matter how much he has changed, he still has the same eyes, the same nose that made him Carrie Mark. And we know how important eyes and noses are in Petscop. Also as a side note, consider how Anna didn’t specify eyebrows; we know that Care’s lack of eyebrows is in some way due to Marvin, but when she tells Paul she recognises his eyes and nose, she doesn’t add on eyebrows. Paul said it himself in Petscop 7, “Um, and why am I doing that? Well, because eyebrows seem to be important.” (Petscop 7). I like to think that she couldn’t have said that Paul has the same eyebrows because, since Marvin isn’t in the picture anymore, he wouldn’t have any reason to pluck them.

Another scene that mixes up Paul and Care is the counsellor's office. When Paul finally enters the “girl wall” in Petscop 22, he is placed into a school’s counsellor’s office. Again, they talk to Paul as if he is Care, apologising for taking him out of class and saying he needs to “catch up”, implying that he’s missed a significant amount of school. As they start to play Graverobber (Jesus Christ, Rainer), the counsellor is confused about Paul’s name; they ask him if they have the wrong name written down, as his save file is currently “Strange Situation” and when they called out the name on file, Paul didn’t respond. Now, the connection here is a little more nuanced, but it still comes to a conclusion that I think greatly supports the theory. “Strange situation” is in reference to the Mary Ainsworth Strange Situation Experiment, a test in which an infant is deliberately separated from their mother to test their level of attachment. This is a very base level understanding of this concept, but when applied to this specific scene, it becomes apparent that this “strange situation” is another reference to Care. Care was separated from her mother for about half a year, only returning during the birthday party scene; the counsellor’s scene was accessible once Paul started using the “Strange Situation” file. Care stopped recognising the name she used before the seperation, considering herself to be “Strange Situation” instead. She has literally stopped recognising the name Care, and picks out her own name (which in the game Paul sets to his own).

Also consider the implication of the “girl wall”. At first, it’s an absurd joke, meant to lighten the mood using the same roundabout humour the rest of the series has. But, the counsellor asking if they have the wrong name, listing Paul as “Strange Situation” instead of his name, combined with the fact that when Paul is placed in front of the girl wall, he can’t walk away from it, it becomes a bit of an analogy; The game keeps forcefully showing Paul the word “GiRL” over and over and when he finally enters the “girl-world” as Strange Situation, he is called the wrong name and once again placed in Care’s shoes.

Let’s revisit the “ghost in the machine” idea. In Petscop 17, we are shown a past recording of Petscop; we never find out who was playing at this time, but it’s easy to assume Paul is the one watching the recording. The footage is less interesting than the dialogue, but it is notable that it’s a recording of the player running backwards in a very deliberate pattern. The actually relevant part of this sequence is Rainer’s monologue; in particular, the way he frames it, “You are a girl named Carrie Mark, and you were born on November 12th, 1992. You have a mommy named Anna, a daddy named Marvin, an auntie named Jill, an uncle named Thomas, a cousin named Daniel, ......I know what you must be thinking. Have these statements always been true? Or have I cursed you? Is there such a thing? A curse that changes your past?” (Petscop 17). There’s something about the forcefulness of this dialogue, “You are Carrie Mark,” as if Rainer is trying to make it so just by saying it. The inclusion of the birthday is also notable; we have been shown time and time again that Paul and Care share a birthday, and that this is an important part of both of their characters. So, when Rainer asks if these statements have always been true, or if it’s “a curse that changes your past”, we’re meant to interpret it as such: some of the statements are true, but the “you” being addressed is not currently “a girl named Carrie Mark”. Rainer casts a spell to make the player retrace their steps and although he might not be playing, the use of the word “you” and present tense language makes the statement pointed towards Paul. There’s something to be said about Rainer’s position in all of this; he isn’t the only tangible “ghost” in Petscop (Marvin and Tiara fit Paul’s definition established in Petscop 6), but he’s the only one to be fully dead. It truly feels, in this moment, like Petscop– like Rainer– is talking directly to Paul. The “curse that changes your past” is the part that ties it all together. This past that Paul doesn’t fully remember, where Anna and Marvin have a daughter named Care, where someone in his family went missing for months– by learning about this through the game, Rainer is essentially changing Paul’s version of the past. Your memory and physical evidence are all you have of the past; when your memory tells you one thing, but physical evidence tells you another, what version of your past is true?

