#i feel frayed like disintegrating at the seems

[witherbythesword]

happy falling into the hole which resembles your grave but isn't, get out of this hole sunday

[daisykihannie]

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙷.𝙹𝚂

pairing: succubus!Jisung x afab gn!reader

warnings: smut, NSFW, spit, squirting, choking, degradation, fucking demons, monster cock, slapping, blood, bdsm, etc.

chapter 2 | chapter 3

"Come on Y/N! don't be such a coward~" your best friend Felix purred from his spot on your couch. He was watching you with a smirk as you stare down at the rustic looking book in your hands. The cover was tattered and the spine was disintegrating. The book was well worn from decades of use.

"Summoning demons? Felix this is-" your words died on your tongue, unable to think of an accurate way to describe the idea Felix chirped out as if it was the most common thing in the world.

"My dear best friend, you need to get laid and clearly you're not going to be bringing anyone home anytime soon. I've done it a couple times and honestly?" he paused momentarily, looking up at the ceiling. He seemed to be recalling some distant memory as a blush rose up the expanse of the pale skin of his neck reaching the tips of his ears.

"Lixie?" your voice rang out softly, unable to hide the slight quiver in the single word. Anxiety plaguing your senses as you awaited the blonde male to finish his sentence.

"It was some of the most mind-blowing sex I've ever had. That demon did things to me that isn't even possible for a human to accomplish." he hummed as his gaze met your again. You bit your bottom lip deep in thought as you gently moved the book around in your hands, fingertips fiddling with the fraying fabric of the cover.

"is- is it safe?" you asked, uncertainty still wrapping your words like a thick blanket, weighing them down so they were just a bit harder to force out of your vocal cords that felt tight in your throat.

"Y/N-ie..." he started before slowly climbing off the couch. His knees connecting with the cold surface of the hard word floors as he made his way to your side. You didn't move from your spot even when you felt his small warm hand land on your upper thigh, rubbing soothing circles against the bare skin that wasn't quite covered by your lounge shorts.

"I wouldn't even suggest the idea if I wasn't 100% confident that everything would be fine." you felt your shoulders relax at his comforting words. Your lungs were burning ever so slightly as you exhaled a breath you were unaware to be holding.

His eyes remained on you, searching your features for any unease. He truly only had the best intentions for you, noticing that you were so pent up that you couldn't focus on much of anything, getting aggravated and frustrated at the tiniest inconveniences. He just wanted you to relax, let go, and relieve all the built up stress for the past few weeks.

He had even offered to help you out on more than one occasion, just wanting to do anything to help you. It wasn't that you didn't want to sleep with him per say. He was insanely attractive, had a nice body with toned abs, and his voice could easily bring you to a state of euphoria on its own without any need to be touched. The problem was that he was your best friend. You saw him as just that, never really wanting to ruin that with any sexual or possible romantic feelings.

After a few moments of contemplating, you released your bottom lip from the vice grip of your teeth before nodding. "Okay, yeah. What could go wrong?" you giggled softly feeling a bit silly from being so anxious about the idea when Felix had done it more than once and was very clearly more than fine, sitting right next to you.

But, those were always someone's famous last words. When you ask that one question, the universe decides that if anything could go wrong then they will go wrong.

Felix stayed at your apartment for a couple more hours, watching movies together but eventually he left and it was just you and the book left alone. It remained in its spot on your coffee table, taunting you as you stared at it. Anxiety bubbling in your chest yet again at the thought of summoning a demon.

It didn't help your anxiety that you'd resorted to having to summon a demon to get laid. How pathetic was that? It's not that you couldn't go out to a random bar or club and bring a guy home but, it was just too tedious and potentially dangerous to do that. Funny how that was too dangerous in your mind but summoning a literal demon from hell wasn't.

You took a few deep breaths, calming the storm that was raging against your rib cage threatening to break through the skin. Once your heartbeat began to return to a normal rhythm, your finger tips curled gently around the worn cover, contemplating opening the book for the first time when your phone chimed.

The noice ringing through your far too quiet apartment caused you to yelp in surprise and jump far too much for your own liking. The book flying into the air a bit before landing into your lap. Clutching your chest, feeling your heart threatening to break free again you grabbed your phone from the other side of the couch to see a text message from Felix.

Unlocking your phone with shaking hands your eyes followed across the black lines of text on the illuminated screen that read "I forgot to tell you, do not- I repeat, DO NOT make the spell permanent. as long as you don't do that, everything will be fine." the text causing an ominous feeling to cocoon your body, breathing getting even harder in the now tense air that filled your apartment.

"It's fine Y/N... just fucking get it over with..." you mumbled in a weak attempt of giving yourself a pep talk but never the less, your fingers slipped under the hand cover again, finally opening the book. Your eyes skimmed over lines of English translations encompassing spells written in tongues.

Each page had a different spell, an illustration of the creature to be summoned, and descriptions of how to set up the spell and what each creature's purpose was. There were so many pages with entities you had no clue even existed, then your eyes landed on a page that was strikingly different from the rest.

This page had the title of "Succubus" and the writing was in red instead of black to match the previous pages. There were lewd sketches behind the written words, and warnings written along with the similar content of the other pages. What stood out was the big bold black lettering that read "SAFE WORD: ANGELIC" it was a bit ironic but fitting, surely the mention of anything holy would catch a demons attention.

A small chuckle fell for your lips at the silly thought of getting wrecked by a demon when the safe word is said, the demon recoiling in pain and hissing away from the summoner, the imagery similar to that of a horror film when an evil entity gets splashed with holy water or is faced with a cross.

Shaking your head softly, bringing yourself out of the comedic scene that played out in your head as you read every line thoroughly. Reading each word two to three times, dedicated to committing every tiny detail to memory to guarantee you don't fuck anything up.

Once you felt confident with the retained knowledge you let out a soft hum, feeling a lot less anxious than before. You were sure you couldn't fuck this up even if you tried.

(foreshadowing?)

Pulling yourself off your spot on the couch, you placed the book onto your hardwood floors, open to the necessary page and traveled through your home collecting the objects needed to perform the ritual. Humming a small tune as you skipped throughout the space, filling your arms before placing them in a small pile next to the book.

Realizing you didn't have enough space for the ritual you pushed your couch away from the center of the room till it hit a wall, the coffee table following in the opposite direction. Once you had enough space, you kneeled by your supplies reading over the book one more time before beginning to set up.

First step was to make a pentagram out of ashes, luckily you had a decently sized jar full of your incense ashes to use. The next step was to place a candle at each point of the star and one in the center. Then You were instructed to light each one with a match in a specific order, starting with the one at top point of the star and working your way around clockwise and ending with the center candle.

It specifically stated to not use a lighter, luckily there had been a box of matches in the back of one of the kitchen drawers when you moved in that you hadn't bothered to throw out. It was starting to feel a bit odd that you miraculously had every single item that was necessary but you brushed off the thought, continuing the ritual.

After the candles were lit, you had to recite the spell three times perfectly. That's the part that worried you a bit considering the spell was written in a foreign language but you were determined to pronounce every last syllable perfectly.

"Lastly, seal with deal with just a single drop of your blood" you repeated back to yourself from the book that lied open to your side. Picking up the sewing needle you'd found while on your scavenger hunt, using it to prick the soft, uncalloused flesh of your index finger, letting out the tiniest of hisses as a bead of crimson liquid formed on the skin.

Squeezing your finger under the pin prick causing more blood rushing out of the tiny wound, you held your finger above the center candle, high enough to not get burned but close enough to line the droplet up with the flickering yellow flame.

When your blood finally let gravity win, the droplet landed perfectly over the flame, snuffing out the fire before a large gust of wind blew through your home. Your lights went out and the force was strong enough to put out the rest of the candles, pushing any light weight furniture away from the pentagram, colliding with the walls with a loud echoing boom. The gust knocked objects off of the more solid surfaces, causing them to clatter against walls or to the floor.

It was even strong enough to throw your body back, causing your spine to collide with the edge of your couch, an oof being forced out of your chest at the contact and the air seemed to be sucked from your lungs. Once the wind was gone, your eyes shot back open to see your apartment in disarray, gasping to refill your lungs of the oxygen that was ripped from them.

Looking around the space, other than the effects of the wind, nothing was different. There wasn't a sex demon standing in front of you or really anywhere in sight. Confused eyes raked through your your surrounding to be met with nothing. It didn't work. Letting out a groan and rolling your eyes, you started restoring order to your living area.

Once everything was put back in their places you picked up your phone from it's location on your couch cushions before flopping onto the rough and plush surface. Unlocking your phone and opening your chat with Felix, you typed out a quick "didn't work, asshole. Can't believe I fell for your stupid prank." pressing send and turning your phone off again, a sigh escaped you as your body quickly felt far too heavy for your liking.

Your body felt like lead, truly and utterly exhausted. Your body was too heavy to lift any of your limbs as you drifted out of consciousness, the whole ordeal exerting far too much stress on your body than it could handle but that's nothing a long night of sleep couldn't fix. Finally giving in to the exhaustion, your body fell into the darkness of dreamland.

"Damn... what the fuck?" an unfamiliar voice rang through your home not reaching your brain in its unconscious state.

"Oh~? They're a cute one."

A groan slipped from deep within your soul as you began to wake up, stiff from the uncomfortable position you'd fallen asleep in on your couch. Your eyes remained screwed shut, not wanting to be awake at the moment but your body was screaming at you to ease the strain on your sore muscles.

You willed yourself to stretch out, baring resemblance to a cat as your arms reached out as far as possible above your head, legs mimicking the motion in the opposite direction. As you tried to turn your hips to finish off the most satisfying stretch of your life, they wouldn't move. It felt like they were pinned to the couch underneath you.

A groan of annoyance and confusion left your body at the incomplete stretch of your body, a huff escaping your lungs as your relaxed back down. Still not opening your eyes, not prepared for the blazing sunlight that threatened to seep through your eye lids as you attempted to roll to your side, yet again your hips didn't separate from the cushion underneath them.

"Can you stop fucking moving?" a growl filled your ears of an unfamiliar voice, sending a shiver across every nerve in your body. Alarms blaring in your head as your eyes shot open, flailing to get up as your fight or flight kicked in. The weight on your pelvis suddenly registering in your new found consciousness.

The weight remained unmoving as you looked down to see what the culprit of it was, seeing a heap of giant black...wings!? The adrenaline coursed through your veins, fueling your body to actually work. Pushing whatever the fuck was on your lap off of you with a strength you didn't know you had. A loud thud pierced your eardrums followed by a hiss as it made contact with the floor.

Only then being met with glowing pink orbs, piercing your soul and freezing you in place. It was a person? No. Not a person, people don't have giant black wings and a tail. People don't have eyes that glow neon pink. Your brain was desperately trying to comprehend what it was seeing, running a million miles a minute trying to come up with any realistic explanation for what you'd woken up to.

Unfortunately your brain wasn't making sense of the situation fast enough. The creature was standing up off the ground and rubbing their bare shoulder. Your eyes were frantically looking around your apartment which was still exactly how you'd left it the night prior, no evidence of a break in.

"Didn't I tell you to stop moving?" the creature growled again in annoyance, rolling the shoulder they seemed to have landed on, taking slow languid steps towards you. "Do you humans not know how to obey a fucking order?" the words brought your attention back to the creature closing in on you, your body instinctively backing away from the threat making it's way closer to you.

But of course your back hit the wall, inevitably corning you as they continued stalking closer. Your eyes scanned down the body in front of you, alarms going off in your head again for different reasons now. These alarms are the ones that finally got your mouth working.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NAKED!?" that was definitely not the first thing you'd expected to ask the stranger. Literally anything else would've been a better thing to ask like, who are you? or how'd you get in my apartment? but no, you saw cock and your touch starved brain just needed to make note of it.

"That's the first thing your human brain decides to ask me?" the creature tsked in mocking, pausing their advances to chuckle. The fear in your eyes bringing them enjoyment, your body shaking only bringing more chuckles from their chest.

"N-no! who are you!? what are you doing in my apartment!? how did you even get in here!?" your brain started working out all the questions in your head at the same time, causing you to frantically blurt out your questions way too quickly for the other to respond.

"You humans really are as stupid as they say..." long, black, talon-like fingers carded through the long blue locks that nestled neatly on the top of their head with a sigh. You couldn't find a response, hoping the other would finally explain what was going on.

When the silence egged on for a bit too long the towering male finally spoke up again. "Do you forget that you literally summoned me forever ago before falling unconscious?" his eyebrow quirked up in questioning as last night's events began replaying in your brain.

"It- no. that didn't- it was a fucking prank, nothing happened last night." your gaze still refusing to meet his and you weren't sure if you were trying to convince the one in front of you or yourself with your words, neither working as the creature erupted into a sickly cackle, a chill running down your spine as you felt yourself start to break out into cold sweats.

This was so so wrong. This can't be real, you're still asleep right? RIGHT!?

"You wouldn't have a succubus standing in front of you if that was the case now would you doll?" his words made another shiver run down your spine. The tone was flirty, almost hypnotizing you as you felt your body begin to heat up. Eyes finally traveling from the floor, up the expanse of the other's body and to their face.

Your gazes locked together and no matter how hard you tried, no matter how loud your brain was screaming at you to run, you couldn't. You were locked in a trance caused by those glowing pink eyes that made you feel nauseatingly bare and vulnerable. It felt like your skin was ripped open and flipped inside out, showing the other every single thing you'd kept tucked away inside for no other soul to see.

Your soul was barren and exposed to the other, you could feel them inside your brain, pulling out every single thought, desire, and need you'd ever felt. You body was betraying you, stepping closer to the other as you lost control of yourself, handing it all over to this stranger, this thing, that so easily willed every single drop of control from your cells.

Your body felt like it was on fire, your brain turning into cotton candy, the voice of the other ringing in your head accompanied by your heartbeat that pounded loudly in your ears. "That's it~ just like that. Give it all to me. Every wish, every desire, every want, every need. Give me your lust and I'll serve you. I will be your sexual servant until the day I'm rewarded with that sweet soul of yours."

Before you knew it, those long black fingers wrapped around your jaw, talons digging into the flesh of your burning cheeks forcing your mouth open. Your gazes never breaking as he took complete control of your psyche, senses flooding with nothing but him.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, the pink wet muscle twitching for the other as they leaning in closer and closer. Your pupils were blown wide as the taller male stuck his own tongue out and it began to tangle with yours, ripping a submitting whimper from somewhere deep inside of you, your body fully submitting to the entity that ripped all control from your being.

Your gazes remained locked on eachother as drool began spilling from your mouths, creating glistening trails down the hand that remanded wrapped around your jaw. The dance of your tongues pulling heaving breaths from your chest as your lips finally connected and you felt your body shaking, almost vibrating in the grip of the other.

The long sleek black tail encompassed your waist in a vice grip as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate as your lips clashed together fighting against one another. Then the demon shut his eyes, breaking the trance you were trapped in and your body gave out. Every muscle burned and your body trembled as all the strength left you, the only thing keeping you from melting to the floor was that tail that'd locked around your waist.

Breaking the connection between the two of you, ripping his lips from yours. A messy string of saliva keeping you two connected for just a moment longer before the other used their tail to ease you to the ground. Your body convulsed as if you'd just had the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your chest heaved in a desperate attempt to recover the oxygen that you'd been deprived of in that mind frying exchange that left you barely hanging onto your own consciousness. Your limbs were buzzing as you remained in a puddle on the floor. You were left as just a fraction of what you once were, a searing pain on your tongue barely registering in your brain as you fought to recover. Inevitably losing the battle and slipping back into a state of unconsciousness.

The demon watched as you finally gave into the rest your body desperately needed, your fight lasting significantly longer than any of the other humans he's dealt with in the past. This causing his interest to peak as he crouched down to your still trembling but unconscious form. His fingers pushing the hair that stuck to the sweat on your face back, feeling something new as he gazed at your beauty.

"You're a special one aren't you..." he hummed, asking nobody in the silent apartment since he knew you couldn't answer. He wasn't sure what the feeling was that coursed through his veins. It was something new, something special that he'd never experienced in his eternity as a succubus and in that moment, he knew he was fucked.

Your body felt even heavier as you stirred, waking up from what felt like a month long coma. Your brain began to recall the last two times you were conscious, memories causing you to shoot up from where you lay, looking around frantically trying to gather yourself.

Instead of waking up on the floor, you were in your bed and you were alone. Everything seemed normal as you concluded that everything that had happened was just a horrible nightmare. Letting out a sigh of relief, relaxing further into the safety of the plush blankets that encompassed your body and nuzzling into to comfort of your mattress.

Unfortunately that comfort didn't last long as you suddenly felt really really hot. Throwing the blankets off your body trying to cool off with the air of your ceiling fan cascading across your clammy, sweat covered, flesh but you just kept feeling hotter and hotter. Ripping the clothes off your body also did nothing to satiate the heat that was radiating off of you, a frustrated whimper escaping your throat through clenched teeth.

You screwed your eyes shut in frustration, using your hands to wipe off the sweat that continued to drench your skin. The stinky feeling of being drenched in sweat was just frustrating you more as your sheets stuck to your skin. You continued writhing around desperately in agony, needing some form of relief from the heat that kept building, wet hot tears streaming down your cheeks now.

You finally decided to climb out of bed and take an ice cold shower as a final attempt to cool off, but as soon as you stood up and put your weight on your feet you were hit with a dizziness you'd never experienced before. It felt like your insides were boiling as you crumpled to the floor, the spinning in your head racking your body with overwhelming nausea.

