#nothing better than taking a look at an item appearing for like 1 second and making a heartwrenching headcanon

[sandwichmustbetasty]

okay.

so it's either a very fancy very nerdy little anvil paperweight

OR

little tyelpe had a teeny tiny forge-like dollhouse made for him by feanor, who painstakingly designed every tiny detail and made all toy equipment himself because tyelpe, too young to be in forge, insisted that he absolutely needs to be a smith like his father and grandfather and needs to begin learning now.

and who was feanor to refuse his only grandson who wanted to learn his craft when he only started to walk without bumping into everything? feanor would be elated and would spend hours playing with tyelpe in his little forge. it was before the silmarils when feanor had all the time in the world for his beloved grandson.

the anvil was one of many parts of that dollhouse, one of few that made it to beleriand and the only one that made it through to the second age with celebrimbor.

he could never make himself part with it.

[lilac-5ky]

Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Date with a ghost

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Summary: Being at the bottom of the ladder in your class with a non-combat oriented technique, you are prompted by Gojo to summon a dead sorcerer as a learning experience. However, when none other than Fushiguro Toji appears in your room, you find yourself practicing more than just your cursed technique.

Tags: Student!reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18, Toji early 30s), Oral Sex (both f. and m. receiving), Manipulation, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Pet Names (princess, baby, etc), Cowgirl, Toji being a horny asshole that gets redeemed at the end? Sort of.

Word Count: less than 6k.

“But, sensei, is this really necessary?”

You tilted the sphere between your fingers, sizing it up. It weighed no more than a baseball ball did, yet its price must be comparable to that of an entire stadium. A cursed item among cursed items given to a mere grade 3 sorcerer who barely stood out amidst the renowned prodigies of Tokyo Jujutsu High. This was a waste of both time and effort and yet the white-haired man before you begged to differ, eyes glinting a vibrant sky-blue hue from underneath his dark shades.

“Doubting your favorite teacher, Y/N?” he chuckled only to sulk a second later when you asked him what deluded him into thinking he was your favorite.

Undeterred, he continued “I feel like a broken record here, but do yourself a favor and have a bit more confidence. Graduation is two months away, don’t you wanna prove your worth till then? It’s not too late to climb a couple of steps up the ladder. You could easily shoot up to Grade 2. Look at the rest of your class—”

A firm albeit reassuring grip latched itself onto your shoulder, gently twisting you in the direction of your classmates.

The heatwave must have gotten to them for good, blood boiling under the vicious sun rays. Their sleeves and pants were rolled high above their elbows and knees respectively, foreheads glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat that dribbled down their necks.

Just looking at them made your skin crawl with uneasiness.

You didn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would willingly trade the shade of these blessed pine trees for the scorching furnace that the schoolyard was, but when you stopped paying attention to their clothes and took in their blissful expression, you felt a lump swell in your throat.

The two of them were practically beaming, giggling, and prancing around the water fountains without a care in the world— and why should they have anything to worry about when they were Grade 1 at seventeen? A Kamo and a distant cousin to the Zen’ins, both guaranteed to walk a path strewn with rose petals since birth. No trial or tribulation whatsoever.

Your teacher’s voice was muffled into white noise while you were busy shooting daggers at the duo, part of you wishing to join them in their harmless idiocy, and another silently praying that in your next life, you’d be lucky enough to be born into one of their clans. No one questioned the value of a Kamo. No one went against a Zen’in with an inherited technique.

“So, we good? Tell me I didn’t waste 15 minutes of my precious time for nothing.” His fingers squeezed at your shoulder, causing your attention to shift.

You had no idea what he’d been saying, though you’d sat through plenty of pep talks already to guess the gist of it. “You have potential, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down like this. You can do it!” All empty words without real meaning. Worthless. Not everyone had what it takes to become the next Gojo Satoru. Some people were born to be stepping stones for others, and you were perfectly fine with it. No half-assed aspiration would spur you on.