“You’re the Newmaker. You can turn Care NLM into Care A, and close the loop.” (Petscop 9)

Finally, I want to explain why this theory is supportive of the themes of Petscop. Of course, there’s the obvious link between rebirth and the change from Care to Paul. But, there’s also themes of blood family versus chosen family, breaking the cycle of abuse, and of healing from your past. I want to provide an explanation of each of these themes and how the “Paul is Care” theory fits into them.

Let’s begin with the family point, since I already expanded on the family’s role in Petscop earlier. There’s a story behind the scenes in this series; the conflict between the chosen family versus the blood family. Anna and Jill against Belle and Lina. Anna and Jill are restrictive– they take over the channel and block certain things from the audience. Paul admits that he’s intimidated by them, and he’s concerned when he thinks Jill could be in contact with Belle. When we get the only dialogue from Jill, Paul is hostile and aggressive with her, something we don’t see from him otherwise. Alternately, Anna comes off as dismissive in most of her dialogue; when Care shows up at the birthday party, Anna treats her like no time has passed, like they haven’t been searching for her for months. We don’t get direct contact between Anna and Paul (except for a phone call in Petscop 11 that you could interpret as being with Anna), but the way she talks to the player through Care during the birthday party is still dismissive, “I sure hope you’ve realised by now. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve changed. You aren’t lost. Stop wandering and come home.” (Petscop 14). There’s a level of distance between Paul and the family, which is evident from the name alone; Paul identifies himself as part of the family, but he still calls them “the family” as opposed to “my family”. When you pair that with the fact that he calls them all by their first names instead of any term of endearment (like how Rainer calls her “Auntie Jill” in his spell), it paints a clear picture: Paul does not want to be part of this family.

In direct contrast, Belle is shown a significant amount of affection from Paul. Not only is he on the phone with her for a good handful of the episodes, but Belle also has a familial connection to Paul. In Petscop 2, Paul is talking to Belle and he says “When you come home next month, and uh, hopefully you're feeling a little more enthusiastic about that now, we can investigate this together, and maybe you'll find stuff that I can't find here.” (Petscop 2). I think the casual use of the word ‘home’ to describe where Belle is staying implies a certain closeness, maybe even that they live in the same household. That’s not the part of this line that is important to me, however. Take a look at Belle’s final speech at the end of Petscop; Belle says “I could not wait too be your friend,” and Paul responds, “Family”, to which Belle says, “We can investigate this together.” (Petscop Soundtrack). After distancing himself from the family, as well as directly telling her she’s not part of the family (following it up with “Uhh... I didn't- I didn't mean it that way,” (Petscop 22), implying they have a similar connection that she’s defending), Paul calls Belle family. She states that they’re friends and Paul corrects her by telling her that they’re not just friends, but family. The most gut wrenching part of this dialogue is the use of ‘we can investigate this together’. It’s like a ward, a promise that Belle is making to Paul. He doesn’t have to go through this alone, she’s promising to be there for him. She’s going to investigate this with him, like he asked her to in the second episode. Paul doesn’t call his blood relatives family, but he tells Belle that they are his family; her and the “Boss”.

How does this connect to Care? It’s not hard evidence, but when you take this theme of family into account, it makes more sense for Paul to have a strained relationship with the family if we apply Care’s story to him. Think about it; Paul was ‘smuggled away driving too [his] new house’ and he hasn’t seen the family since he was a child, and Care’s egg was (metaphorically) placed with Belle’s and the New Life Letter when she would have been around 5, since that’s the age she was when she was kidnapped. Care went through an extremely traumatic event in a toxic environment– why wouldn’t someone step in and take her out of that family? To me, this theory extends the same closure Paul gets at the end of Petscop to Care; it tells us that even after everything she went through, she finds people who love and take care of her.

Abuse is a huge focus in Petscop, both as a plot point and a major theme. Rainer’s main motivation is to expose Marvin’s abuse of both Mike and Care to the family– whether or not that’s successful is not important. Because years after Rainer’s attempt, Paul is back doing the exact same; although, his playthrough of Petscop is less of an expose and more of an attempt at solving the mystery. Now, I think it’s a little pedantic, but in this context, I think the “cycle of abuse” in Petscop refers less to a generational cycle, but a continuous cycle that happens every time Petscop is played. Care is stuck in this version of the past that Rainer has created, forced to live through it as many years as Petscop is left on. Paul doesn’t continue this cycle though; as far as we know, Paul is the only person to reach the good ending of the game, where he’s rebirthed Care into the egg and reconnected with Belle and ‘Boss’. Paul is the only person who could understand what Care needed, because it’s exactly what he needed.