Suddenly your bedroom door flew open and your vision continued spinning as you looked up to see none other than the demon standing in the doorway. Your expression displaying your anguish as the demon leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly with muscular arms crossed across the expanse of his broad, muscular chest. A groan ripped through you, followed by a gag as the male's form wavered back and forth in your vision.

You clutched your stomach, your finger nails digging deeply into the flesh, far too uncomfortable in your own skin. Unfortunately your stomach was too empty from not eating in two days to actually expel anything from it as your dry heaved. You were clawing at the rug under your knees with the hand that held your body up, the other hand still digging into the flesh at your side.

You were fucking desperate to stop feeling everything. To calm the storm of nausea and to stop the searing heat inside your organs. All you felt was disparity.

As if he could read your mind, the succubus approached you and got on his knees on the floor in front of you before scooped you into his arms. He wrapped himself tightly around you, his skin was ice cold as he tried to cover as much of your flesh as he could with his own to cool you off. You were already beginning to feel some relief from the heat but your insides still felt like they were boiling.

A desperate whine escaped you, tears still steadily pouring down your face as your frantically nuzzled into the coldness that was the demon. Surely you looked like a drug addict going through withdrawal as your nails dug into the tan skin of the other, leaving bright red streaks all over the previously pristine skin.

Your brain was everywhere but also no where at the same time, you felt like a feral animal, writhing in pain and clawing at everything your nails came into contact with but the demons grip never wavered and never loosened as he held you tightly against him.

"Hot... so- so hot... please... s-stop it..." you were babbling at this point, not even sure if your words even came out coherently. "Shhhhh my sweet, I know. I know. I'm sorry." the demon's words seemed painfully sincere and his grip remained firm. He genuinely seemed to want to make it stop, soft hisses escaping his lips as your nails drew blood.

The whirring and buzzing in your head was so loud and you truly felt like your sanity was slipping. You couldn't focus on anything other than the need to cool down, when suddenly you were pulled into a firm kiss. His lips locked with yours as they moved together lazily and your body began to still. Your mind was finally quiet, the buzzing stopping completely as the demon's tongue filled your mouth, and began licking at every surface it could reach, causing your body to finally cool down.

Your insides no longer felt like they were boiling as the calm feeling took over you. It felt like you'd escaped an inferno just to be plunged into the deepest part of the ice blue ocean. A whimper of relief was swallowed by the demons mouth as his tight grip remained. You turned in his lap to straddle the strong muscles of his thighs, not breaking the languid kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck keeping your half lidded eyes locked on the demon.

With your mind and body finally settled, you were finally able to admire his beauty. He had long black eyelashes that rested softly on the tan skin of his cheeks and his eyebrows were beautifully straight and well kept. His midnight blue hair contrasted perfectly against the tan skin that was void of any imperfections. Pulling away from the kiss and panting heavily, your mouth remained parted slightly as your eyes traveled down the expanse of his facial features.

He had such a soft and round button nose and his cheeks were puffy, resemblance uncanny to a squirrel or chipmunk. His lips were spit slicked, red, and swollen from the kissing and he had a soft jawline that made him look far too cute for a demon. His eyes fluttered open to meet your glassy ones, the pink wasn't as intense as your first meeting. They seemed hazy and darker, the color look closer to a magenta than the blazing hot pink from before.

"It's lust. I'm a demon of lust and after we sealed the contract, your lust that you kept pent up poured out at full intensity. It normally isn't this bad but I guess you've been keeping it at bay for far too long." his voice was soothing as he explained what had happened to your body. The voice no longer emitting panic from you and instead replacing that with a serene type of calm. This demon was completely different than before. He seemed almost... tamed?

You hummed at the new information, your brain still a bit hazy as your hips began rolling slowly across the demons still bare cock, now making you realize that you were also completely naked as the rock hard cock slipped between your folds. Your arousal slicking up the long expanse of his shaft.

The fucked out expression still on your face as you stared at him with so much need and intensity that he felt his breath hitch. His was cock twitching in response to your movements and pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves causing your body to jolt slightly. A whimper of pure need slipped past your swollen lips as your lashes fluttered slightly, not wanting to let your eyes close so you could keep admiring the pretty demon in front of you.

"Well, why don't you help me out with my lust and service me? My pretty demon." you hummed as your hips began to pick up their pace ever so slightly. The cock resting beautifully between your folds was drenched in your juices and the fluids began cascading further past where you were connecting, coating the muscular thighs in them as well. Sloppy wet sounds filling the room as his cock continued to slip against your core and you continued rolling your hips against it. The lewd and sloppy sounds causing goosebumps to erupt along your skin in arousal.

"Jisung. My name is jisung." the demon purred as the hands resting on your hips tightened into a bruising grip slightly guiding your hips and sharp pricks from his claws barely braking the skin causing you to hiss and arch your back. You were so sensitive and so desperate that you began to drool all over your chin and down the male's chest.

"God, you're such a messy slut for me. So fucking filthy." his words had venom laced through them that embarrassingly made you whimper, your hips starting to stutter as the still sore muscles in your thighs began to burn. Jisung must've noticed your struggling because in a flash he had your positions swapped, pinning you to the floor keeping his cock flush against you, not letting it slip in just yet.

The long slender fingers left their places on your hips, one hand planted firmly next to your head to keep the larger male above you as the other snaked up your sides. Razor-like claws stinging as they painted long red marks up your skin before lightly grazing across your collarbone. The digits wrapping eerily around your throat, pinning you filmy to the ground.

The grip was strong but not strong enough to cut off airflow, just enough to cause you to go lightheaded, a whine ripping through you as the demon kept his hips still. Your desperation causing you to plant your feet firmly to the floor and begin frantically grinding up against the cock that remained nestled between your folds.

"p-please... ji-sung...." you gasped and choked out, eyes pleading with the seemingly unfazed demon. His poker face was unbroken but he was fighting his own battle to keep from ripping you in half on his cock, having his way with you. and making you scream for him.

"But you're doing such a good job fucking yourself against my cock. Go on doll, use me to fall apart." he said before shifting his weight to be supported by his thighs as a sharp smack landed on your cheek, the sting settling into the reddening skin before another one followed in the exact same spot.

You were about to beg to be filled when your hips began to convulse, eyes rolling back as a silent scream ripped through your chest. You were cumming harder than you've ever cum in your entire life. Squirting all over the tan skin and tensing muscles as the demon rolled his hips to coax you through it.

"That's it, that's my pretty slut, covering me with your cum from getting slapped. Such a good fucking whore." his final sentence came out as a growl through clenched teeth. The sound was primal, almost animalistic and it only spurred you to keep cumming harder.

Your hole fluttered desperately around nothing as your thighs began to shake, body hitting the floor as you came down from your orgasm. The hand on your throat unwrapped itself and the demon sat back on his haunches watching your body twitch in bliss. His cock still painfully hard when you came to.

Seeing his rock hard cock still drenched in your orgasm, his abs glistening as your fluids cascaded down, and the sloppy wet mess you'd made of the demon made you need more. You were left panting on the floor as your trembling fingers wrapped around the backs of your thighs, spreading yourself open for the demon, your hole still fluttering and grasping around nothing and needing to be filled.

"Come on Sungie~ I can take it. Fill me with you cum, please?" you purred and you could see his eyes change. That feral hot pink flashing over the darker magenta color, seemingly fighting his urges as his eyes remained locked on your sloppy hole.

"Don't fight it su-AH!" you didn't get a chance to finish your sentence as the demon bottomed out inside of you, the burning stretch of his huge cock making you scream but your screaming only seemed to spur him on further as his hips began slamming into you.

His hips were immediately relentless as he jack hammered into you, his cock so big it caused a bulge to form in your belly every time he bottomed out. Gutteral growls and grunts erupted from the demons throat as his talons dug into your hips, holding you in place. "Oh fuck- so fucking sloppy and tight-" he growled, his hips never fathering.

The pain of the stretch and overstimulation mixing with the pleasure of his cock stretching your walls and abusing your sweet spot was so overwhelming. Your nails were digging into the muscles of Jisung's back, sure to draw blood as you continued screaming out for the other.

"fuck! oh my- ngggghhh! Ji- fuck! sung!" you couldn't form a coherent sentence if you tried, it all felt too good as you were practically split open on the monstrous cock. Your back was arching off the ground harshly as he leaned forward, both your chests flushed together and you could feel his sharp canines dragging against the soft skin along the column of your neck.

"You said you could take it didn't you? come in doll~ don't make me make you eat your words." his voice was deep, causing chills to run along your skin as wanton moans continued to escape you. The knot in your stomach snapping once again as you clamped tightly around the cock buried deep inside of you, earning a hiss from the demon who's pace remained bruising.

"So fucking tight- squeezing my cock so good like the fucking whore you are." the demon pushed himself back up one one hand to stare down at your fucked out expression as you were slammed back into overstimulation after your second orgasm, the demon not stopping anytime soon.

His free hand moved up your body to grab your jaw again, pushing his fingers into your cheeks to force your teeth to separate and your mouth to open wide for him. Drool was all over your cheeks and your chin, covering the hand that held your mouth open.

"Such a sloppy bitch. I fucking love it~" his words caused your stomach to tighten and your hole to clench around him again, eliciting another deep moan from him. "Such a good fucking whore, you were made to take this fucking cock weren't you?" his sentence ended with him spitting on that sloppy pink muscle in your mouth and a broken whimper left your body.

"f-f-fuck... I'm... ngggghhh" you couldn't even tell the demon you were gonna cum again before you were convulsing on his cock again. Overstimulation becoming way too much for your body that was vibrating and trembling and your brain was melted into a puddle.

"I'm gonna stuff you full of my fucking cum, you better take it all like a good fucking Fleshlight." he grunted out, you weren't coherent enough to respond as the hand holding your mouth open wrapped around your throat again, squeezing the sides to cut off blood flow and bring you that euphoric dizzy feeling again.

He continued to abuse your hole as he approached his own orgasm. You clenched your teeth as your back arched off the ground again, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as you were fucked silly by the demon. One of your hands wrapped around the wrist that held you by your throat, nails digging into the unmarked flesh in an attempt to keep yourself conscious.

Your other hand clawed at the muscles in his back again before becoming a tight fist with whitening knuckles as your repeatedly punched the demon in the side and back, far too overwhelmed to go any longer. "My slut feeling so good she can't handle it? Have to hit me to keep from going brain dead huh? Demon cock too much to handle doll?" his words were mocking, rubbing it in that he did in fact make you eat your words.

Luckily after just a couple more slams into you, his movements stilled as his cock twitched deep inside you. Hot white ropes painted your insides, his cock filling you so much that his cum had nowhere to go as it slipped out from around his cock where you clamped around him again and you were wrecked by a fourth orgasm. His hips were barely moving in and out as he rode out his high, causing more cum to leak out from where the two of you were connected.

Once his orgasm ended he slowly pulled out of you, a whine escaping you as you continued convulsing on the floor. His cum was leaking out of your stretched out hole and mixing with the fluids of your own orgasm, both of your sweat, your droll and spit, and other bodily fluids that covered both of you and formed a puddle on the floor.

You your panting heavily, brain still melted and you felt the demon scoop you up from the floor. You weren't lucid enough after the fuck of your life to say, do, or think anything as you lay limp in his arms. Next thing you could feel was water encompassing your body and a rag was being dragged along your sticky flesh. Your eyes remained shut, still unable to register much of anything happening. It felt like you were outside of you body, watching the demon care for you.

For a sex demon, Jisung was awfully sweet after the contract was sealed. He gave you a bath and took his own with you, having your back pressed against his chest as he held you up in the water and cleaned you up. He did a very thorough job of getting every sticky fluid off of your body and out of any crevices it could've ended up, even shampooing your hair twice to get everything out of it.

After the bath, he wrapped a towel around his hips and dried you off with a towel of your own before carrying you bridal style to your bed which luckily stayed clean due to fucking on the floor. He planted you softly in the bed and wrapped you up in your blankets. Next, he removed the towel wrapped around his waist and used it to ruffle his wet hair once again, drying it off as much as possible before using it to clean up the floor.

You watched him through half lidded eyes, vision still hazy as he cleaned up the mess. When you saw him turn to leave, your shaking hand wrapped around his ice cold wrist causing the demon to look at you. "D-don't go... s-stay?" your voice was so small and fragile as you pleaded with the demon.

You couldn't see it but his cheeks heated up at your adorable actions, a funny feeling in his chest and his heart beating a bit faster. Even if he wanted to say no, which he definitely did not, how could he when you looked at him with a pout on your lips and those sparkly puppy dog eyes.

Letting out a fake annoyed sigh, he climbed into the bed behind you, spooning your smaller frame. He stayed above the covers, still completely naked but luckily you'd gotten use to the fact that the demon never wore any clothes. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his strong form, holding you tightly as you fell asleep.

Once your soft snores filled the room and your chest rose and fell rhythmically as you breathed deeper, he knew you were asleep. He carded his fingers through your hair and took a moment to just admire how stunning you were, pout still on your lips as you slept and that strange fluttery feeling filled his chest again.

"How the hell am I supposed to say goodbye to you and take that beautiful soul..." he mumbled to himself, now fully aware of just how fucked he truly was and it was all because of you. A beautiful human who was perfect inside and out. "...I just had to go and get tamed by a stupid human." he mumbled but the expression on his face contradicted his cold words. The fond smile on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes when he gazed at you told a completely different story.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Embers are beginning to simmer, and smoke is rising. Something is on its way.... Hehe, here is another chapter my loves. I will be posting (attempting) almost daily now with updates as I am keen to finish this series with you all! <3

Chapter 96: Whispers 

Aemond had left not too long after his offering of the blade to you.

You had taken it, with shaky hands and held it in your own as Aemond watched. He seemed on guard, as though he half expected for you to plunge the blade inside him. 

But you didn’t. 

And instead, the smallest of sobs had fallen from your lips, and you had whispered a small 'thank you' to him, before throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss goodbye. 

You could not use it on Aegon, not unless you wished for your own death, but it was an option. Something you didn’t have much of in a time like this, and it was something that eased parts of your fears and worries. 

For to have a weapon of protection is far better than to not. 

It was clear that Aemond had the blade forged especially for you. Something that he had gotten made before this moment, something he had the foresight to do.

Something he had clearly thought on for nights, to acquire Valyrian steel, rare as it was, to create the design, and have it ready before his departure, something he clearly sensed was coming.

Something he had warned you about in his study.

Rebellions in Riverrun.

The hilt was small enough for your hand to hold, and not too heavy, the perfect balance within your palm. It was obvious, if not glaringly so, that Aemond had put a lot of thought into giving you this, but what truly gave it away was the two dragons and their stones. 

Black and Green.

Kasta se Zōbrie.

You had watched Aemond leave, and tucked the blade between the space of the mattress and headboard as he turned his back, hiding it somewhere just within reach so that you could easily grab it, conspicuously if needed, if you happened to find yourself with the King again.

For the next two days, you locked yourself away in your chambers to hide, asking your two maids to stay with you, having them sleep on the chaise and armchair in the chambers. 

You barely slept, and when you did, you were plagued with nightmares of your eldest uncles return.

The slightest sound in the chambers alerted you to a presence that was not there, heart racing and eyes wide. You were sure your heart would eventually give out with the way it was constantly stuttering in your chest. And so you slept with your hand beneath the pillow, fingertips grazing the hilt of the blade.

When the fifth day had come and gone, you had started to feel yourself become undone. 

Everything caused anxiety. The sound of laughter outside. Birds that breezed past your windows. The soft hum of Flea Bottom below. It was all fear inducing.

The waiting of the unknown was most tortuous. The threat of danger constantly lingered in your periphery, and even in your restless sleep, you were on guard, ready to fight or run.

And at times, exhausted amongst your sheets, nerves frayed and taut, skin around your fingers picked raw, you wished the King would get it over and done with. To end the anticipation of his cruelty, the constant on edge.

To get his cruelty and be done with it. To reap what he had sowed, so that your heart could at leasts settle and know it was over. Know that it was done.

But it wasn't.

And a part of you felt as though he was doing this on purpose, as he had the last time.

The nervousness caused so much strain on your mind, so much worry, that you had begun to see the familiar faces of loved ones in your periphery again, but when you would turn your head to see the mop of brown hair or the head of silver, they would be gone. 

It was as if they too were lurking in the shadows with the King. 

Plotting.

Waiting.

The maids were fraught on what to do, and had insisted upon you exiting the chambers, begging you to leave the room and get some time in the sun and fresh air. 

"It will help you, Princess."

"It will ease your worries."

"The Maester would have told you to walk. Speak with the Gods. Be by the water."

And so after the fifth day, you had agreed with them, making your way down to the Gardens.

But you did not stay still.

You kept on your feet at a steady pace, never straying in one spot for too long lest you be found, doing laps of he Gardens that made no sense at all. Cutting corners, running across beds of flowers or ducking between branches.

You were lost in a daze as you kept the pace, mind tired from lack of sleep, and thats when you found yourself at the entrance of the Dragon Pit.

And who else would be there, but the Master of Whispers himself. 

“Princess.” Larys Strong greeted you, hand placed firmly on the top of his cane. 

“Larys.” You greeted in return, tone clipped.