“If I do this… will you leave me alone?”

A Cheshire cat grin spanned from one corner of his mouth to the other. If one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake Gojo for an overzealous teacher whose earnest goal was to see his students succeed. Not you. You’d spent enough time in his presence to know that his whole “Teacher of the Year” shtick hid an agenda of its own. It was a matter of time to find out what his true motive was.

“What’s the plan?”

“Now we are talking,” he sang in glee. “Very simple, really. You just hold this between your palms and channel as much cursed energy as possible to its center. The ball will absorb it like a magnet and continue drawing from you until you have a clear picture of your target. Then, assuming all goes well and you don’t pass out,” a quiet “What?!” was overwritten by his voice, “you’ll get your very own date with a spirit. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nothing about your expression screamed excitement, eyes squinting in slits and bottom lip quivering into a frown. “And who’s my target, exactly?”

“A Zen’in sorcerer,” he said.

“A Zen’in sorcerer you say,” your eyes wandered again to that soaked blockhead in the distance, the black mop he had for hair flapping left and right. “Ain’t the one over there good enough?”

Shaping a cone around his mouth, Gojo yelled at the top of his lungs for the kids to wait up so they could play together. The duo cheered excitedly, shouting some sort of inside joke you knew nothing about right back at him. Wasn’t the first time you were excluded, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you questioned how this man came to be the world’s most talented sorcerer, either.

“If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” his smile softened as he lowered his voice. “The Zen’in I’m talking about has been dead for a little more than a hundred years now. Unfortunately, his name is erased from our logs,” of course it is “but that shouldn’t hinder you too much. He was an immensely powerful sorcerer with a great amount of cursed energy to back his technique up. An anomaly, if you like.”

“What kind of technique?” “The ten shadows technique,” he answered. “Out of all the Shikigami users, he is perhaps the strongest there’s ever been.”

“Stronger than you, sensei?”

The way his nose scrunched made you regret asking, knowing that a haughty declaration was dangling from the tip of his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a never-ending spiel of self-praise.

“And why should I invoke him in particular?” you quickly changed the subject. “I thought our goal was to hone my spirit-channeling technique and increase my cursed energy flow while we’re at it.”

“That we are doin’, but why not kill two birds with one stone? A new ten-shadow user has risen. I’m sure whatever trick that old dog has up his sleeve will be useful to our little Meg—” He feigned a smile of innocence at his slip. “All you gotta do is chit-chat him into giving you some info. Toss in a few compliments, butter him up. Shouldn’t take more than a few words to convince him, spirits are dying to be summoned— Oh well, unfortunate choice of words. What do you say? You’re in?”

Your groan was all the answer he required to beeline straight to the water fountains, his chirpy laugh echoing from afar. This guy, you huffed, examining the crystal ball anew. There was no way out of this. Either you did his bidding or you’d be forced to endure the obnoxious sound of his voice all summer long.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anything more cliche than a crystal ball?” you snarled, convinced he hadn’t heard you.

“Ouija board was already taken,” he warbled unexpectedly, voice meshing with that of your peers as they ran around in circles, dark-colored uniforms turning darker with every splash of water. “Besides, this has a bit of pink in it,” he referred to the rosy shaded base. “Much cuter than a bunch of rusty letters, right?”

You groaned as you shoved the item into your tote bag, making no mistake to talk out loud again as you turned on your heel. A pinch of jealousy punctured your chest, relieved by every step you took away from the scene and away from the fun the three of them were having.

“Looks like we’re having a date with a ghost tonight.”

It was a quarter past twelve when you decided to put that little experiment to work, the coast clear of overbearing parents and annoying little brothers who wanted nothing more than to disrupt your so-called “studying session”. As far as your family was concerned, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (Tokyo Jujutsu High for short) was your average educational institution that had somehow recognized the value of your mediocre grades and scouted you when you were still in middle school— no questions asked from either side.