Care’s trauma is replayed for us throughout Petscop. Every knowable aspect of it is shown, leaving behind a raw feeling; like somehow, Paul and Rainer have made a spectacle of her abuse. But, I don’t think that’s entirely true. Rainer, although he is bitter and vengeful, is ultimately the person who finds the truth about Care and Mike and (if we are to believe him) is also the one who found Care at the school. In the beginning, it’s obvious that Paul is playing the game to see the mystery and is slowly engulfed by it throughout the rest of the series. When the game tells him that, “Marvin picks up tool hurts me when playstation on,” (Petscop 3), Paul proceeds anyway. The same happens when Care is caught in her room; Paul sees what is obviously a child being kidnapped and continues to solve the puzzle anyway. He picks the flower, catching Care NLM, and leads Marvin to the house. Paul follows through on everything he can to ‘solve’ the mystery of Carrie Mark, but in the end, he defies what the game has told him to do and saves Care. He does what Rainer couldn’t do: he breaks the cycle of abuse in the Mark-Leskowitz family. It’s kind of poetic, the idea that the person Care grew to be is the same person who confronts and lays to rest her trauma. The fact that playing his own theme would be the key to changing Care into the egg (a symbol of birth and potential) is beautiful.

The last thing I want to talk about is the theme of healing. This concept is more nebulous; we don’t see much of Paul post-Petscop, but the final scene does always leave me feeling hopeful for him. I think the reconnection with Belle and ‘Boss’, alongside the reassurance that, “[they] can investigate this together,” shows that Paul is out of the mindset and environment Petscop put him in. I’ve always thought that throughout Petscop, we see a deterioration of Paul; in the beginning, he’s intrigued and confused, but we see him become more and more disturbed, irritable, and frustrated towards the end. This is first evident with the CD puzzle in the house, where Paul is so out of his depth and confused that he stops acting with the same calm rationality shown throughout the earlier episodes. Then, when Paul is messing about with the demo recordings, he stops speaking in the videos entirely. When Paul sees the final blacked out object, which are coordinates to the real life windmill, he is the most stuttery we’ve ever seen, “Hm. Y- y- yep, yep. Yep... yep. N- we would- we would have to find out how big... like, we'd have to find out how big a tile is..? One of the tiles..? Like, if we could- if we could figure out how big... one tile is, in... u- in, umm... Like, feet. Or... Uhh, yeah. Meters.” (Petscop 22). He’s frazzled and excited and a little bit scared, evidenced by how he talks about the family, “They didn't... I don't like talking to them. They intimidate me…” (Petscop 22). All of this changes by the end; Paul is no longer stuck playing the game and he’s free to return to the people who love him most. This freedom is summed up in a single image: the final one we see in Petscop. Paul’s chair is empty and the blue sky beyond the desk is brimming with hope.

All this to say, Paul choosing Belle and ‘Boss’ over the game as well as saving Care by doing what’s best for her instead of finishing the final puzzle, alongside his final scene where he is welcomed home by his real family, shows us an interpretation of Petscop that paints it not as a tragedy, but a story of chosen family, breaking the cycle of abuse, and healing trauma through connection.

Thank you so much for hearing me out.

Bye-bye!

[anonymous-dentist]

From the Doctor Who au I keep meaning to write:

-

Roier’s husband disappeared into the midst of the Time War just over 350 years ago.

Today, Cellbit wants to meet Jack the Ripper, so he and Roier are pushing their ways through the foggy, smelly London streets, and it’s fine. It’s just Jack the Ripper, it’s fine. It’s the British, it’s fine.

Roier can take care of himself. He’s a veteran! He’s one of the few Time Lords to actually have made it out of the war with more than one regeneration cycle to spare.

But Cellbit? He might have a very solid build and some very nice biceps, but he’s also kind of a nerd. He claims to be able to take care of himself in a fight, but Roier’s been the one saving him from all the aliens (and humans) he’s been pissing off, sooooo…

“We could have gone to the beach,” Roier grumbles.