The Strong man tilted his head, taking in your appearance, “It has been a while since any of the Lords have seen you. Are you well?”

“Yes.”

His eyes roamed your body in thought, before they settled back on your face, brown eyes boring into yours. 

“You need not grieve alone, Princess. Lady Alicent worries after you.”

You snorted, patience as brittle as your nerves, “Does she? She has not come to my chambers to seek after me once.”

“The Dowager Queen has many duties she must attend to.”

“I’m sure. It would be strenuous work to usurp the Iron Throne.”

Larys stepped forward, his cane clunking down onto the stone below, the sound echoing down the stairs to the Dragon Pit. 

“I have yet to offer my fullest condolences to you and the child you lost.”

You breathed in through your nose heavily.

Larys tilted his head again, and it reminded you of a dog, “And the Maester too.”

You swallowed, memories of the blood soaking the throne room flashing in your mind. Cries. Pain. Blood, so much blood. The smell of copper filling your nose.

The pain.

You stayed silent, not rising to his bait and continued to stare at the man, hands curled into tight fists at your side.

“Although, there is not just condolences I can offer to you.” He mused, looking up at the archway he stood beneath, short nose begging to be pushed further into his skull by your fist, “There are congratulations in order.”

It was your time to tilt your head, “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Alicent may entertain your false intellectual musings, but they ring hollow to my ears.”

A small smirk pulled at his lips, “A congratulations to your disposal of the witch. I did not think that you had the means to do so, but clearly the Maester had been a wolf amongst the sheep all along.”

“A dragon devours sheep.”

“And wolves too.” He added, “The King saw to that. Or, I should say, you saw to that.”

Your teeth ground together, nails digging into the skin of your palm as you tried to steady your anger.

Larys stepped towards you again, voice quieter this time, as both of his hands came atop his cane, “Thank you.” He began, “For when you told me I was missing something, I spent many nights to think on it.”

Your breathing became laboured and heavy, face heating up in anger and dismay at your own foolishness. 

“I was in bed when it came to me. Such a small, little thing. I almost missed it completely. Who else had you been in contact with but the Maester? Who had such close relations. Had been in the Keep far longer than others. Long enough to have a relationship with your mother, or dare I say, your father.”

You sneered at the man in front of you, “A reminder, Larys. That though you are a sheep in wolves clothing, you are sheep and wolf nonetheless.” You spun on your heel, moving to storm away from him and the Dragon Pit to return to your chambers.

The clunk of the cane followed behind you, and soon the whisper of his voice filled the air.

“The clever wolf has no opinion on the sheep, or dragons. He simply thrives where he can. And if the dragon can provide more than the sheep, then perhaps he can wear its scales.”

You stopped mid step, and spun one last time to face him, “A clever wolf is as smart as the sheep, should he go asking for treats of the dragon and climbing into its jaws expecting to not feel teeth.” You chest heaved, “If you are offering favours in turn for mine, I would have to tell you that I would trust Aegon more than I could ever trust you. I am more inclined to devour you than entertain your clever jibes. A Master of Whispers cannot whisper without his tongue." You threatened.

Larys stared at you for one moment. 

Then two.

And then, the older man bowed his head, keeping his eyes upon you with one brow raised, and left you to stew in the confusion of the interaction. 

Wolves and sheep and dragons. 

You did not care for his riddles and clever word play.

All you knew, was that you were deep in the vipers nest and surrounded.

-

Several days turned into a dozen, and you had still not seen Aegon.

But this did little for your nerves, for you knew he was planning something. Waiting for the perfect time. And so when you ventured down to the Gardens that morning, it had not come to you as a surprise that he would be there. 

And there he was, seated atop your pillows, looking out at the water as the light from the sun glinted on the crown atop his head. 

You blinked as you looked at him, feet rooted in the spot. His silver waves turned as he looked at you with a smile, patting the spot beside him.

“I’m glad I have finally caught you, slippery little thing you are. Come. Sit.” Pearly white teeth gleaming at you predatorily. 

You slowly made you way over, carefully schooling your features to not show the fear that leapt into your throat. You sat yourself where Helaena once had, and it felt like an eerie piece of familiarity, as though you were seeing him through her eyes.

“It has been hard to find you, as of late. You seem busy in the Red Keep with no title to keep you preoccupied. You are no Master of Law or even Mistress of Whispers.”

“Was it hard to find me because I seemed busy, or because I lacked a certain want to be found.” 

Aegon laughed heartily, “Sharp tongue as ever. I would expect no less.” He shifted on the pillows, leaning an arm on the wall beside him as he looked at you, chin in his palm, “And how goes my favourite niece?”

“I am your only niece you speak with, and it is not by choice.”

“And that is what makes you so special.” He grinned.

A slimy feeling crawled over you skin.

“As well as I can be considering the circumstances.” You said flatly, answering his question.

Aegon frowned sadly at you, “But of course. It would have been hard to lose the babe so suddenly. I only hope that my brother has been kind to you.”

You stayed silent as you looked into his violet eyes which danced with mischief.

“Tell me, have you tried for another?”

Heat rose in your cheeks, “Another?”

“Yes.” The King nodded as though you were a child, “Helaena lost a babe once, the stress of the pregnancy weighed too heavily on her body. It is to be expected with some women. I remember the Maester telling Helaena that after giving birth is when women are most fertile.”

Oh.

Aegon grinned at your silence, “Well, whilst my brother is gone, perhaps I could help you along.”

Panic wound its way through your limbs, hands curling into fists at your side.

Aegon sighed, looking up and out at the water, “Not for a lack of trying on my part. It seems that mother and Otto have been purposefully keeping me preoccupied to keep me away from you. But they can’t keep their eyes on me all the time.”

His silver waves bounced around his face as he turned to look at you sharply, sitting forward, “I’m going to fuck a son inside of you.”

Revulsion curled up inside of you. Leaning forward, you sneered at him, “I killed your precious little bastard that grew inside of me. The Maester’s parting gift.” You spat, standing abruptly you towered over the man, whose smile had dropped from his face, “Touch me again, and I will claw your eyes out and cut off your cock.”

You breathed heavily as you looked down at him, and he up at you. 

Aegon did not speak again as you stalked away, making your way back to your chambers in a hasty retreat.

You spent the rest of your day sat on the bed, hand beneath the pillow, hilt of the blade just in reach. 

And when dinner had been brought to you, and you ate with the maids watching and were readied for bed again, requesting they sleep in the chambers with you, your fingers were once again under the pillow, ready to grab the blade.

Aegon did not make an appearance.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[libraryofgage]

A combo of 18 and 10? At some point Steve is told by Eddie's band mates that Eddie told them he doesn't actually like Steve. It's been a while but Steve still loves Eddie and wants to pretend for a night that it isn't true.

Okay, so I know you probably meant for this to be more angsty but I'm a fucking marshmallow and had to slip in the happy ending hfdjsk

Either way, I hope there's still enough angst for you!

Also, for reference, I usually call the unnamed freak Asher, so don't be surprised by the name lol

Prompts 18 and 10 from this prompt list:

10. “Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

18. “Is hating me your only personality trait?”

You'll want to read the tags btw, I promise lol

---

"You know, Eddie doesn't actually like you."

Steve blinks, his pen dragging across the page and striking ink through Will's carefully written campaign story that he'd asked Steve to review. According to him, Steve was neutral, and his lack of D&D knowledge meant he'd be able to tell Will if the story made sense even to a new player.

Unfortunately, any thoughts of Will's campaign are disintegrated by Gareth's seven words. "What?" he asks, trying to blink away the daze as he looks at the rest of Corroded Coffin across the garage. He doesn't usually step foot into their practice space, but he and Eddie had plans to hang out after practice and Jonathan had helpfully dropped him off. Now he was just waiting for Eddie to get back from the bathroom.

"Eddie," Jeff says, "he doesn't like you. He told us."

"He won't fucking shut up about it, actually," Asher says, a grin tugging at his lips, and Steve thinks it looks particularly cruel.

In fact, their words so far have held an undertone of anticipation, like they were waiting for Steve's reaction. As cliche as it sounds, their grins feel like knives stabbing into him. It's not just his heart, it's Steve's entire body, like every inch of his being had only existed on the premise that Eddie Munson liked him at least a little bit. Not even romantically (Steve isn't that deluded), but as a friend.

"He...," Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Apparently, he doesn't do well, since Jeff's grin widens and Gareth's eyes light up, and Asher opens his mouth like he's ready to hammer the final nail in Steve's coffin.

Whatever they plan to say next is interrupted by Eddie finally returning and grinning at Steve. "Ready to go, Stevie?" he asks.

Suddenly the grin is mean, the nickname cruelly teasing, and Steve wonders how he went so long deluding himself that Eddie liked him. It hurts even more with his bandmates' words still playing in his head and their grins hidden behind Eddie's back like they're proud of breaking Steve's delusion.

"Uh, yeah, ready," Steve says, forcing his voice to sound normal as he closes Will's campaign notebook and follows Eddie to his van.

By the time they end the night at the Munson trailer, Steve feels frayed at the edges and three seconds from tearing in two. The entire evening, all he could think about was how much Eddie seemed to be covering his own dislike and how it bled through anyway. Every smile was sharp, every casual touch seemed hesitant and quick to end like Eddie couldn't pull away fast enough, and every glance seemed to pierce Steve with dislike and reinforce the shattering of his delusion.

At least the weed Eddie gave him when they got to his room is helping a little. It's filling his lungs with something other than hurt, clouding his mind with something other than doubt. It even stops the questions and stops him from wondering what he could have possibly done to make Eddie play some kind of long-con instead of just saying he didn't like Steve.

"Heeelloooo," Eddie says, waving his hand in front of Steve's face. "Anything going on in there, big boy?"

Steve blinks, his chest tightening as he looks up at Eddie. They're on the bed, with Eddie sitting next to him while Steve reclines against the pillows, his usual position that lets him stare at the ceiling. That mean grin is back, and Steve once again wonders how he ever mistook it for anything else. The words, too. How did he ever mistake those words for playful teasing?

And maybe it's the weed, but Steve can't stop himself from sitting up and asking, "Is hating me your only personality trait when we're together?" It's not even relevant. Steve knows that. He knows that Eddie hasn't done anything overtly hateful, but he can't help asking.

Eddie's grin falters. "Woah, woah, what are you talking about?"

"Why do you even hang out with me if you hate me so much?" Steve asks, steamrolling over whatever Eddie wanted to say by grabbing him by the shoulders. "Why don't you just tell me to fuck off? Why do you hang out with someone you don't even like? Is it funny to you? Do you enjoy tricking me?"

His voice is cracking by the end, and Eddie's eyes are wide, undoubtedly surprised that he's been caught in the act. And this time it's definitely the weed clouding Steve's mind and making him act on impulse because he can't be bothered to think as he grabs the collar of Eddie's jacket and pulls him closer. "You can punch me later, or run me over with your van if you hate me that much. But...but right now, just let me pretend I can call you mine, just for tonight."

Before Eddie can respond, before he can tell Steve to fuck off and kick him out of the trailer, Steve kisses him. Their teeth clack together painfully, and Steve is sure his lip has started bleeding, but he doesn't care. He's more focused on keeping his eyes squeezed shut, forcing his brain to delude him into thinking this is a happier kiss, that his eyes aren't stinging and two seconds from making the kiss salty.

They stay in an admittedly uncomfortable position for a few seconds before Eddie grabs Steve's waist and pushes him down against the pillows. Steve's surprised grunt is muffled by Eddie pushing his tongue past his lips, and he only has a brief moment to be relieved that Eddie is playing along when he suddenly pinches Steve's side and breaks the kiss.

Steve winces and opens his eyes, his body tensing when he sees Eddie staring down at him. The only thing he can hear is his own panting and the sirens screaming in his brain that he's truly, irrevocably fucked everything up.

"So," Eddie says, his voice surprisingly soft for someone about to rip Steve's heart out, "where'd you get the idea that I hate you?"

Steve shuts his mouth, biting his tongue as he looks away. That doesn't help much, though, since Eddie's hair has fallen around him in a wavy curtain that obscures his view of anything else. A few moments pass before Steve shifts uncomfortably and replies, "Your friends told me."

Eddie hums softly, holding himself steady with one arm on the pillow by Steve's head while the other tugs on a lock of Steve's hair. And it's only now that Steve realizes he's fucking surrounded, pressed into Eddie's mattress by Eddie's body with Eddie's hair cutting him off from the rest of the room. "And what, exactly, did they say, Stevie?" Eddie asks, his tone sharp and dancing like this entire situation is funny to him.

It's enough to distract Steve, leading his brain to lag behind as he tries desperately to remember what Gareth, Jeff, and Asher said. "You don't actually like me. You told them yourself. You won't shut up about not liking me," Steve finally says.

Something like recognition really sparks in Eddie's eyes, and his grin falls slightly. He looks ready to speak, but then he thinks better of it. His smile comes back, nearly full force, and he says, "They're right. I don't like you."

Oh. Steve acutely feels the breath get stolen out of his lungs, the way they ache as his heart sears with the pain of being ripped from his chest. His eyes are stinging even worse, and his nose feels astringent like he just walked into a bathroom with bleach spilled across the floor.

"I love you."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"I love you."

Yeah, it still doesn't make sense. "...are you sure?"

Eddie bursts out laughing, finally letting all his weight fall onto Steve so he can bury his face in Steve's shoulder. Steve is still blindsided, trying to get his brain and heart to get on the same page.

"Yes, I'm serious," Eddie says, raising his head to look at Steve. "I can guarantee they were fucking with you. If I hadn't come back, those fuckers would've revealed my massive crush on you."

"Massive," Steve mumbles, cursing the weed for inhibiting his ability to think properly.

Eddie's grin gets even wider, his eyes lighting up in a way that tells Steve he's about to roll his eyes at a dumb joke. "Yeah, almost as massive as I am," Eddie says, playfully grinding his hips down on Steve like their jeans aren't in the way.

Steve was right. He does roll his eyes. And it helps him shake some of the daze, allows him to pull himself out of the fog of doubt and spiraling thoughts. "Fuck off," he says, placing a hand on Eddie's face and pushing him away.

"Well, if you insist," Eddie says playfully, exaggerating movements of getting up only for Steve to grab his arm and pull him back. "You're really giving me mixed signals here, sweetheart."

"You really love me?" Steve asks, ignoring Eddie's joke.

"Of course, Stevie. What's not to love?"

And there's such genuine emotion in Eddie's voice that Steve represses the urge to ask if he wants the list in chronological or alphabetical order. "Okay, then you can't be angry when I fucking murder your friends."

Eddie laughs and pushes his head into Steve's neck like a cat, playfully biting his throat. "I'll help you."

"Are we moving too fast by plotting murder for our first date?"

"We went through an Eldritch nightmare together, sweetheart."

Steve concedes to that point, reaching up and idly running his fingers through Eddie's hair. They occasionally snag on a few tangles, and Steve resists the urge to get a hairbrush. "Right," he says, a smile tugging at his lips, "then we should plan a romantic murder date."

And Steve feels Eddie's smile on his skin, tries to commit the sensation to memory, and feels immeasurable relief at the fact that it won't be the last time Eddie smiles against him like this.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

A Case of the Exam Season Blues

A New Installment to the Once In A Blue Moon Anthology

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Description: You've never realized how much you relied on Jake to keep you on track without running yourself into the ground before this moment. But he's in New York, working on a high profile case for his firm. You're still in San Diego, working yourself to the bone to graduate. School is hard. Correction, it is really fucking hard. What can you do when your worries that Jake will miss your graduation couple with your stressing over your degree?

Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship turned full relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one.

This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 5035

A/N: Here we go again! Once again, my lovely houseplant @desert-fern crawled into my asks and asked me to write her a oneshot where Baby Blue graduates and where Jake is cheering her on in the audience. Can I just say that the reward and dom/sub elements in the story were not in my plan?

Chronologically, this story is between the events of Mm, Daddy Daddy and Money, Money, Money.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

You hate exam season. You hate it with as much passion as your exhausted, wrung-out soul can muster. You thought exams were challenging when you were an undergraduate. The all-nighters, caffeine-fueled paper writing sessions, studying and writing until the words swam before your eyes and your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep seemed like torture then. If only you could know that there would come a time when you would long for those days again. Because doing the same while preparing to defend your Master’s thesis? It feels like a torture worse than death itself. You still have the exams and the papers, but now, at the end of it all, rather like the icing on top of the saddest cake you’ve ever seen, you have an interview with the thesis review board to approve your Master’s degree.

You feel like you’re at the end of your wits. Your sanity is fraying faster than the cheapest rope, disintegrating into a mess of strings that seem to snarl your every thought and movement. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone in the big penthouse apartment, either. Jake’s working on an important case in New York, so he’s been out of the state, in the City that Never Sleeps, for the past month and a half. You miss him like you’ve never missed anyone before. It feels like a part of your very psyche is missing. The scent of his cologne, the bitter almond and saffron with undertones of jasmine and cedar you've come to love so much, still spills through the air. It permeates the shirts hanging in the closet, organized by color and purpose. It’s on the pillows of the big bed you starfish on when your eyes are too heavy to keep open, and you have to steal a half-hour nap here and there to keep yourself functioning. But it’s not the same as having Jake home with you.