“The beach is boring,” Cellbit huffs. “Jack the Ripper isn’t at the beach.”

“You don’t know that. Nobody knows who that guy is.”

“Not yet.”

Because that’s what they’re here: Cellbit- strange, beautiful Cellbit- has decided that he’s going to solve the mystery of who Jack the Ripper is even though, really, it doesn’t even matter.

(But what else is new?)

Roier rolls his eyes.

Once upon a time, his husband went by the title of ‘the Captain’. He was a police captain in one of Gallifrey’s smaller towns, and his sister worked by his side as the Detective.

Cellbit is a conspiracy theorist who throws bricks at police cars and criticizes serial killers not because they’re evil but because their “knife techniques” are “wrong”.

The irony is not lost on Roier, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Cellbit, despite having an entire time machine at his disposal now, wants to find Jack the Ripper, and he wants to kick him in the balls and throw him into the Thames and watch him drown.

Roier agrees. Fuck that guy.

“Fuck that guy,” Roier declares.

Cellbit nods in agreement. “Fuck him. He had so much potential.”

Roier blinks. “What?”

“Uh, I mean. He had so much potential… to get arrested and die in jail?”

Uh-huh, sure.

Roier rolls his eyes. “I think they still do public executions here, actually.”

“What, don’t you know? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of alien super genius?”

Cellbit’s smile is sharp as a knife. (He’s soooo proud of himself. Dumbass.)

He elbows Roier in the side.

Roier elbows him back. “Not everybody can be an ‘alien super genius’. Some of us are just guys who slept through Earth Class in school.”

Cellbit shoots him a look, his smile and eyes softening disgustingly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, man,” he says. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

He goes quiet for a second before quickly adding on: “Especially compared to us humans!”

He coughs into his fist and looks to the side, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

Oh, Cellbit…

Roier elbows Cellbit again. “Hey, be nice to humans! They can be smart as hell sometimes!”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Cellbit says, still turned away. “We can be really dumb sometimes, though. Like, with cars. And TikTok.”

“Fuck you, I love TikTok!”

“You would.”

Mildly outraged and somewhat offended, Roier gasps, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that you look like a TikTok guy.”

“What happened to calling me a genius?”

Cellbit bites back a laugh, not answering. Asshole.

Pouting only a little, Roier crosses his arms and kicks a pebble and tries not to step in a river of alcohol and mud going down the side of the street. Ewwwww….

Once upon a time, Roier used to go on trips with his Captain all the time. They’d hop into the Captain’s TARDIS and set the destination to random and go on at least a dozen dates a week. They’d hold hands walking down the streets, and they would kiss quite literally whenever possible.

Cellbit doesn’t hold Roier’s hand. Their fingers brush, but that’s it.

(Roier misses him so bad…)

Roier’s wedding ring feels so cold. He can only imagine how freezing the chain necklace around Cellbit’s neck is.

But they keep walking, and they keep talking, and Roier can almost pretend it’s the same as it was before the war. He wasn’t on the last of his set of 12 lives, his husband wasn’t… a fucking idiot.

Cellbit trips over a loose paving stone and almost falls, but Roier catches him by the arm and pulls him back upright- their first real physical contact since Roier picked Cellbit up for that first trip away from Earth.

Just for a second, Cellbit looks like he’s going to break. His eyes water, and his mouth thins, and his lip threatens to start wobbling pathetically.

But he pulls himself together, and he pulls his arm away.

“Thank you,” he quietly says.

He holds his body close to himself and looks anywhere but at Roier.

Roier sighs, but he smiles, anyway. Of course he does. He’s Cellbit, how could Roier not smile at him?

(This, at least, has stayed the same.)

___

If you liked this little excerpt, please reblog and comment/ask/Whatever! It really does mean a lot to me, and it lets me know that people want to read more!!

[marvelmaniac715]

I want to see more of Webby and the Lords in Black as just regular siblings, with dynamics like Pokey suffering from forgotten middle child syndrome (which is why I think he wants the loudest voice to be his own) Wiggly trying to act as the peacemaker because he’s the oldest brother (he’s their leader, of course he’s the oldest), Tinky cackling in a corner and being given the side eye by his confused brothers, Nibbly eating everything, Blinky watching all the drama go down and Webby just trying to exist whilst her brothers are mean to her for no reason. Here’s an example of what could go down in the Black and White on a weekly basis:

Tinky: Have any of you seen my Bastard’s Box? I put it down right here and I can’t find it.