He’d hate what you’re doing to yourself. He’d hate that you study for hours, sometimes days at a time, without pause, forgetting to sleep, eat, or complete anything necessary for basic hygiene. If Jake were here, you can almost hear the admonishments, the way he’d push you into a hot bath filled with bubbles. You can almost feel the careful pressure of his hands in your hair, the way he’d wash you clean before quieting your mind in only the way he can, with soft words and sweet kisses, drugging your body with his own until there’s nothing left in your head except for exhaustion and him. But he's not here.

Jake's been in depositions and meetings from early in the morning to late at night, and you can't, you won't disturb him when he's on a case that could decide his whole career. The three-hour time difference doesn't help either. Either you're sleeping - fitfully, barely - when he calls, or he's busy when you do. So you've had to con yourself, delude yourself into believing you can make do. You've completed years of grueling coursework without a cheerleader before, right? So how come it feels like an insurmountable obstacle the minute your one cheerleader has to go on a business trip for a bit over a month? You're stronger than that. You're better than that.

Your thesis will be done and defended in three days, and you'll have a Master's Degree in Marine Biology. Two days after that, Jake will be home. Home in time for graduation. Home for hopefully a good long while, and you're not going to let him out of bed until you can't feel your feet anymore and have slept for at least 48 hours. 

Three days to your degree and five until you’ll see Jake again. It's a motto you find yourself chanting mindlessly as you chug down energy drinks and scarf down instant ramen when your stomach growls disinterestedly between bouts of review and last-minute paper edits. Three Days. Then Two.

It may not have been healthy, but it worked. The door latches with a soft snick as you tiredly kick your heels off. The wool of your skirt itches, and the button-down and cardigan you're wearing to complete the outfit feel like the most oppressive pieces of fabric you've ever worn. There's concealer caked under your eyes in a futile effort to hide the dark, deep-set bags. Your hands tremble as you remove your jewelry, and your fingers are uncooperative as they fight with the tiny latches and closures. 

But you did it. Your exams are done, every single research paper has been submitted with perfect APA formatting, and your thesis has been approved. You're done with school. A part of you can’t believe it. If you squint, you're pretty sure you can still see your thesis in front of your eyes. Hell, you're sure if you get a couple of drinks in you, you could probably recite the damn thing, all thirty-plus pages and citations from memory. The first thing you'd done once you'd left the building was text Jake the news before you headed home. Now all you want is to sleep and then eat your weight in something home-cooked. The order is non-negotiable - you're sleeping first, even if it feels like your stomach will stage a rebellion and make you walk the plank!

You're less than gentle as you rip all the clothes off, leaving a trail of dour black fabric behind you as you walk into the ensuite. Your motions are mechanical as you roughly swipe the makeup off of your face and collapse into bed wearing just your panties. The mattress feels like heaven, the fabric cushioning your every curve until you feel like you could float away at the slightest provocation. Your eyes are even heavier than they were a minute ago, and you're nearly asleep when your phone rings.

“Baby Blue,” Jake’s groaning into the phone, his voice gritty and deep, indescribably sweet as it spills down the microphone. “You beautiful, gorgeous thing. You did it! You’re graduating! You’ve got your Master’s degree!”

He sounds so excited, even though he must be exhausted. It’s already 7 PM in San Diego, which means it must be around 10 PM in New York, and you can still hear the sounds of the office around him in the background. 

“I did it, Jake.” You’re barely able to muster the requisite enthusiasm for your latest accomplishment.

“You did, beautiful girl. You did it!” His sigh sounds so fond, and you can hear the creak of the chair as he closes the door and another squeak as he settles back into the chair. “Now, why aren’t you as happy about it as I am, honey?”

“I - I am happy, Jake. But I’m just so tired right now. I just want you home. I want to sleep for a good long while, and then, maybe then, I’ll finally be happy, Jake.” Tears are gathering in your eyes to your embarrassment, and there is a heavy pressure on your chest.

“Awww, baby doll. It’s alright to feel exhausted and numb about what’s happening right now. You sound shattered, sweetheart. Definitely tired, and maybe a little bit like you haven’t been taking care of yourself, right?” You just hum in response, something lighting up inside your chest as your sniffling hum makes Jake chuckle. 

“It’s been hell for me, too.” You can almost picture it, how he’s leaning back in the chair, his tie undone with his hand in his hair. More than his pose, though, you’re sure you can see the exhales of breath inflating his chest, stretching taut the crisp button-down shirt he’s wearing. You’re just as sure that there are bags under his eyes that are a perfect match to your own. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, my Baby Blue.”

“God, I miss walking into the apartment at night to the sight of you in the kitchen, shaking that ass to music playing while cooking, belting the words at the top of your lungs. I miss the sleepy weekend afternoons when you had your head buried in one of your books on the sofa while I was working at the table. And fuck, sweetheart, I miss waking up to you in bed next to me.”

Shit, you love this man. His voice has you aching and longing in minutes. “Yeah? I miss you too, Jake. I don’t sleep as well without you in bed with me.”

“I'll be home soon, sweetheart. I'm not going to miss seeing you walk across that stage. Sleep tight!” The screen goes dark as Jake hangs up, and your final thought is how, if you weren’t exhausted, at least Jake would have made sure you got off. But it's not a problem. You'll make sure to show him how much you missed him when he gets home.

Of course, you’re not sure when Jake will be home. He promised he’d be home to see you walk the stage for your graduation. He promised. But you’re lined up alphabetically in your cap and gown, the nylon fabric stifling in the San Diego heat. You keep nervously checking your phone, but there’s been radio silence. You’re done with school, and you should be ready to celebrate. But you’re not sure you can - not without Jake. The nerves are swarming like butterflies in your stomach, but you have a feeling that what you’re feeling isn’t just nerves but disappointment. Your family hadn’t been able to fly to San Diego for graduation, opting to watch the video feed instead and call you later.

So you’re alone in this big auditorium—just you, wearing your horrible graduation robes, dark purple dress, and nude pumps. You aren’t even wearing any lingerie underneath the dress for Jake. More likely than not, you’re going to be going home alone, and the only person who’s going to see you in this dress is the mirror for a second time as you crawl into bed, buck-naked. You have to screw your face into a pleasant expression as the dean and your program heads each give their speeches and as you stand for the school anthem. The whole time, you're praying it'll be over soon so you can Uber home and face-plant into bed before you burst into tears.

Your grin is forced as your row stands and progresses sedately down the aisle. You thank the dean and your program head, smiling for the camera, hoping your mom won't pick up on how melancholy you are as she sees you walk across the television screen. You let your grimace drop the minute you're back in your seat. You scramble for your phone, pulling it out. There are loads of messages - from your parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and close friends back home, all overflowing with congratulations - it wouldn’t surprise you if your parents made an event of your graduation. You can almost see your childhood living room decked out in the school colors, everyone overage with a drink in their hands as they toast to your success. But there is nothing at all from Jake. This isn’t like him, not at all. But it’s a Tuesday, and he’s probably at work or in the courtroom. For all you know, he might even be on a plane home at the very moment.

You're on autopilot as you flip the tassel over to the other side and toss your beadboard hat into the air. Soon after, the hall is inundated with everyone here. You're still exhausted, and your social battery is far from charged as you battle your way through the crowd.  The sudden influx of people is too much, too soon. You feel lonely and cold as you skirt around groups of people, holding your phone to your ear as you call Jake. Each ring makes your heart sink lower and lower.

On the outskirts of the crowd, you keep calling your boyfriend. But you think you must be hearing things because the more you call, the more you hear Jake’s ringtone. He’s not here, and you’re sure of that fact. Jake is still in New York or on a plane. If he is in the building, why didn’t he come to find you right after the ceremony was over? Why aren’t you being hugged and kissed like you so badly want to be?

You’re fighting back tears, eyes burning as you push your way through the crowd. Nobody notices your distress or pain, even as you pass friends, your lab colleagues, and even your professors. You feel like you can finally breathe in the outskirts of the arena, and you tug your robe off with no little relief. That's when you see Jake standing there wearing a blue suit, a huge smile, and a bouquet of blue roses in his hands. Today, he cuts a gorgeous sight in the stadium, the navy blue fabric of his suit offsetting his gorgeous tan and fitted perfectly to his slim muscles. You faintly register your fellow graduates giggle at the sight of him because, damn, does he look too good to be true. But he only has eyes for you. Your heart skips a beat as you unbelievingly walk towards him.

“Happy Graduation, Baby Blue.” You collapse into his arms, your mortarboard hat crashing to the ground, not caring that Jake nearly drops the bouquets, petals cascading to the floor around you as you wrap your arms around him and hold tight like you can’t believe he’s there. His arms wrap securely around your frame as he presses gentle kisses against the top of your head. When you step away, he grins wide, dimples indenting his cheeks, fine wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes as he hands you the two bouquets. They haven’t lost many blossoms, and you tenderly bring the gossamer blooms to your face so you can sniff their beautiful scent.

“How did you get blue roses in San Diego in the middle of May?” He shrugs, smile softening at the sight of your face. You sniffle softly, and it feels like the rest of the world fades into silence. His hand rises to your face, carefully brushing your stray tears away. “For you, I’d do anything. Always. Today, when all I want is to celebrate all of your accomplishments? I’d do anything. So, I placed an order at a rosarium for their last bouquets of blue roses. I came straight here from the airport after picking it up. I didn’t get a seat, but I was standing at the back when you walked across the stage.”

This time, when you launch yourself at him, you’re smiling from ear to ear, and he’s laughing as he kisses you.

“Sweetheart, looking at you, I’d almost think you thought I wasn’t going to make it to your graduation!” He squeezes you around your waist and kisses your temple. You melt into the easy actions even as you momentarily hide your miserable thoughts from him. He’s right, though you’re not sure how he knew. You hadn’t expected Jake here today, and the lack of faith in the man you’re in love with stings in that place in your chest where your love for him grows. You feel guilty, plain and simple. The more you find yourself looking into those clear green eyes, the worse you feel. It’s only a matter of time before Jake discovers your deceit and before he tries to hold you accountable for your disloyalty. 

“C’mon, baby.” He grabs your mortarboard and robe from the floor in one hand and wraps the other around your shoulder. Obviously, he wants to have this conversation far away from the crowds of giggling girls and proud, crowing parents.

You’re walking through the parking lot in the blistering San Diego sunshine, sniffing at the tender blossoms of your bouquets, when Jake speaks again.

“Baby Blue. I want you to listen to me. Can you do that for me?” You nod because, over the past year and some change in your relationship with Jake, you’ve come to recognize the promise in that dark, sweet tone. “It sounds to me like you’ve been tired and stressed while I’ve been in New York. I know you haven’t been eating properly or sleeping properly. My baby Blue’s not been taking care of herself, has she?” He says it like it’s a fact and not a question, confident like he knows exactly what the answer is. “Maybe somebody should take their bratty baby in hand and show her how much she’s loved?”

You nod carefully, letting Jake crowd you up against a hot vehicle in the lot. His hands keep you from burning yourself on the hot metal, and when he tips your head up and to the side so he can kiss your throat, you realize you're pressed up against Jake's truck. How come you didn't notice? When Jake pulls away and smirks at you, you nod in response to his question, each jolt of your head punctuated by greedy, heaving breaths.

“Use your words, Baby Blue.” Jake’s eyes aren't the soft sage green you've come to adore, the color darkening until it’s the green of forest undergrowth, dark and rich. The heat in those cool, dark green eyes makes your voice dry up in your throat.

“I- I'd like that very much, Sir.” He kisses you once more, a firm yet tender press of his lips against yours at your polite response. “Get in the car, baby.”

Arousal swims in your veins, heady and potent, as you clamber into the seat and buckle up. He sets the bouquets carefully in the backseat along with your mortarboard, certificate of graduation, and robe. When Jake slips into the driver's seat with a heated look, you shiver in the seat. The A/C kicks on when the engine does, blasting cold air over your bare arms and legs. But you were shivering far before that, trapped by the heat in Jake's green gaze.

You can barely breathe by the time you get home. There's an ache between your thighs, and it feels like your entire body is strung tighter than a bowstring. Jake ushers you into the elevator, his hand a breath away from your skin for the entire ride up. It feels excruciatingly long, especially since you're rubbing your thighs together the whole way up. Jake's kept a low litany of filthy-tinged promises spilling into your ears, one brawny arm curled around your waist. When the door opens with a ding, you stumble, blue flowers nearly spilling out of your grasp as you toddle across the floor.

“Set the flowers in a vase, Baby Blue.” Jake's voice is a purr you couldn’t disobey if you tried. Your hands shake as you pull a vase out of one of the cabinets and fill it with water. You’re not sure you can think straight if you tried.

“Come here.”

Arousal curls wickedly through you as Jake pulls each of your shoes off, rubbing at the tense muscles of each calf. His hands leave burning trails across your skin as they trail up your sides. Your nipples furl into hard points, goosebumps rising up along your arms as he rises to look into your eyes.

“My beautiful, Baby Blue.” His cologne surrounds you in a heat-induced haze, big hands gentle as they tug your purple dress down until it pools around your bare feet. He growls when he sees what you're wearing under the dress, his breath hot against your bare skin.

“Fuck, baby doll. All this for me?”

You whimper, drugged by the feeling of one of his calloused fingers dragging torturously slowly over the peak of your bare breasts.

“Use your words, Baby Blue.”

“Y-yes.” You're stuttering, your knees close to giving out as he leads you towards the bedroom. This is even sexier, you're sure, because of how you're naked and he's not.

When he settles on the bed, jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and stares at you, you shiver again. Unbidden, you lean in, unconsciously chasing the feeling of his lips against yours. Jake lets you get close, close enough that your lips ghost over his. But you don’t get to kiss your boyfriend. His calloused fingers trap your right nipple, tugging gently at first, then pinching cruelly when you don't stop your crusade.

This time, your whine is of pain, pain which Jake soothes with broad strokes of his tongue against your abused flesh. Your arousal, which had been temporarily banished to the recesses of your mind by the sudden sharp sting of pain, slips to the forefront again.

“Baby Blue. Don’t be a brat.” His hands tip your chin up, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part and your eyes open to meet his. There's only the thinnest rim of green surrounding his pupils now. “I'm going to make you feel good, darling. I promised you I would. But we're doing so on my schedule, not yours. I'm aware how this greedy little pussy,” and oh, he's running his fingers through your folds in a way that makes your spine turn to water, “aches for me. But it's my greedy little pussy tonight. Not yours.”

You nod so hard you think you can feel your thoughts rattle.

“C'mere, darling.”

You fold into his arms easily, your hands resting obediently on his shoulders as your legs rest on either side of his slim hips. The new position puts your core in direct contact with the stiff bulge in Jake's perfectly tailored slacks, and you can feel his heat even through the layers of fabric.

“We're going to take things slow tonight.” Finally, he captures your lips in a kiss, teasing moans and whimpers from you as he plunders your mouth with teeth and tongue. You melt into him, carding your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, relishing in the prickle of his stubble across your cheeks and decolletage as he peppers kisses across your goosebump-covered skin. You lose yourself in the heady, tender kisses and the feeling of his mouth and hands all over you. 

It comes to you in vignettes of color and sparks of sound, your memory of that first whirling orgasm. Jakes's moans when you grind down onto him. Your whines as he nips at your skin. His growl as you tug on his overly long hair. When he kneads your bare ass, you come with a scream, back arched, chest heaving, your cunt trembling from the aftershocks. Your eyes are blurry, and you can barely breathe as Jake kisses you again and again.

“Fuck, darling.” Jake’s growl makes your pussy pulse in need. “You came so hard you soaked my pants, Baby Blue.”

His voice darkens, the growl deepening as he manhandles you as he wants. “Did Sir tell you to come?”

With your ass up across his lap, nipples so hard the soft fabric of the slacks are nearly too much, you can’t reply. Jake's big hands smooth over the curve of your ass, making you whimper as they part your cheeks, long fingers delving through your wet folds and making you moan. Your eyes flutter closed until a sharp smack is delivered to your exposed cheeks. You jolt forward across his lap, a sharp gasp leaving your lips.

“Baby Blue, count your punishment for Sir.” Jake’s hands massage soothingly over your flushed skin. “Loud and proud, baby. We'll keep going until you say every number. We're going to ten. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” Your voice is a breathy gasp mixed with a moan as Jake's hands rub across your skin.

“Count, doll.”

The first official smack on your ass makes your skin prickle even more with arousal and, surprisingly, relief. “One”

Your skin feels hot and flushed. Your cunt twinges and throbs.

“T-two”

“Th-three, sir, please.”

“F-four, please, Jake!”

“F-five.”

You're sobbing, cheeks wet, ass stinging and heated, voice catching as you spit the numbers out. 

“S-six. Seven. EIGHT. N-nine.”

“P-Please, Sir. I can’t. No more.”

“One more, my beautiful baby. You can do it.”

You’re babbling and sobbing as Jake smacks your sore ass one more time. You’re not sure you choked the last number out. You feel like you’re floating, every inch of your stress and worries over school, graduation, and when Jake will be home melting away. You grab at Jake's hands as he pulls you up until your face is pressed against his shoulder. Your ass burns as you perch on one of your boyfriend's thick thighs.

“Shit, baby doll.” You hum vacantly, snuggling against his shoulder, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. He moves your face back and forth as he wipes away your tears. “You look so beautiful like this for me.”

“Wanna be beautiful for you, sir.” You’re slurring, words seeming to slip from between your dry lips unbidden.

“You’re so beautiful for me always, my Baby Blue.” He lays you carefully down on the cool satin sheets, fingers gentle as they trail over your bare skin.

“Can I show you how beautiful you are?” It’s a question. It's not an order. For the first time since your night began, you feel your arousal drain away.

“S-sir?” Your voice is hoarse and quiet. “C-can we cuddle? Missed feeling your hands on my skin. Missed feeling your skin against mine.”

“Of course, baby.” You watch while lying on your stomach as Jake strips off hurriedly, vacantly noting the dark patch at the front of his boxers. It’s quiet and dark in the room, and if you concentrate, you can hear clanking in the kitchen. He bustles back in with a tray in his hands but doesn’t stop to do more than kick off his boxers. When he walks back in from the bathroom, this time with a cool, soft cloth that he lays on your aching ass, you hum, lifting yourself up on your elbows and pursing your lips instinctively.

“You came?” Unbidden, Jake swoops in to kiss your pursed lips.

“Of course I did. You looked so beautiful for me, my Baby Blue.” He shrugs, a chuckle shaking the bed as he drags the cloth across your skin, leaving a cool, soothing dampness behind. “Seeing you come like that, in my lap? It was too much to handle.”

“You have no idea how in love with you I am, do you, Blue?” You slide under the sheets, taking your customary position with your back against his chest. You’re both seated, for now, in a position that allows Jake to press the cool juice from a glass against your lips. You sip until you’re sated, nibbling on the cheese and crackers he hands you obediently. “I’m not sure I ever told you why I was on icanbeyourbaby.com all that time ago.”

He chuckles at your open mouth as he presses a cherry onto your awaiting tongue. “It was a dare, in all honesty.” 

You turn in unease at his words, needing to see his face all of a sudden. Your chest is tight, and it feels like you’re struggling to breathe at the connections your mind is making because of his words. He pecks the tip of your nose, still smiling even at your confusion and the hurt pout on your lips. One big hand finds your hip as he sets the bowl of cherries back on the tray.

“To be clear, sweetheart, you weren’t a bet. Joining icanbeyourbaby was.” All of a sudden, you find you can breathe again. 

“You remember Bradshaw from work?” You nod because Bradley Bradshaw is Jake’s biggest competition to make partner at the firm. “He got tired of seeing me in the office at all hours of day and night, working endlessly. Before I met you, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t home more than once a week. I napped on the sofa in my office, and I used the gym in the building to shower. I didn’t have a life. You, my gorgeous Baby Blue, changed everything. You made this lonely apartment home. You made me want to live my life and, moreover, made me want to enjoy the life I have.”

Your face feels red hot and flushed as you bury it into his shoulder. He still smells like his cologne, and his skin is smooth and warm.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” His chuckles shake your body.

“I love you, my Baby Blue.” You smile in your curled-up position against his smooth, warm shoulder. “Anything you need, I will make sure you get.”

“And I promise you, I will always be there to support you.”

You sniffle, and that small sound is enough to have Jake pulling you up until he can see your eyes. His hands cup your face and brush away your tears once again.

“I'm sorry, Jake.”

“What're you apologizing for, baby doll?” He sounds adorably confused.

“I should never have doubted you. You're so sweet and kind and worldly. Meanwhile, there's me. I just graduated from school, and I feel like I barely know what I'm doing with my life.”

You press your hand over his mouth because you can tell he's gearing up to say something. “Wait, wait, wait! It's true, I don't know what I'm going to do next. I'm just tired of this relationship always being you taking care of me. You say I've changed your life. But I didn't even do it consciously. But since the day we met, you've been taking care of me over and over again.”

“Sweetheart, our relationship has us both on an equal playing field.” His eyes are beseeching as he holds you securely against him. “We’re in this together. It doesn’t matter that we're in different stages of our lives. The only thing that matters is how much we love each other.”

Much later that night, after a bath and a massage, your limbs feeling like jelly as you melt into bed, Jake's words stick with you. It's at that moment that you vow to be the best girlfriend and partner you can be. No matter what happens, you'll be there for Jake, however, and whenever he needs it.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, AO3 AND WATTPAD BY ME, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[livin-life675]

John Constantine was at the end of his rope, literally and figuratively at the moment. He had maybe two inches from the frayed end as he gripped it for dear life, a roiling pit of red under him. He didn’t even want to know what was down there, all he knew was that it was demon magic and he could already feel it reaching out for him, trying to drag him down.

He had been a bloody idiot, falling for the trap hook, line, and sinker. He knew when he arrived at the old house that it stunk of old magic, but had wrongly, or rightly, assumed that it was the work of the ancient text he was hunting down. Sure, part of the huge aura was the text, but it mainly came from the hell pit lurking under the rotten floorboards

And then the trap had been sprung, the book ripped away from him, the floorboards disintegrating under him, and he left with only seconds to cast a spell, a binding one he had truly cocked up judging by the rope he held instead of being temporarily bound to this plane of the world instead of being drug down to hell.

“Hang on! Sam, S-14, Tuck, shift him!”

A young, and distinctly American voice, calls out orders, echoing strangely in the house. John as a second to process this before thick vines, with strange glowing flowers, wrapped around his middle and yanked him from the pit, flinging him across the study.

As he goes airborne, he is able to catch a glimpse of a group of three kids, because they couldn’t be older than twenty. Two boys, and a girl, all with a haze of green surrounding them, the pale, black-haired boy the brightest. All three stunk of death magic, something that immediately put John on alert.

And then he was landing in a pile of the same, glowing green flowers, and his view was blocked by the sheer volume. He can’t even move to see what is going on, something holding and cocooning him, although it didn’t feel malicious, and judging by the fact that he could feel the deep ache in his bones retreating, something was healing him.

The sounds of a fight rang out for a few moments before everything fell silent, and the oppressive demonic energy disappeared, along with the sound of the vortex. Slowly, the flowers receded around him, allowing him to scramble up from the floor.

The group of three seemed to be doing a celebratory chitchat, hi-fives, and compliments all around. It was utterly annoying, but it did give John a moment to take in the trio. The first one he noticed was the pale, black-haired boy, just for the sheer amount of death magic still radiating off him, while the other two were more muted now. He was built like a swimmer, lean, but strong, and with that jawline and blue eyes, he was doing a great impression of a Wayne. Tracing up his arm, through his shirt sleeve, and arching around his neck was a lichen burn, death magic radiating from it.

The next obvious was the goth, the dark-haired girl who had saved him from the pit with the vines. Dressed in a pair of ripped, black jeans with a black t-shirt, she was the most unique looking one out of the lot, with black tattoos of vines and flowers going from her fingers, up her arms, under her shirt, and even up her neck, parroting the black-haired boy's scar, except that she had designs on both arms.

The last of the trio was the remaining boy, hair hidden under a beret. He was dressed similarly to the other two, in casual jeans and t-shirts. As John was learning, each had a specific thing unique to them, and it appeared that his was the elaborate designs around his eyes, dark but still able to almost blend into his natural skin color. Each of the tattoos, and the scar were radiating death magic, and it made John incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hey, are you okay? I know we cut it a bit close,” The blue-eyed boy asks, noticing how shaken John feels, his face morphing into concern.

“Cut it close!? What the bloody hell are three Americans doing here?!” John splutters, preparing a set of spells…just in case.

“Saving your ass apparently,” The girl snarks, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look on her face.

“And we’re technically not Americans anymore,” The blue-eyed boy explains easily, seeming far to relaxed for fighting off a demon and closing a portal to hell.

“Yes you are! What are you doing here?! Did that old bat hire you as well?” Constantine demands, magic building in his hands.

“One, stop it with the magic shit, it won’t do anything to us. Two, no, the “old bat” didn’t hire us. We were traveling close by when Danny felt the demon magic, and since it really doesn’t belong here, came to investigate,” the girl snaps, and the blue eyed boy places a placating hand on her shoulder.

“Sam, relax. He’s probably still running high on stress, you would too if you were nearly sucked into hell,” the Wayne bait boy looks to Constantine, face apologetic.

“Sorry about her, we haven’t had great interactions with magic users in the past. If we could just get that book and go, we won’t bother you anymore,”

“Not fucking likely! My find, my book,” Constantine exclaims, holding the book closer to his chest.

And suddenly, the easy going attitude of the blue eyed boys vanishes, eyes melting from an ice blue into a bright, Lazarus green. The carefree look is wiped off of his face and his mouth is set into a hard line, all trances of amusement gone.

“That book belongs to the dead and the gone. It does not belong on this mortal plane. I don’t care if you feel like playing around with a little magic, any mess you get into is yours, but that book belongs in the zone. Return it now, I am not asking,” the boys companions flank him, matching his suddenly intimidating aoura as death magic flares from all three.

Constantine had dealt with his fair share of magical beings and those capable of wielding the mystic arts. The spells and casting circles inside the book would give him an edge in his circles. But all of that experience told him that he did not want to tangle with the trio in front of him. Each one had been touched by death, cradled by it as a mother would hold a child, the blue eyed boy practically dripped in it.

He could maybe take one of them, with a lot of luck on his side. But all three? John Constantine was many things but an idiot was not one of them.

“Fine, what’ll you do with it?” John asks, throwing the book to the trio where the girl catches it.

“Returning it where it belongs,” the boy says, suddenly turning cheerful.

With a twitch of his hand, a glowing green rift forms in the air, death magic pouring out and nearly knocking Constantine on his ass. With one last wave from the blue eyed boy, and a matching set of glares from the other two, all three walk into the portal, the air stitching itself back up behind them.

Without even an incantation, the boy had opened a portal to the infinite realms, and had walked through, without hesitation. Constantine didn’t know a single person who could open a portal so effortlessly, let alone walk through, and certainly not with two companions.

“Bloody fucking hell, I need a drink,”

[klbwriting]

The Jason Todd Anomaly

Chapter 21: Is It Going to Kill Me?

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Jason asks Gordon for help and Alfred discovers an antidote

YN got Jason into Jim Gordon’s office through one of the employee entrances. Gordon knew about their identities, but Jason wore his gear anyway, just in case anyone caught him. Red Hood meeting with GCPD wouldn’t be super surprising considering their bordering territory, but him meeting with Jason Todd might seem strange since none of the Wayne boys had been around. He was regretting that now. He honestly didn’t know how this meeting was going to go and he dreaded Gordon not helping them. YN stood by the door, watching for anyone who might be curious. Gordon finally entered the office and sighed, looking so much older now.

“What do you want?” Jim asked, voice gruff, exhaustion laced through it. Jason looked down for a moment, shame seeping from his pores.

“We know about the court, what they’re planning,” he said. He presented the compound and the maps with the notes. “We need your help to stop this.” Gordon barely glanced at the evidence and Jason felt his heart sink.

“We cannot help you, we barely on hanging on by a thread,” he said. “I don’t want this to happen anymore than you, but we are spread too thin, and the court can help.” He didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying, only repeating what he was told. Jason nodded.

“I’m sorry Jim,” he said. Gordon looked up at him. He looked so different than what Jason remembered. First Barbara dies saving people in the big flood, then Bruce? Then the brothers, they were so wrapped up in their own grief and trauma they forgot about everyone around them. Jason sighed and turned, heading out of the office. YN followed him out the way they came in, stopping down the street in one of his little nooks that he kept for gear. Once he changed Jason leaned against the alley wall, staring at the building across from him.

“We planned for something like this,” YN said, leaning on the wall next to him. “We knew they might not help us.” She heard a sniffle but didn’t look at him, which Jason appreciated. She just reached over and took his hand. “Its not your fault.” He broke, leaning over, pulling her against him. She held him close, letting him grip her too tight, feeling her shoulder get wet as he leaned his face there, shaking. She didn’t say anything, just let him heave sobs into her shoulder for as long as he needed.

They stayed in that alley for almost an hour, until Jason was sure that every single part of him was dried out. He felt crackly, like all his edges were frayed, that he would disintegrate into the pavement if YN let go of him. She didn’t mind, she stayed, quietly holding him until he pulled back, standing straight again, feeling his back ache a little from his hunched posture.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. YN nodded. He was about to start walking back to his bike when she stopped him, taking his hand. He looked back at her, and she kissed him softly.

“Whenever you want to talk about it, we can,” she said. He nodded, kissing her again for good measure before leading her back to his bike.

They headed to the secondary hideout, Wayne manor had been too obvious a place to stay longer than a night, so now they were bunked down in the Monarch theater where Alfred knew some secret entrances and places to hide. As they headed across the stage YN stopped and looked down at the truncheon that still sat lopsided where she had killed Harley. Jason was a few steps ahead of he when he realized she had stopped. He turned back, going to her and looking down at the ground with her.

“It wasn’t actually that long ago when I killed her,” she said. “Feels like a lifetime after all of this court of owls shit,” she said. He nodded. “How is Gotham so fucked up?”

“Bruce told me once that the land was cursed by the Wayne family, some kind of old gothic legend of a Wayne finding a house on this land where a family lived. He killed the parents, forced the daughter to be his wife and she swore that no matter what success befell Wayne the land he walked would be cursed, his line would feel nothing but grief and end in nothing but bloodshed,” he said. YN felt herself shiver a little, wondering if the legend was true.

“Fucking Bruce Wayne,” she muttered. Jason chuckled.

“He didn’t start the curse,” he argued, and she rolled her eyes. “Maybe, always thought he might be a vampire or something, the man never aged.”

“Neither does Alfred,” she said in reply. She headed towards the side of the stage, going down those stairs and then the secondary stairs found behind a curtain in an old dressing room. They entered a small room that was made even smaller by the table set up in the middle, candles barely illuminating the maps of all the districts, marked with the locations of the water treatment facilities. Alfred was pouring over the components of the compound, trying to make some kind of antidote that they could put into the facilities to cancel out the other toxin. So far, he had no success.

“Miss YN, could you please come here and drink this?” he asked. YN frowned, glancing at Jason as Alfred held out a small vial of the compound.

“Is it going to kill me?” she asked, walking over and taking the vial. Alfred shook his head. She nodded and drank it, Alfred catching her when she became unconscious. Jason stared, watching as Alfred tried to wake her, going so far as to dump water on her, shake her, smack her face gently. She didn’t move and he felt panic welling up in him until Alfred dropped a few drops of another liquid on her lips. She opened her eyes and sat up, panting.

“What in the fuck Alfred?” she asked, looking around before she grabbed a nearby trash and threw up.

“We have found our antidote,” he said. “I am sorry, but Master Dick and Master Tim were away, and Master Damian has already taken the dosage a few times, I was worried he needed a break,” he said.

“I could have taken the vial,” Jason offered. Alfred looked at him.

“I was worried that if you died like that you wouldn’t recover again due to your exposure to the Lazarus pit, also, you died once Master Jason, I don’t know if I could live with it happening again,” the butler said, sealing the other vials on the small side table. Jason could understand that but didn’t like that Alfred had essentially killed YN just for an experiment. Then again, it was par for the course being in this family. She finally stood and went to lay down on one of the cots that lined the walls, Jason sitting next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She nodded. “Between what this compound does and the way the court was talking it sounds like they want to poison all the criminal effected territories and feed the people to the talons.” He sighed. “We only have a week until the 4th of July, how can we possibly get enough antidote and get it into all the water treatment facilities in time?”

“I don’t know Master Jason, we are just going to have to do our best,” Alfred said. Jason nodded.

He just hoped their best was enough.

[zorquiltk]

Grimer

... Okay. I see where this is going.

So, how would I tickle a Grimer? Its body is made of sludge and grime, hence the name. Being a pure sludge monster, using ice or fire moves to solidify it could be a way to go, but then it becomes more like an armor that they can't move through. I feel like trying to tickle their shell wouldn't work, and making a open crack would let them escape unless it's very small.

So that's why, if we really want to tickle Grimer, we need to first get tools that won't be disintegrated by his sludge. So, once again, wires to a solidified body seems like the answer, right? Well... the electricity would probably crack the shell and break it. So I have another Pokémon to introduce to the fray! As a fellow poison type, Haunter can easily phase and dig their claws through Grimer's shell and tease them like crazy!

Quick doodle for a proof of concept!

[hells-favorites]

The Red Light (Episode 13)

Dante struggles with fulfilling Typhon's demands, feeling overwhelmed by conflicting emotions and pressures. When confronted by Typhon, Dante lashes out, feeling manipulated and controlled. Despite Typhon's reassurances, Dante's unease grows. Eventually, in a confrontation with Alos and Ein, Dante's actions lead to a violent outcome, leaving him numb and disconnected. He proceeds almost mechanically, committing acts of violence and preservation, haunted by his actions and the weight of his circumstances. Dante flees, his thoughts fragmented and his reality disintegrating.

Dante hadn't done what Typhon wanted him to. He still hadn't gotten the heart Typhon had requested. He needed to go back into Alos's office, hopefully this time Ein wouldn't be there. Dante didn't think he could handle it if he was. Every time he saw him now, a hurricane of emotions hit him, tugging him left and right.

Dante woke up and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, knowing he'd have to go back into Alos's office and maybe confront Ein again. He laid there for a while. Time was dipping into his first class though Dante didn't move. But in the midst of his brooding, he heard Typhon appear.

Typhon turned to Dante, who sat up in bed the second he saw him. Dante brushed his hair out of his eyes and reminded himself of the color, again. He didn't have his father's hair. He wasn't him.