Blinky: I haven’t seen it, and I see everything-

Tinky: I know, Blinky, you tell us every day.

Pokey: I think I saw-

Tinky: Shut up Pokey, we’re trying to solve a mystery here.

Wiggly: What’s the problem here? I’m trying to focus, Wiley had a new scheme he was trying to tell me about.

Tinky: Talk to your boyfriend later, we have a crisis here!

Wiggly: He’s not my- never mind, what’s going on?

Tinky *crying*: I lost my box! Teddy Bear’s in there and now he’s all alone with nobody to torture him!

Wiggly: Don’t cry, Tinky, we’ll find it.

Tinky: I bet it was Webby, that stupid bitch is always taking our stuff! I’m gonna go find her-

Pokey: It wasn’t Webby-

Wiggly: Pokey, could you shut the fuck up? Tinky’s upset.

Webby *teleporting into the Black*: I heard you say my name, what do my darling brothers want today?

Wiggly: Did you take Tinky’s box?

Webby: I’m not a monster like you, but now I wish I had because torturing humans is bad-

Tinky: You’re so stupid! Torturing humans is fun, what else is there for us to do?

Webby: Save humanity? Be benevolent gods?

Wiggly: This is why we disowned you, get out.

Webby *disappearing*: Can’t say I didn’t try…

Nibbly *casually strolling in whilst sucking on his lollipop*: What’s going on? I went to get a snack and missed everything. Fill me in, won’t you Blinky?

Blinky: Someone took Tinky’s Bastard’s Box. It’s been a lot of fun watching this, even more fun than Watcher World.

Nibbly: Oh, the box thing? I ate it, sorry.

Tinky *in shock*: You… ate it? How… why… just- what?

Nibbly: It looked like candy, I was hungry, you do the math.

Pokey: Not that any of you care about what I have to say, but someone from Hatchetfield is trying to summon us again.

[elysianightsss]

Limerence | Two

C H A P T E R T W O

limerence / lim-ê-rêns / (noun)

“Obsessive romantic attraction towards another person”

Summary: In which the owners of Jujutsu Incorporated, the Ôgami brothers, are suddenly interested in you.

Pairing: Alpha!Sukuna x reader, Alpha!Itadori x reader, Alpha!Gojo x reader, Alpha!Geto x reader, Alpha!Nanami x reader, Alpha!Kenjaku x reader

Status: Ongoing.

Genre: werewolf au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics.

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, insecurities, some descriptions of reader’s body, mention of possible ED, omegaspace, domdrop, swearing, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, Alpha tendencies.

Chapter Warnings: reader described as worryingly thin, Sukuna is mad, Kento is feral. Omegaspace, swearing, Sukuna being kicked in the nuts, self deprecation.

Masterlist | Chapter one | Chapter three

Taglist: @better-imagination-9 @tiredjuniper @jjkz @honeybeeboobaa @cherryblossomdelusion @dependsonthedream @alluresenses @qardasngan @imcamboaf @ondragonhonour

Taglist is open.

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Previously on Limerence:

You stumbled over every question, your hands shook as you wrote down his answers. You weren’t scared just so incredibly nervous, no one had ever made you feel this way before. Sukuna asked you if you had anymore questions, all you longed to ask was if his heart was beating as fast as yours but you were too afraid to hear the answer.

“N-No I don’t,” You stuttered, “that was the last one.” You looked relieved but he looked disappointed. Quickly you stood, bowed to him and rushed out of the room, you were basically jogging to get back to your office when you felt a strong hand on your shoulder spin you around, he pulled you in close, you began to tremble all over. You felt his warm breath against your lips, red eyes staring at yours intensely.

“T-This is highly inappropriate.” You tried to look anywhere but his beautiful eyes as he spoke.

“Maybe for regular people.” He nodded in agreement, then his voice took on a deeper octave, “But certainly not for my mate.”

-

“So? What was she like?” Yuji asked his twin with curiosity sparkling in his wide eyes, his breath uneven as he waited impatiently to hear about his mysterious mate. Sukuna had headed straight back to Jujutsu Incorporated headquarters after you had kicked him straight in the balls and ran like hell.