"Dante, what are you doing? You're supposed to be out of your dorm by now. But, more importantly, where is the heart?" Typhon didn't seem quite angry, more confused and a bit demanding. His tone was different here than it was with the other jobs Dante had done. Killing Apollo, Typhon sounded prideful and snide. The others, he sounded calm, like his mind was elsewhere. But today, it sounded as though Typhon's patience was being tested. A tone Dante didn't like.

"I-" Dante paused for just a second, taking in Typhon's tone. "I didn't get it."

Typhon's tone took on a bit more gravel. He wasn't angry, but much more pushing and he would be. Dante didn't want to see him angry.

"Dante, you can't just lay down. The heart is something I need. You must be faster," Typhon was cut off by Dante.

"You want me to be you! You don't want me to have time to breathe and think! I'm doing a lot! You want me to be your little puppet that you can boss around and do whatever you want!" Dante nearly screamed. Ein had scared Dante more than even he realized. Was he really falling for it? Was Ein right? Dante was overwhelmed.

Typhon spoke calm, unfazed by Dante's yells. "It is not that I want you to be me, Dante. I am trying to keep Mercury alive. My frequent check-ins are to make sure you're okay. I am not here to try to shape you into a clone of me, I am here to keep you safe. You have a goal, I make sure you are safe while you complete that goal and then you come home. I am not here to hurt you, Dante. I am on your side."

Typhon held his arms out and pulled Dante into a hug. It was meant to calm him. But Dante was there in Typhon's arms, not reciprocating the hug, nearly quivering. Eyes wide and staring at the door almost unmoving. Ein had tried to hug Dante earlier that day and Dante pushed him away yet now he was being hugged by Typhon. Was he supposed to listen to Ein and push Typhon away? Typhon is protecting him, that means he cares somewhat. Typhon's hug felt like a chokehold. Maybe that was the point. To show Dante just how much of a hold Typhon had on him. Typhon wouldn't go from angry to loving so quickly. It was a move to separate him from Ein. At least that's what Dante's mind told him.

Dante had never felt more relieved to see someone disappear.

After a few moments of Dante regaining his thoughts that were now frayed like the end of a rope, he got ready for the day, taking a bit more time to style his hair. It was nice to look at, it reminded him that he was his own man.

Dante pulled his hair into a bun, leaving half to cover his neck, and headed out for the day. It was the same song and dance. Floyd and Nolan followed Dante, Nolan making sporadic attempts at poking into what he saw as a mental breakdown before Dante whipped around.

"Nolan! Shut the fuck up! I don't need you to start shoving into my business! I'm a grown man! I can handle myself," Dante gave a huff and turned around, Nolan now silent behind him. "I don't need you to coddle me, I don't need Ein to coddle me and I don't need Typhon to.." Dante's voice trailed off into a sigh, thinking about that morning.

In a voice too small for anyone to hear but himself, Nolan spoke, "You're red. You're lying."

They were all quiet as they made their way into the office, Dante's hand running over the symbols Typhon had given him. They needed to be soaked in blood. Without another word, Dante yanked Nolan's hand.

With a bit of a delayed reaction, Nolan pulled his hand back. "Use the fucking lizard's! Not mine!"

Dante grumbled something back, vaguely sounding like profanity, only to yank over Floyd's forearm. Floyd just blinked like he didn't know what was happening until Dante used the horn of the symbol, which was a ram's head, and drew a cut from side to side.

Floyd yelped and tried to yank his hand back but all Dante did was pull harder. Something was different with Dante today. He was angrier. Almost too angry.

As the blood covered each metal ram, a wall fell. On the other side was a long room, almost church-like with red carpets leading to a bowl with a pulsing heart in the middle. It was disgusting around the bowl, which looked like an altar, but the whole room was clean despite it. There were noises of shifting inside but Dante shoved past Floyd into the room.

After exchanging looks, Nolan reached out and grabbed Dante's shoulder. "Why are you so upset?"

"You wouldn't understand," Dante's voice came out in a snap, sounding almost gravely.

"I can learn to understand, Dante."

Nolan spoke comfortingly. He was trying to help but Dante didn't want to talk. Nolan was shoved to the side, from Dante walking even further. He shoved his way toward the bleeding heart, Nolan still making a few attempts to make conversation, but before he reached his destination, he heard 2 clicks of a pistol.

"Who are you?" Alos stood behind him, one pistol at Floyd and one at Dante.

But that wasn't the worst part.

Nolan turned his head slowly and behind him was Ein, clearly trying to mask emotions shoving their way to the forefront.

"Dante, I need you to leave. I didn't raise you like this. I taught you to take care of yourself, not mindlessly slaughter. What Typhon has planned for you, is mindless slaughter. He'll kill every single person that follows Inchor's religion. That's millions of people, Dante. You're coming home with me or…"

"Or what?" Dante refused to turn his head to see Ein, eyeing the heart that was in his reach, all he had to do was grab it. "He's starting to care for me, Ein. He's my dad! I barely know what-"

"That's the problem, Dante. You don't know what's going on around you. I understand that you are overwhelmed. I understand this is all new territory. I can explain to you what happened without the fog of Typhon wanting you to like him. I will guide you through it. You're not alone. A growing boy like you-"

"I'm not a little kid!" Dante snatched the heart as he screamed. Suddenly it felt as though he'd touched live wire. Fire shot through his veins, searing and painful, it moved through his entire body. Dante screamed louder even though it all happened in a split second. Suddenly it felt as though he'd been stabbed. 6 separate wounds felt like they opened in his back, yet a hurricane of wind shot from each wound. It ripped through his flesh and all he could hear was the slamming of bodies into the walls around him. With a final wail of pain, it all stopped.

Dante collapsed to the floor, he held the heart against his chest. Black drifted in and out of his vision. Whatever just happened took everything out of him. He scrambled to feel the wounds on his back but the searing pain was replaced with a slight cold, like bare skin against stone.

Silence.

Dante collected his breath and with shaking arms, sat up. He turned around to see what he'd caused. Blood. Blood and gore.

Floyd: A missing head. Scales were shot into the wall behind where his corpse was. A mass of muscle was all that was left.

Alos: A missing side. From just below his arm to just above his knee was missing entirely, his leg was detached and more than a few feet away from the rest of his body.

Nolan: A whole through his chest. Dripping blood fell onto the lower part of his body. With no connected spine, the body slumped to the ground. Despite everything, his green eye still glowed.

Ein.

Dante saw Ein.

Dante saw what was left of Ein.

Ein: Ein was only slumped to the ground. Blood trickled from his eyes and mouth. His eyes were life-less and he laid there. Dead.

Dante had killed him. Dante had killed the reason he was alive. Dante killed the very reason he made it through childhood. The man who had raised him. Dead at his hands.

Nothing crossed Dante's mind. His mind was as silent as the room around him. All color had drained from the room. The reds of the carpet, the crimson blood, the colors of each person's clothes: gone.

The only color that remained was Nolan's eye.

Dante felt numb. It was as though his brain had shut off entirely. It was almost like he was controlling a puppet of himself as he stepped forward. His actions felt foreign. Dante felt himself retrieve a knife from his pocket.

The cold in the room. The ice-like blade. The intoxicating smell of blood. The fabric of his clothes pushing against his skin. The feeling of holding his jaw. He could only feel, he couldn't think.

Next, he felt himself step forward.

He felt the fading warmth of Nolan's skin. The poking of brushing his hair to the side. The cold of the metal goggles. The toughness of the leather strap to hold it on his face. The liquid engulfing his fingers. The tearing of flesh. The resistance of the muscle pushing against the blade. The cold of the eyeball.

Dante pulled the eye from its socket. Filling a jar on the table with a liquid labeled 'preservation', sliding it into his bag.

He stood there. Holding a jar containing the eye of, what used to be, a helping hand. A dead father and two casualties. Mindless slaughter.

Suddenly every single one of Dante's thoughts bit him like a truck. Nedrigo. Typhon. The heart. Mercury’s condition. Ein’s hug, Typhon's hug. This morning, last night. The forest. The memory. The dream. The birds. The school. The distance between him and the Capitol.

But most of all, the guards.

With consciousness fading in and out, blinking in one location, only to open his eyes in another.

Suddenly Dante was at Nedrigo's door. Then he was shaking him awake. Dante felt himself rush out sentences to him. Then with another blink, he was outside the school gates. Nedrigo behind him. Then he felt himself on horseback.

Grass. Birds. The feeling of a log underneath him. The warmth of the sun. The feeling of hands. Once on his neck, checking his heart. Once to his forehead, to check for a fever. Then nothing. The rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds was the only sound for a few moments. Then came the crash of water.

[wrestlingisfake]

Full Gear preview

Jon Moxley vs. MJF - Moxley is defending the AEW men's world title. MJF earned this title shot by winning a ladder match on September 4, where he didn't even touch the other competitors because they were laid out by Stokely Hathaway's stable, the Firm.

After Moxley's mentor, William Regal, accused MJF of taking too many shortcuts to be truly great, MJF decided he wanted to make sure this match happened with both participants at "110%." When the Firm targeted Moxley for a beatdown on October 26, MJF tried to make the save, and the group turned on him. So on paper MJF has improbably become a babyface, or at least a tweener.

If this was almost any other US promotion, I'd bet that Regal turns on Moxley to align with MJF and the Firm in a giant mega-swerve. But since it's AEW, I'm less sure. We haven't seen enough of Tony Khan's booking to really know if it's he's into hot-shotting a swerve like that. For all we know, this program is just planting the seeds for a betrayal that won't happen for another year. That uncertainty is pretty cool, really--I get to feel like the stars are in alignment for a hot angle without "knowing" it's a foregone conclusion.

It seems like all the buzz on the internet is that MJF has to win here. But my gut says Moxley retains, and MJF's big moment is deferred again. I'm not sure that's the right call, but that's the call I think they'll make.

PAC & Penta El 0M & Rey Fenix vs. Kenny Omega & Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson - This match is for the AEW trios championship. The Elite (Omega and the Young Bucks) became the first team to hold the title at All Out on September 4, but then they were unceremoniously stripped of the belts on September 7. Death Triangle (Pac and the Lucha Bros) won the vacant title later that night, and have held it ever since. Now the Elite are back to get back what they never lost.

Of course, the real story is why the Elite were stripped of the title and disappeared from AEW programming for 76 days. It was widely reported that a fight broke out backstage between the Elite and CM Punk's camp during the All Out post-show scrum, and everyone involved was suspended pending an investigation. AEW has yet to officially comment; the fact the Elite are returning is the closest the promotion has come to acknowledging that they were ever gone. If you're hoping Kenny and the Bucks will make some statement about what happened, you're probably going to be disappointed.

It seems like a foregone conclusion that the Elite will regain the title. What really puts it over the top is that Pac has been going heel, and he's not having much luck convincing Penta or Fenix to join him. If Death Triangle loses tonight, I expect the team to disintegrate very shortly.

Chris Jericho vs. Bryan Danielson vs. Claudio Castagnoli vs. Sammy Guevara - This is a four-way match for Jericho's ROH men's world title. Guevara is a member the Jericho Appreciation Society, and Danielson and Castagnoli are teammates in the Blackpool Combat Club, but it's every man for himself here. The first participant to score a fall over any of the other three will win the match and the championship. So of course they're doing the bit where Jericho expects Sammy to "do the right thing" and help him win, which never ever works out in this kind of wrestling match.

It's been nearly a year since the first seeds of the Chris Jericho-Eddie Kingston feud were planted, and six months since the BCC entered the fray. The saga has dragged on so long that I think Kingston just gave up and moved on with his life.

Whoever wins this match will presumably be the defending champion at the next ROH-branded show, Final Battle on December 10. I don't think they put the belt on Jericho just to take it off him before that show. He's virtually certain to retain here.

Saraya vs. Britt Baker - Saraya debuted with AEW in September, after an eleven-year run as Paige in WWE. Her in-ring career was derailed in 2016 following a neck injury, and after her 2018 retirement WWE barely seemed to know what to do with her. Now, finally, she's been medically cleared to wrestle, and she's basically starting at the top with Baker.

I'm a little worried about Saraya here because I remember when she returned from neck surgery in December 2017 and almost immediately got re-injured. But if that's not a factor, the match should be good. I'm not a fan of the build, though, which has been the same tired "I'm the one who built and/or carried this division" meta stuff we've seen in women's wrestling for over 20 years.

Common sense says Saraya has to win her big comeback match. But I think they could plausibly have her lose, with the idea that just hanging in there with Baker after a five-year layoff is impressive.

Max Caster & Anthony Bowens vs. Swerve Strickland & Keith Lee - Swerve In Our Glory retained the AEW tag title against Caster and Bowens on September 4, but then lost the belts in a September 21 return bout. Now the Acclaimed are defending the title in the rubber match.

I was there for All Out when everybody was losing their fucking minds for the Acclaimed, and they were pi-i-i-issed when Caster and Bowens didn't win. The energy of that match stole the show. The Acclaimed have got something special going and it's way too early to cut it short. Meanwhile, the opposing team is falling apart, as Lee is running out of patience with Strickland's heelish tactics. At this point I'd much rather see a Lee-Strickland feud than keep this feud going, so I think the champs have to retain.

Toni Storm vs. Jamie Hayter - Storm is defending the AEW interim women's world title. The incumbent titleholder is Thunder Rosa, who's been sidelined with a back injury; whoever holds the interim title when she's cleared to return will presumably face her to unify the championship.

Notionally, the story here is that Storm and Hayter used to be close friends but Hayter threw that away when she aligned with Britt Baker. But to me the real story is that this match is an afterthought--Storm is facing Baker's sidekick because Baker has bigger fish to fry. That's not great for protecting the image of the title, especially when Storm's already saddled with the "interim" label. The best remedy would be for Storm to pick up another win and move on to the winner of Baker-Saraya.

Sting & Darby Allin vs. Jeff Jarrett & Jay Lethal - So yeah, it's TWO THOUSAND TWENTY-TWO~! and Jeff Jarrett (55) is in AEW to help Jay Lethal (37) pick a fight with Sting (63) and Darby Allin (29).

To be fair, Jarrett and Sting have held up pretty well, and this won't be the most embarrassing old man fight we've seen in the past six months, let alone the last ten years. But I watched a pretty good chunk of Jarrett's career, and I can safely say that I got my fill of this guy in 1994. Fuck, Jeff was younger then than Darby is now! This isn't an age issue, really, and it's not even some beef with his politicking. Jarrett is simply devoid of charisma, and he's entering this story just as I'm waking up to the fact that Lethal kinda has the same problem.

The Sting-Allin team has never lost, and I don't think they'll start now.

Jade Cargill vs. Nyla Rose - This is for the AEW TBS title. Cargill is the official titleholder, but Rose stole the belt on October 7 and has been claiming to be the champion ever since.

I've been lowkey waiting for this match ever since that September 2021 battle royale where they were trying to work together but it obviously didn't pan out. They had a three-way match with Thunder Rosa, but you knew Jade would pin Rosa to keep you waiting for a true on-on-one clash. The tale of the tape makes this feel like Sid Vicious vs. Big Van Vader, but Jade's superstar persona and Nyla being le epic troll just makes it even better.

I'm certain Jade will win in under seven minutes, but the real winners are the fans! By which I mean me. I am the winner of this match.

Jack Perry vs. Luchasaurus - This is a steel cage match; in AEW that means the contest can only end by pinfall or submission. Perry spent most of his AEW career as "Jungle Boy" and teaming with Luchasaurus. After Christian Cage turned on Jungle Boy in June, Luchasaurus seemed to side with Christian, only to re-align with Perry in July. Heading into the big Perry vs. Cage match on September 4, Christian had a triceps injury, so in a shocking swerve Luchasaurus did a triple-cross, destroying Perry so Christian could pick up an easy victory. Now Perry wants revenge, and he wants to keep Christian from interfering.

This is the first tag team breakup in a long time that really feels like it means something. I didn't think they'd ever split these two up. They just came out with Jungle Boy and Luchasaurus action figures with little tag team belts, and Jack is shilling them while acknowledging it's kind of weird now, and it actually feels kind of painful that it's come to this.

You could make a case for Luchasaurus to win this match, but I think that went out the window when they had Perry lose to a one-armed Christian in twenty seconds. Jack needs a big win now more than ever.

Wardlow vs. Samoa Joe vs. Powerhouse Hobbs - This is a three-way, so the first man to score a fall on either opponent will win Wardlow's AEW TNT championship. Joe's ROH television title is not at stake here. I like when the big boys fight and I'm a fan of all three of these dudes, but I'm really sick of three-way matches. Hobbs has been chasing Wardlow for weeks, but the real story here is Joe's heel turn because he decided Wardlow is a threat to his title. The obvious destination is Joe vs. Wardlow for both belts, so this is just filler until we get there. Wardlow pins Hobbs to retain.

Eddie Kingston vs. Jun Akiyama - This is on the pre-show. Eddie has been wanting to face his hero Akiyama forever, and technically met in a tag match last night, but never really got to mix it up. So Kingston demanded to do it one-on-one here. Akiyama, 53, is a legendary figure from the glory days of All Japan Pro Wrestling in the 1990s. I've never seen his work, and I still don't feel like I got much of a look at him in the November 18 tag match. I'm getting a little tired of watching the 50-plus crowd wrestle, but at least this is a fresh face for me, and Eddie will bust his ass to make it feel important. Kingston should win, unless he's dead set on doing the job for his idol.

Brian Cage vs. Ricky Starks - This is scheduled for the pre-show. It's a semifinal match in a tournament to determine the next challenger for the AEW men's world title. The winner will advance to face Ethan Page in the final on November 23, and the winner of that match goes on to a title shot on December 14. Originally the final was supposed to be on this show but everything got postponed after Lance Archer laid out Starks before their scheduled quarterfinal match. Starks finally beat Archer to advance last night, but he's clearly in worse shape than Cage right now. Even so, I think Ricky is the one on his way up the ladder, so look for him to win here.

Orange Cassidy & Chuck Taylor & Trent Beretta & Rocky Romero & ??? vs. QT Marshall & Lee Johnson & Aaron Solo & Nick Comoroto & Cole Karter - Another pre-show match. Orange and his squad are out for revenge after QT gave Danhausen a piledriver on the ring steps last week. The mystery partner on Cassidy's team is heavily implied to be Danhausen, but that's not guaranteed. Danhausen fandom has been getting worked up for months about the idea of him bringing back the unironic horror gimmick he had a few years ago, but I'm not convinced that's what this is going to be. It doesn't really matter, since QT and the Factory probably couldn't even win this match 5-on-4.

[7r0773r]

The Selected Levis by Larry Levis

Blue Stones

for my son, Nicholas

I suspect They will slide me onto a cold bed, A bed that has been brought in, Out of the night And past the fraying brick of the warehouse, Where maybe a workman took an afternoon nap, And woke staring up At what sky he could see through one window. But if he kept staring, And thought that the bed took its gray color From the sky, and kept watching that sky Even after he had finished his cigarette, He might learn How things outlive us. And maybe he would be reminded that the body, too Is only a thing, a joke it kept trying to tell us, And now the moment for hearing it Is past. All I will have to decide, then, Is how to behave during Those last weeks, when the drawers Of the dresser remain closed, And the mirror is calm, and reflects nothing, And outside, tangled In the hard branches, The moon appears. I see how poor it is, How it owns nothing. I look at it a long time, until I feel empty, as if I had travelled on foot For three days, and become simple, The way light was simple on the backs Of horses as my father approached them, Quietly, with a bridle. My father thought dying Was like standing trial for crimes You could not remember. Then someone really does throw The first stone. It is blue, And seems to be made of the sky itself. The breath goes out of you. Tonight, the smoke holds still Against the hills and trees outside this town, And there is no hope Of aquittal.

But you? Little believer, little Straight, unbroken, and tireless thing, Someday, when you are twenty-four and walking through The streets of a foreign city, Stockholm, Or Trieste, Let me go with you a little way, Let me be that stranger you won't notice, And when you turn and enter a bar full of young men And women, and your laughter rises, Like the stones of a path up a mountain, To say that no one has died, I promise I will not follow. I will cross at the corner in my gray sweater. I will not have touched you, As I did, for so many years, On the hair and the left shoulder. I will silence my hand that wanted to. I will put it in my pocket, and let it clutch The cold, blue stones they give you, As a punishment, After you have lived.

***

Adolescence

for Sharon and Earl

Our babysitter lives across from the Dodge Street cemetery, And behind her broad, untroubled face. Her sons play touch football all afternoon Among the graves of clerks & Norwegian settlers. At night, these huge trees, rooted in such quiet, Arch over the tombstones as if in exultation, As if they inhaled starlight. Their limbs reach Toward each other & their roots must touch the dead.

When I was fifteen, There was a girl who loved me; whom I did not love, & she Died, that year, of spinal meningitis. By then she Had already left home, & was working in a carnival — One of those booths where you are supposed To toss a dime onto a small dish. Finally, In Laredo, Texas, someone anonymous, & too late, bought her A bus ticket back.... Her father, a gambler & horse dealer, wept Openly the day she was buried. I remember looking off In embarrassment at the woods behind his house. The woods were gray, vagrant, the color of smoke Or sky. I remember thinking then that If I had loved her, or even slept with her once, She might still be alive. And if, instead, we had gone away together On two bay horses that farted when they began to gallop, And if, later, we had let them Graze at their leisure on the small tufts of spring grass In those woods, & if the disintegrating print of the ferns Had been a lullaby there against the dry stones & the trunks Of fallen trees, then maybe nothing would have happened... There are times, hiking with my wife past Abandoned orchards of freckled apples & patches of sunlight In New Hampshire, or holding her closely against me at night Until she sleeps, when nothing else matters, when The trees shine without meaning more than they are, in moonlight, And when it seems possible to disappear wholly into someone Else, as into a wish on a birthday, the candles trembling...

Maybe nothing would have happened, but I heard that Her father died, a year later, in a Sierra lumber camp. He had been drinking steadily all week, And was dealing cards When the muscle of his own heart Kicked him back into his chair so hard its wood snapped. He must have thought there was something Suddenly very young inside his body, If he had time to think.... And if death is an adolescent, closing his eyes to the music On the radio of that passing car, I think he does not know his own strength. If I stand here long enough in this stillness I can feel His silence involve, somehow, the silence of these trees, The sky, the little squawking toy my son lost When it slipped into the river today.... Today, I am thirty-four years old. I know That horse dealer with a limp loved his plain, & crazy daughter. I know, also, that it did no good. Soon, the snows will come again & cover that place Where he sat at a wobbling card table underneath A Ponderosa pine, & cover Even the three cards he dropped there, three silent diamonds, And cover everything in the Sierras, & make my meaning plain.

***

My Story in a Late Style of Fire

Whenever I listen to Billie Holiday, I am reminded That I, too, was once banished from New York City. Not because of drugs or because I was interesting enough For any wan, overworked patrolman to worry about— His expression usually a great, gauzy spiderweb of bewilderment Over his face—I was banished from New York City by a woman. Sometimes, after we had stopped laughing, I would look At her & see a cold note of sorrow or puzzlement go Over her face as if someone else were there, behind it, Not laughing at all. We were, I think, "in love." No, I'm sure. If my house burned down tomorrow morning, & if I & my wife And son stood looking on at the flames, & if, then, Someone stepped out of the crowd of bystanders And said to me: "Didn't you once know ...?" No. But if One of the flames, rising up in the scherzo of fire, turned All the windows blank with light, & if that flame could speak, And if it said to me: "You loved her, didn't you?" I'd answer, Hands in my pockets, "Yes." And then I'd let fire & misfortune Overwhelm my life. Sometimes, remembering those days, I watch a warm, dry wind bothering a whole line of elms And maples along a street in this neighborhood until They're all moving at once, until I feel just like them, Trembling & in unison. None of this matters now, But I never felt alone all that year, & if I had sorrows, I also had laughter, the affliction of angels & children. Which can set a whole house on fire if you'd let it. And even then You might still laugh to see all of your belongings set you free In one long choiring of flames that sang only to you— Either because no one else could hear them, or because No one else wanted to. And, mostly, because they know. They know such music cannot last, & that it would Tear them apart if they listened. In those days, I was, in fact, already married, just as I am now, Although to another woman. And that day I could have stayed In New York. I had friends there. I could have strayed Up Lexington Avenue, or down to Third, & caught a faint Glistening of the sea between the buildings. But all I wanted Was to hold her all morning, until her body was, again, A bright field, or until we both reached some thicket As if at the end of a lane, or at the end of all desire, And where we could, therefore, be alone again, & make Some dignity out of loneliness. As, mostly, people cannot do. Billie Holiday, whose life was shorter & more humiliating Than my own, would have understood all this, if only Because even in her late addiction & her bloodstream's Hallelujahs, she, too, sang often of some affair, or someone Gone, & therefore permanent. And sometimes she sang for Nothing, even then, & it isn't anyone's business, if she did. That morning, when she asked me to leave, wearing only The apricot tinted, fraying chemise, I wanted to stay. But I also wanted to go, to lose her suddenly, almost For no reason, & certainly without any explanation. I remember looking down at a pair of singular tracks Made in a light snow the night before, at how they were Gradually effacing themselves beneath the tires Of the morning traffic, & thinking that my only other choice Was fire, ashes, abandonment, solitude. All of which happened Anyway, & soon after, & by divorce. I know this isn't much. But I wanted to explain this life to you, even if I had to become, over the years, someone else to do it. You have to think of me what you think of me. I had To live my life, even its late, florid style. Before You judge this, think of her. Then think of fire, Its laughter, the music of splintering beams & glass, The flames reaching through the second story of a house Almost as if to—mistakenly—rescue someone who Left you years ago. It is so American, fire. So like us. Its desolation. And its eventual, brief triumph.

[platonichaterbuthenihaveinsomnia]

Oh, sweetness devouring hair splitting perfections of the sea I sit in between of these thoughts and I hope to god We make it make sense today, I hope to god we make it make Sense today, don't you also feel that we're being so real? Don't you also wanna lay down for a little while on grass and then Sandy tiles besides the beach in a villa eating a peach Rotating, half-slithering, as we make the ends of the world Meet slowly, darling, we're meeting slowly, darling, we're meeting Truly, I'm in love and now I feel, I don't have to be sealed On the lips but then again, all these prior adjustments are so rare To be found in such ideal conditions, to be found in this way, and I know if it goes sour, the most beloved thing I have right now Will disintegrate into memories, oh what a curse to have, Memories, and so I'll keep my sealed, with my doors felt, I'll hold your hands somewhere in a fantasy as we jump from the River to the ocean over some cliffs and commotion, the normalcy Of humanity looking at us above, it'll just be the two of us, The darling, and her love, And even if months pass, I'll stay in a corner, you'll be the steps That take us from loveliness to foreigners, attached and together Holding the threads of eternity, forever, oh This is me trying, speaking, and dancing, and writing, and finding Another one to say, look at the day outside Look at the way the clouds all come to such pretty formations as If we they were trying to be you, and as March'll pass, so shall Spring, April and May would be summer that brings relief at the end as we Jump to June and July, by August, we mightn't even be fine, Cause we mightn't even together, in September and October, When I come back and I tell you finally, I don't know If it'll make any sense, any sensibility, maybe we'll be together in October, Maybe we'll be the ideal frolicking characters that jump Over the fields of wheat in fray, you'll be Aphrodite, and I'll still not Over your grace, and so then we arrive at the intricacies of November As it seems to be sort of cold, but then we remember, However cold it might be, it always rains a little bit too deep, So you live, suddenly, in that house in front of my window and We talk about how this world's such a bad, but great place, looking at each Other from distance and space, and then when the November rains greet us, The windows, also, fog up, The little droplets sounding so in tune to our conversation but more, Our dreams we do, and then as it rains, still, we'll meet In the evening when no one's still around, and I'll ask you If I could tell the stories of you I saw in my eyes, and I'll misspeak, The dreams is what I talk about, because my eyes are so hellbent On the beauty I see, and my mind is so hellbent on your unending Intellect and sweet, so that when we meet someday again, The November rain will be immortalised then, And this is a story, I hope it becomes true, Darling, you're my permanent muse, Permanent, permanent, like the rain in November, You're my sweetest muse.

-Aryamaan Upadhyay

[dustedmagazine]

King Creosote — I DES (Domino)

Photo by Other Voices

At the beginning of the end of I DES, Kenny Anderson’s latest King Creosote album, we hear an open fifth. Someone better versed than I in the lexicon of music tells me that open fifths are ambiguous. Further, she tells me that, because B# is just C, the implied goal, to her, of naming the 36ish-minute song in question “Drone in B#” is to achieve a sense of opacity. Rightly or wrongly, I take this to mean that B# both does and does not exist, like an unattainable parallel world — like, perhaps, the afterlife. This occurs to me because time and what is to be done as it passes and frays and comes to an end is the unavoidable subject running through Anderson’s lyrics on I DES.

On the second song, “Blue Marbled Elm Trees,” a buoyant rhythm and shimmering pipes take us to the scene of a speculative (but certainly windswept) funeral. With the assurance that “no I shan’t complain,” our narrator walks us to the edge of their future final resting place to show us how they’ll be laid “down to sleep/…under earth two meters deep.” Then come the memories, also not worthy of complaint. The unabashed joy of “laughing with my girls” and the rueful bitterness of regret projected onto “only a dozen or so of the loves of my life [who] cannot contain their grief/and they weep real tears/of all those wasted years.” It isn’t score-settling, it’s account-taking, and, here, the tally comes out alright: “I had the best life offered up by this blue marble/or any alien world.”

The narrator of the next song, “Burial Bleak,” is less at ease with the inevitable. It could be the same character from “Blue Marbled Elm Trees,” shaken out of their terminal fantasies by a real confrontation with death: “at a burial bleak/I'm thinking that maybe dying's just not for me.” Where our guide in “...Elm Trees,” imagines solace in gratitude and letting go, whoever relates “Burial Bleak” promises to “greedily…cling to [their] life.” The theme carries through “Dust,” the song that follows, which holds the fear and resolve of “Burial Bleak” up to the acceptance of “...Elm Trees” and sees only resignation. Ashes to ashes and all that. In keeping with the mixed feelings that may tumble out of that maxim, the music of “Dust” is all shifting synthesizers: silvery textures, intermittently bitten by the plunge of sharper notes, gleaming then darting away. The sound and feel is unsteady yet consuming. By the end of “Burial Bleak,” Anderson’s singing is clear and determined, a fist pumped into the opulent wheeze of an accordion and triumphant, stately strings. But when he repeats “someday/you too/will be dust” for the last time, his voice strains over the eponymous refrain then disintegrates into a billow of sound.

Much of I DES resides, lyrically, in this immense and ambivalent half-light – the “grief” and “wasted years” of “...Elm Trees,” the “lymphatic…lunatic” narrator of “Walter de la Nightmare” pulled towards “the last chance saloon,” or the desperate appeal of “Please Come Back I Will Listen, I Will Behave, I Will Toe The Line.” We do, however, sometimes spin and land on a more playful and ecstatic square. The rapid handclap/knee-slap bang of the beat that drives the spieling, reeling “Susie Mullen” shatters, in the best way, the elegiac mood that precedes it. First, the effect is jarring, like, where’s my solemnity gone, but as the song rushes forward and Anderson’s nearly frantic rap is filigreed with fuzzy keyboard intrusions before breaking into a long, bright bridge, you get the sense of a release. The big questions and morbid musings seem, from that angle, to have been set aside. “Susie Mullen” gives I DES both an aural boost and a welcome deviation in tone, but even here, in the opening line “are we 20 years too late?” Anderson’s nagging subject, the past and its hold on the present and what remains of the future, isn’t completely discarded.

I DES is an ambitious, moving work. It places the incisive melancholy of Anderson’s tenor within a complex, often soaring musical environment. Rather than merely complementing his voice, the accompaniment pushes him to compete for space. It’s a beautiful and sometimes overwhelming listen for the sheer magnitude and vivacity of sound, something like the headlong vigor of Spiritualized brought alongside the elegant cloudy ruins of Elbow or The National. But if competition is the right framing, Anderson, as vocalist and storyteller, ultimately bows out. Even if the title of “Drone in B#” is nothing more than a notational in-joke and the open fifth simply felt right in the moment, there is something meaningful in the fact that the last statement by such a distinctive singer and prolific lyricist is to omit his voice. On an album that so adeptly draws out the enigmatic, ongoing, and unknowable – or, yes, ambiguous and opaque – nature of living and dying with ourselves and others, perhaps it is appropriate, after all, to give drones, the great foundational sustainers, the last word.

Alex Johnson

[apotheosphorus]

when i first got diagnosed with bipolar disorder and tentatively disclosed it to my closest friends (my family obstinately gaslit themselves into denying my diagnosis), my friends acted shocked. it seemed like i was doing fine. i had friends and had absolutely everything together with a 3.7 gpa at ucla. i was skinny, conventionally attractive, and smart.

it was hard for them to wrap their head around the notion i was struggling with a serious mental illness when every major litmus test said, in fact, that i was more than fine.

but i was always fraying at the seams. playing a precarious game of balance between mitigating the worst of my behaviors and engaging the manic energy into my academic success, only to crash into a serious depression and self harm that i sequestered away from the world. i couldnt let the world know how truly and deeply unwell and unregulated i was. it would shame me to have my self-projected image of bluster and brains thrown right back into my face. because then id be exposed for what i was all along; someone destined for failure and disintegration.

and as time went on, the facade only cracked even further. it felt like pieces were being taken away from me as more and more stressors in life were added, and no one took the time to care. it felt like the melodic composition of my life that i had struggled to keep together grew discordant and the dregs of depression shone through until there really wasnt much of me at all left.

staying mindful through manic episodes feels a lot like bottling lightning. its contained and to an untrained eye, luminous and striking. but its a dangerous thing just waiting to explode and slowly the glass bottle will splinter and everyone will be collateral. and i will get to say, “i told you so,” to all the bystanders i silently screamed to for help who refused to believe there was anything in the bottle to begin with.

no one sees the little ways things fall through the cracks. nobody cares. but then the things that fall through slowly get bigger until theyre astronomical, and then people only get upset that youre inconveniencing them. and now youre battered and dysregulated and a failure, and all people can think about is how you make them feel uncomfortable.

the little things become large and soon i wonder if there will no longer be a net, much less a floor, and the last spindly threads of my mental health will disintegrate and ill just be a free fall.

its easy to slip. a slip of the tongue, a slip of the mind, a slip of the finger and the iron pierces the skin and blood wells at the tip. a slip close to the edge and you plummet.

i dont know if i can ever come back from that.