He was definitely humiliated as he lay on the ground groaning in pain, however once the pain had dissipated he was up on his feet but by then it was too late. You were gone, even your scent was disappearing too quickly for him to track.

“She was so fucking gorgeous..” he pauses because it seems too weak of a compliment to describe you, though by looking around at his brothers he could tell that they already knew that, so he continued.

“She was worryingly thin, unbearably self conscious, anxious, dangerously overtired and dehydrated.” Sukuna answered, his body vibrating with anger. He was mesmerised by you, how you managed to get the jump on him was astounding. But by the looks of you, how you managed to even be standing was astounding.

Kento cleared his throat, his body stiff making ridged movements as he tried to control himself. His mate wasn’t taking care of herself, that was his job and he was failing before he’d even had a chance to begin. Possessive and protective thoughts ran through his wired brain igniting a primal part of himself he had long thought dormant. His eyes glazed over, slowly fading to obsidian, his entire being cementing itself like a statue.

“Umm Kento?” Yuji bit his lip in worry as he examined his pack leader, he himself was worried for his mate but he knew his older brother took things to an extreme level when it came to worrying. And that was with his brothers, he can only imagine how Kento was feeling considering it’s their mate.

All six brothers felt the mate bond snap into place through their brother bond, each of them felt how Sukuna did when meeting you. Like their entire world had just become complete, like everything had fallen into place.

You on the other hand felt like you were drowning, like someone had you by the leg pulling you deeper and further down to the depths. How were you supposed to be someone’s mate, and not just anyone’s. Sukuna Ôgami one of the six most reputable brothers who essentially saved the world.

You were not worthy enough, not reputable enough to be with one of them. How would he ever be okay with just you. You weren’t okay with just you.

You had raced back home only look back when you got to your apartment building, your frantic eyes flitting about to see if you could spot him in the street, while panic clawed its way up your body causing a shiver to rack down your spine.

Everything was so overwhelming and too much stimulation, today had not been what you had expected and certainly not what you had wanted with the little sleep and no food, adding in the stressful morning.

You were practically being pulled into a stupor as you let yourself fall onto your bed. Your only safe space. You had slumped into a state of torpor from which nothing could rouse you, but that was okay if you had to let yourself fall into the depths of your blank mind for a few moments peace, you’d do that.

Sukuna could feel it, a haziness falling over him like a sweet cloud making him feel all warm and fuzzy. These weren’t his feelings there were yours and if he were to find you right now he bet his life he’d find you in omegaspace. Snuggled up in your nest looking all cute and small as you waited for you Alphas to soothe you, to make things better.

That was just the problem. He couldn’t find you, he didn’t know where you were. It seemed that Satoru had the exact same thought. “She works for Panda right? Let’s get her information from Mr. Panda then.” There was a sternness to his voice, his veiny large hand pushing through the white strands on his head, the hand itched to grab hold of a chunk and yank in frustration. But he let it fall back down to the table and scrunch in a fist instead.

“Fucking idiot.” Sukuna cursed under his breath because that’s what he was. He should’ve stuck around and got your information from your workplace. God he truly was an idiot.

“I’ll do it.” Kento was almost robotic as he moved from his seat at the table to his desk. He grabbed Mr.Panda’s personal contact number and pressed call after urgently punching in his number. Phone to his ear, he swallowed away the tension rising and trying to get the better of him as the phone rang one too many times before his friend answered.

He rushed out his words, stumbling over them as he pressed the issue at hand. You were his mate and he required your address, phone number, bank details anything the man could give him. He’d take it.

Kento listened to him talk and wrote down all the information with haste, his fancy fountain pen scratching on the paper irritatingly. The pack Alpha could feel stress start to pour into his body, swirling around him in a way that had his shoulders tense and his brows furrowed. Pushing some of his blonde hair out of his face he thanked his friend and hung up the phone.

He could feel the stares from his brothers, he knew this next part would be tricky but it also had to be done. “Only one of us should go.” Kento said, with a look saying it should be him. Instantly the rest of the pack argued with frowns before Sukuna but in.

“It should be me. She already met me, she might feel a little more at ease.” Sukuna wrung his hands together, he wanted desperately to see you again. He could feel you still in your fluffy cloud of softness, and fuck if he wasn’t itching to see you in your nest, to join you.