[kiridarling]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

katsuki bakugou | f!reader, implied(ish) mafia!kats, choking, exhibitionism, cockwarming, riding, mild corruption themes, degradation, whore/slut!calling. minors dni!

— 2.5k words

"Listen, I don't give a fuck about your friend—I wanna get to know you better."

“Um, excuse me? Have you seen my friend?”

The ash-blond swimming in smoke stills, mid-conversation with some half-dressed woman to his right. In fact, all the half-dressed women snap their heads your way, all ten of them, sizing you up in your non-promiscuous dress and heels (not compared to theirs, at least) and obvious awkwardness and uncouthness. The ash-blond frowns.

“How’d you fuckin’ get in here?”

“Um,” you glance at the green-haired bouncer who let you through—he’s too busy guarding the entrance to notice. “I just pretended like I knew who you were and he...let me in?”

“Fuckin’ Deku,” the ash-blond groans, rubbing a hand over his face before tossing it over the back of the booth. “Whadd’ya want?”

“Um, I was wondering if you’ve seen my friend,” you repeat, hands fiddling with your bracelets as you crack under the pressure of all the eyes. “She’s um, kinda short with long brown hair. I don’t...it was hard to see the color of her dress in the dark, but I think it was purple?”

The ash-blond blinks as you fumble over your words, causing a second of silence where he does nothing but stare until he snaps, digging his cigar into the ash-tray with finality.

“All right. Shoo, ladies.”

The women surrounding the ash-blond whine and boo. He seems unfazed though, simply shrugging as he says:

“Gotta help this pretty thing find her friend.”

The women clear out quickly and quietly after that. And though you’re unsure why, many of them shoot very nasty looks your way as they pass under the neon red exit sign and into the chaotic club. They look like they want to kill you.

Anyways.

“So...does that mean you know where my friend is?”

“Nope,” the ash-blond says, popping the ‘p’ as he adjusts to the extra space in the booth. “But you get a solid fuckin’ view from up here. Sit.”

You nod and take the spot next to him, scanning the crowd below with narrowed eyes. You look for something, anything that could hint at where your friend could be, but wind up empty-handed.

"D'ya come here often?" he asks, and you shake your head.

"No. I mean, I heard the place is kind of new anyway, so," you shrug absentmindedly. You think you see your friend for a second, just catching a glimpse of brown hair, but once the girl turns, it's clear she's not who you're looking for. Dammit.

"Guess so," the man grunts. You hear him shift but you don't look. "The o—"

"Shoes, did you see her shoes?" You ask before realizing your thought process is light years ahead of his. He gives you a blank look. "I mean—sorry, they're like, really high stilettos with gold on the bottom. I think."

The stranger's angled eyebrows drop. "No."

"Dammit," you click your tongue, before turning back to the crowd. No...no...no...no...

"Listen, I'm not gonna sugar coat it—I don't give a fuck about your friend." He says with a sigh. Your head snaps to look at him because it doesn't matter if he meant it, that's rude, but your thoughts disintegrate into nothing as he grabs you by the chin and says, "I wanna get to know you better."

"Um," You swallow. He's close to the point where your eyes cross trying to put him into focus. "M-Me?"

"You," he confirms with a cocked eyebrow. "What, never been the center of attention before, Princess?"

You falter. Not like this.

"So," he continues when you don't respond. "What's your name, Princess? I'm Katsuki."

You give him yours and meet his hand halfway for a handshake, much too aware of how big it is compared to yours. Katsuki hums, both arms on either side of your being and ultimately, caging you to the booth.

"Y/N..." He repeats, experimentally, like he's trying to see how it fits in his mouth. You don't mind the way it sounds coming from him. "I like it.”

"O-Oh, um," you're unsure of what to say, so you do nothing but blush and place a hand to his chest. You try your hardest to hide your surprise upon feeling how firm it is. "Thank you."

"Don't gotta thank me for stating the obvious," Katsuki grunts, adjusting so his eyes are leveled with yours. "What do you like to do, Y/N?"

There's a hand on your thigh.

It sits right where your dress stops, and it burns—but you find yourself unsure of what you want it to do, whether you want it to go away or continue its journey up. And that's exactly what it does, as Katsuki thumbs the hem to your skirt and you try your hardest to focus on your reply.

"U-Um..." you panic, too much heat in his eyes for comfort. "I don't know."

Katsuki raises an eyebrow in faint amusement, "You don't know?"

"W-Well, I mean—!" You try after realizing how utterly empty-headed you must sound. Katsuki's chuckle diffuses your efforts fairly quickly.

"You're cute, you know that?" He says gruffly, carmine red eyes burning through the dark of the club. You suppress the urge to shrink.

"I—um, thank you," you flush embarrassingly red. Katsuki's eyes study your being for a moment, flickering up and down, and up again until he's tapping the side of your thigh twice.

"Sit in my lap, Princess."

He guides you using your wrist and for some reason you allow him to guide you into his lap, grunting as he nestles you on him comfortably as he overlooks the club. You falter upon feeling something...strangely hard. “What’s that?”

“My dick,” Katsuki grunts, almost absentmindedly, and yet the vulgar comment takes you so off guard that it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Oh.”

“‘S your fault for gettin’ me all worked up, Princess,” Katsuki’s hands find their way around your waist before they’re guiding your hips into rolling small, smooth circles against him. Katsuki’s back thumps against the back of the booth as he admires the view, groaning behind a bitten lip. “Told ya to sit still and you didn’t listen.”

You suppose that’s valid.

Plus, you’re enjoying the little groans he’s letting out—along with the sharp inhales when your hips dig harder into his.

“How um—how do I help?”

“Just keep sittin’ pretty, Princess,” Katsuki growls, and you nod, allowing him to guide your hips to his will. It’s a lot of movement, and you find yourself shying away from the balcony as he hikes your dress up to your waist—ultimately exposing the entirety of your lower half. Your goosebumps rise.

“What if people see?”

”They won’t. We’re too high up,” Katsuki soothes, rubbing a thumb over your ribcage as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. “And if they’re fuckin’ nosy? Let ‘em see. The sick fuckers will appreciate the show.”

Let them see. You shiver at that.

Katsuki’s running his hot hands all over your body and they make you feel nothing short of sexy, sliding them up the sides of your body until they curve over your breasts, and drop back down to your hips. They move as if they’re mapping out your body, trying to figure out what makes you tick and what makes you crumble, and you sigh along with the satisfying glide.

“Fuck...you have a better body than those girls ever will,” he groans, but you flush at the way he seems to say it more to himself than to you. “Fuckin’ perfect, fuck.”

“T-Thank you,” you flush, unsure if you were supposed to take the praise or not. Katsuki chuckles.

“So fuckin’ cute, too. You’re welcome, Princess.” His hands move from your waist to the sides of your thighs, tapping twice with open palms. “Squat.”

“Squat?” You confirm with furrowed eyebrows. Katsuki grunts and manhandles you to your feet with a sigh. There isn’t a whole lot of space between the booth and the railing, forcing you to fold over the banister with the cool thing pressing into your gut and your arms keep you from falling completely. You shiver from the cool air as his fingers hook around the fabric of your panties, and then you feel something hot kiss your entrance before Katsuki’s guiding you back down using your hips.

You’re full of him, immediately, and you struggle to hide a whimper as he wastes no time in bottoming out.

“O-Oh—“

“Never had somethin’ this big before, huh Princess?” Katsuki’s strained voice is the only evidence that lets you know he’s feeling good, and you’re tightening around him with a nod.

“N-No, definitely not.”

You have to rest your head against the buzzing railing to just breathe through it, to adjust, and Katsuki chuckles at your shuddering chest. He taps a steady rhythm that matches the beat of the music into your side but doesn’t move, and you find a strange comfort in the vibrating club, with the addition of something inside you providing a uniquely comfortable warmth.

"C-Can I—"

"No," Katsuki grunts, placing heavy hands on your hips to ensure you'll stay in place. "Find your fuckin' friend, first. Y'got a good view."

You whimper and nod, resting your forehead against the cool railing. Fuck—he fills you up too well. As you watch people live their lives down below, you rake your eyes through the crowd in search of a purple dress—and you come up empty.

"I-I don't even know if she's here," you defend, chest shuddering. Katsuki chuckles, though it's laced with something heavier.

"Really? 'Cause you were so fuckin’ sure about twenty minutes ago."

Katsuki's hand cracks against your ass—with a sound you're surprised no one heard over the music—and you yelp. "Dirty fuckin' girl, grinding back on my cock. Impatient girls get punished, you know."

You nearly moan behind a bitten lip. You weren't even aware you were moving.

“F-Found her,” you barely croak out, so relaxed your upper body practically drapes off the balcony. Katsuki snorts, leaning forwards so his mouth is flush against the back of your neck—you gasp from the adjustment.

“Prove it.” He grunts breathily, clearly in a similar condition.

“U-Um, the gold stilettos," you barely manage, and Katsuki hisses as you tighten around him to point down into the fray—lo and behold, there she is, in the middle of the goddamn dance floor with some guy you've never seen before. You...suppose you're in a similar situation. A better one.

"Good girl," the ash-blond coos. Shivering, your hips rolling on their own, but this time Katsuki lets them. You don't stop. “Fuckin’ choking my cock, shit.”

His hands get a little shaky and though it’s hard to discern through your own arousal, you take note of how thin his voice sounds, and continue to roll your hips in the way that makes him shiver. Katsuki starts to trail kisses up your neck which turns into a bite of your earlobe, causing you to hiss from the feeling.

“‘S good?” You ask—Katsuki’s chest vibrates against your back.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he huffs, guiding hands sliding down your waist. “Keep goin’.”

Not that you were planning on stopping.

Katsuki’s hands slide between your thighs to rub at your clit. You nearly shout, thighs seizing, and the ash-blond chuckles at your inability to stay quiet as if he wasn’t sliding a free hand up your dress to play with your chest.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl—you aren’t even trying to hide it now, are ya? Moanin’ in the club like a goddamn whore.”

You nearly choke at that, slamming a hand over your lips to muffle the sound. Not that anyone would be able to hear you over the club music, but still. Public decency.

Either way, your reaction has Katsuki chuckling, and he hooks his chin over your shoulder as he says, “You like it when I call you dirty, Princess? You like when I point out how fuckin’ filthy you are for me?”

You nod your head vehemently, now bouncing on Katsuki’s cock with a newfound enthusiasm—and you figure the slap on your ass is a signal to respond.

“Answer me, slut.”

“Y-Yeah, I do,” you whimper, and Katsuki’s hand crawls from your breasts to your neck, cutting off your oxygen supply in the best way. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, nearly gasping as you slur:

“Gonna—gonna cum.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock in the middle of a club, huh?” Katsuki’s chuckle strains from arousal and you’re positive he’s not that far behind. The hand on your clit speeds up and Katsuki curses as you tighten around him, teeth digging into the meat of your shoulder.

“Cum for me, Princess, fuckin’ do it—“

You squeeze around him with a shout before your orgasm comes over you, shoulders shuddering. Katsuki groans out a broken good girl before his hips buck and grip tightens around your waist as he cums, hands guiding your hips to ride both of your orgasms out until they finally come to a still.

You shiver as Katsuki catches his breath in your neck. Eventually, your racing hearts beat in time with the music and bodies cool enough to not feel so slick with sweat, and finally, Katsuki pulls out with a groan. He doesn't remove you from his lap, though.

"You good?"

You nod, fixing your hair in hopes that you'll look more put together than you feel. "Yeah—yeah I'm fine. You?"

Katsuki turns you in his lap to face him (though it does take some awkward clambering due to the limited space). He zips up his fly and you pull down your dress, the next steps about as uncertain as walking in the dark.

"Why're you asking me?"

"I dunno," you shrug, bottom lip poking out in indifference, "Pussy can take a lot out of a guy, I guess."

Katsuki's pale pink lips slide into a lazy smile, and he drops his head with a snort. "I—yeah okay. Sure."

"What?" You giggle, gesturing at his heaving chest before crossing your hands over yours with a huff. "You're out of breath, aren't you? I did all the work."

Katsuki chuckles at your petulance, shaking his head in defeat, "Y'got me there."

He rests his head against the backboard of the booth to give you a look. You can't put your finger on it, but you feel exposed nonetheless, and you struggle not shrink from it. He licks his lips, "You drink, Princess?"

"Depends," you shrug. The ash-blond grins.

"What do you like?"

"Shirley Temples," you giggle, coiling your arms around his neck. Katsuki's hands return to your waist and it's...comfortable. "Why, you wanna buy me one?"

Katsuki makes a face that signifies yes, he does, and you follow his eyes in peering towards the dance floor again. You see your friend exactly where you saw her last, and upon feeling eyes on her, she looks around to find yours. She shoots you a wink—you roll your eyes.

"What about your friend?" Katsuki snorts, lifting an eyebrow. You snort.

"I found her, didn't I?" You wink, standing to your feet to pull him towards the bar. "Now c'mon! Doing all that work made me thirsty."

click to return to CLUB 777.

[doyouknowthemossinman]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40372935

The canary is meant, in reality, to be a warning, a symbol of the life that can be retained if only the miners will notice the lack of song echoing through the mines. The miners’ canaries were friends, emissaries, not harbingers or curses.

Jimmy can hardly relate.

It seems that every time he (inevitably) dies first, someone is there to poke fun and him and point out the continuation of the curse. It’s canon, it’s scripted, it’s expected. The gas in the mine has overwhelmed his senses, and there’s no one to bury his body for a proper funeral. (This is a metaphor. Jimmy’s body dissipated, decomposed rapidly due to the strange atmosphere of this world. Observing from his ghostly new position, he couldn’t even tell where his bones had been only a moment before.)

He could, however, still feel Tango’s presence across the map, even as their soulbond slowly dissipated. He wondered if Tango could feel his end of the bond. They had no bodies to experience physical pain anymore (even the world-shattering slashes across Jimmy’s back had healed over in the in-between), but emotions had a tendency to bleed through just as tangibly as physical pain. Jimmy fell to his knees beside his scattered inventory, pressing his forehead into the dirt. He could hardly feel the earth beneath him. Guilt and shame and sorrow and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tango, you don’t deserve this. You’re too good for this. Too good for me. It felt as though this heavy, pressing, crowding guiltshamesorrowutterdespair was all that he had left. How could there be anything else? His soulmate was so far away, and soon enough he wouldn’t even be his soulmate anymore. The bond would disintegrate, they would leave this death world and the game that Grian had invited them to play, probably forget the events of the last—how long had they been here?

It was all encompassing, suffocating. So he lay there and let himself cry. If he wasn’t upset, he didn’t feel anything at all. And that’s why when, from what he knew was the frayed end of the string around his soul, he felt a soft warmth, a quiet I don’t blame you, I forgive you, please don’t blame yourself. I still love you in spite of this world and it’s unkindness, he wept harder. You’re far too good for me, he thought, I don’t deserve you. And, selfishly, I never got to say goodbye to you.

I don’t care, he heard in response. I will love you regardless. I will love you even after I convince you that you deserve every good thing. I will love you beyond this world. That warmthlightweightlessness becomes a little stronger.

How will you remember me after this? he asked. His tears had stopped and he had stood, making his way back to the ranch. Back home.

How could I forget you? Tango replied, a laugh in his voice.

It was quiet after that, but Jimmy knew that Tango felt the hesitant appreciationwarmthlove that emanated across the fraying bond. He watched as Grian and Scar tried to hold a funeral for them and their subsequent death. At least their ultimate goal was eventually completed, he surmised bitterly. He sat (as well as a ghost can sit) on the rock they had chosen as his headstone. (He noted the bit of coal in Tango’s and another bitter feeling crossed his mind. His coalmine, at least in the beginning. He ended up being more like the miner, caring for Jimmy and suffering the consequences of the lives that Jimmy was responsible for losing. The first miner to die despite heeding the canary’s warning.) He watched as the ranch, now devoid of animals, burned a second time, in memoriam this time. Even after everyone left, Jimmy remained on that rock, beside the Warden’s remains, drinking in the sunset on this bloody last day.

“You’re still here?” came a voice beside him. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Only one other person could see him now. He made no move to respond, even though all he wanted to do was drag Tango to bed and leave this world the same way he fell asleep nearly ever night: curled around his netherborn soulmate, living space heater, breathing steadily and never feeling more safe. He can’t bring himself to tell Tango that that’s all he wants to do. So he says nothing at all.

“It’s over,” Tango says, and he sounds angry, but not at Jimmy. Never at Jimmy. Tears pool in his crimson eyes, and they’d steam against his skin if he had any. His hair still burns, but there’s no heat to it anymore.

“Go home.” His voice breaks. He wants Jimmy to look at him. He still hasn’t seen what color his eyes are without the magic of the death world affecting their appearances. “Go,” he says, because he can’t stand the thought of Jimmy being dead, can’t bear to think of the extent that Jimmy blames himself to. He can’t feel the other’s emotions from their bond anymore, there’s just a vague sense of him there. And that is tearing him apart inside.

Jimmy finally turns to look at him, tears in his eyes as well. They’re the richest chocolate brown.

“I thought I was home,” he admits. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

They both break.

They’re grasping at each other, seeking what little tangibility is left, searching for anything that feels familiar. But death works hard, and death has already stolen away their bodies, their souls, their bond, and it’s working on taking the last of their spectral forms. One moment they’re sobbing into each other’s shoulders, everything burning around them and Jimmy’s wings are covering them, trying to shield them from all the horrible things about this world, and the next—