“He has a point actually.” Kenjaku voices his opinion, “This isn’t about what we want;” he cuts off Yuji who was about to complain, “this is about what’s going to be comfortable for her. After all our mate’s comfort is what’s most important here. Right?” He raises his eyebrow daring someone to question him. It’s times like these that Kento knows if he wasn’t born pack Alpha, Kenjaku would have been.

“Right.” Everyone in the room agrees.

“Then it’s settled. Only Sukuna will go collect our mate.”

-

A loud thump pulls you from your stupor yet there is an echo of it that tries to lull you back into the darkness. You try to let yourself sink back into the haze but the loud thumping persists pulling you out of the safety of your nest. Even in your current haziness your heart ricochets in your chest when you open the door to find two large men staring down at you.

You recognise Sukuna instantly, it’s hard not to. But the other man, though he seems familiar, is a stranger to you.

“Hello bunny.” Sukuna’s word have your breath hitching in your throat. His entire presence seems to put your body at ease, a rather big contrast to his darker aura. It almost pushes you back into your haziness, further down the deep rabbit hole you’re now desperate to climb out of.

“This is my brother Kenjaku.” He says it so casually like you’re familiar with one another, like you’re in a conversation and had happened to ask. Yet in reality, this large pink haired man stood in your doorframe taking up all of the space and his brother stood behind him, brown eyes never leaving you even for a second, are both uninvited guests.

Though Kenjaku wasn’t even supposed to be there, he’d followed his brother and popped out of the shadows just before Sukuna was about to knock on your door. “What happened to just me?” Sukuna scoffed at his brother who simply shrugged his shoulders and rapped his knuckles against your door.

“Hello Princess.” The corner of his lip turn up, only on one side. It looks like he doesn’t know how to smile, the thought almost makes you sad. Almost.

“Why…w-whys yer here?” You try so hard to not stumble over your words but fail miserably while giving your tired eyes a rub. It makes both men coo at you, it’s not condescending yet somehow feels as though it is in your daze. So you pout, annoyed that they have simply come to mock you. The more awake and stoic part of you wishes that you were coherent for this conversation.

“For our mate of course.” Sukuna smiles cheekily stepping forward, catching you when you step back only to fall. His words startle, have you looking back up to where his eyes stare back into yours. The fall and fact your back in his arms doesn’t compute, you’re too busy with the other thing.

“Our?” You swallowed hard, the word heavy on your tongue, leaving a weird taste in your mouth.

“Yes bunny. Ours. Me, Kenjaku and our brothers.” Sukuna confirmed with a sharp nod, helping you stand steady on your feet but the room kept spinning. You stumbled away from the door towards your big grey couch, you dropped down on it lumberingly, fingers sinking into the soft blanket gracing it.

You felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you at the realisation that not only was Sukuna Ôgami your mate but so were his five brothers. You could barely come to terms with the fact that one of them was your mate let alone six of them.

“S-Six of y-you.” You were breathless as you tried to come to terms with it. Sukuna and Kenjaku looked at each other, worry sparkling in their eyes even when they fixed their expressions.

“I realise this is alot to take in.” Kenjaku spoke softly, it had Sukuna’s eyes animatedly popping out his head. His brother had a soft side to him? Since-uh-when. Kenjaku was trying to keep his wolf at bay, his control not as strong as Sukuna’s or Kento’s. He didn’t understand why you weren’t happy about having six Alphas to take care of you.

But he was doing his best to soothe you in the way his wolf was telling him to. It is too much for pretty mate. This had Kenjaku’s eyes flashing black for second, why was it too much?

“I can’t do this!” You screeched hands gripping at your hair in frustration, “why would I of all people be gifted six alphas?!” You cried desperately wanting to know the answer. Gifted. He guesses that’s a good sign, at least you thought of a mate as a gift rather than a curse.

You blink up at both men and realise, your living room has never looked so small, they take up so much space. With just two of them the place is tiny, how’s it going to look with six of them? Your mind bounces around, worry still present and spinning you into a tizzy, yet you practically preen when Kenjaku’s eyes travel over you like he can see underneath your clothes. It makes a tense feeling in the pit of your stomach start to form, a feeling you’re not familiar with.

You suddenly wanted to be wrapped in their strong arms, you note that they both look like the warriors the news makes them out to be. Huge, brawny and very attractive. How were they yours? How were you worthy of this? And how were they going to ever love you when they find out what you did?