You wouldn’t go as far as to call your own family a bunch of dimwits, but the signs were all there. A teacher merely four years older than you were, his odd sartorial decisions only second to his eccentric personality. A class made up of four students dramatically and suddenly decreasing to a party of three. An unknown man in a suit and tie driving you back and forth between “emergency study dates” in the dead of night. The lack of studying material in your backpack as opposed to the exams you constantly stressed over. Your unreasonable reaction when your mother stored a cursed tool in with the silver cutlery.

Even if you straight up walked to them with a banner that read “I exorcise curses”, you doubted they’d have anything more to say than a plain “Good for you”, not because they were stupid, but because they simply didn’t care at all.

They didn’t care enough to bat an eye when seven-year-old you tugged at daddy’s trousers, whimpering about a squid-like creature sneaking in your closet, and didn’t care enough to try and justify the stream of water flooding down the corridor. They didn’t care that your imaginary friends were more akin to monsters, and they didn’t care about you being away from home 350 days a year. It was convenient not to. That’s how they were able to drink their woes away at the local bar on a Thursday night with a clear conscience, having offloaded that pest of a brother at your grandparents’ for the fifth consecutive night.

Poor kid. If he wasn’t so despicable, your big sister instincts might have kicked in and raised an objection, though as things currently were suited you best. Rituals required focus, and you needed to make sure no one would bust through the door and interrupt your conversation with Mister Whatever-his-name-was.

You’d taken care of all your basic needs —eating a reheated portion of lasagna, cleansing your body of the worldly filth that stained it, catching a rerun of your favorite show’s latest episode, and cursing Gojo for making you miss it in the first place— and were now seated on your room’s floor with the crystal ball nesting between your bare thighs, the cold sensation much welcome on this excruciatingly warm evening where sitting on the fuzzy carpet seemed like the greatest torture imaginable.

It was only March and you were already in your skimpiest outfit of all; a frilly pair of dusty-pink shorts and a matching low-cut tank top dressing your sweat-beaded body. Dark spots saturated the fabric, demanding your fingers fanned it every two seconds. The worst had yet to come. By the time summer arrived, the final thing for you to crawl out of would be your own skin.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you returned to the item at hand. It’d been fairly long since you’d last performed a seance. Your role in the recent assignments was to support your classmates from the sidelines, exorcising whatever lower-grade curse got in their way with the aid of various cursed tools.

The white-haired nuisance could claim your technique was useful all he wanted, but at the end of the day, yours were simply not meant for combat. Best case scenario, after graduation, the higher-ups would put you on a 9 to 5 job, where you could dig whatever intel they wanted from the comfort of your cramped-up desk; away from your haughty classmates, and away from Gojo Satoru.

You rolled your fingers around the globe’s surface, pads tingling with waves of cursed energy as they seeped into the crystal. Slowly, a dark purple aura came to distort its translucence with colors and shapes of various magnitudes. Shadow-like forms gathered at the seams, remnants of pent-up energy colliding and converging with one another at one focal point. All ready to go!

You began mentally chanting the surname of your target, over and over again until the slideshow of foggy faces diminished to that of a select few candidates from the same bloodline. Some, you would imagine had died when they were still in their prime, measly fledglings of sorcerers with eyes retaining that youthful glossiness, while others seemed to have lived enough to see themselves turn into dehydrated raisins with next to zero cursed energy left.

Once you’d gone through your classmate’s entire family tree at least three times, you caught yourself admitting that despite their faults and innate air of pretension, the Zen’ins weren’t particularly hard on the eyes. Especially that one guy whose mug kept reappearing at random intervals, the slanted scar of his lips lingering in your mind well after the next contender’s appearance. There was something about him, be it the lack of aura he emitted or the viridescent hue of his eyes that had you replaying the frame at the expense of your own energy.

You were drawn to him in an inexplicable way that, at the time, you attributed to fate. It had to be him, right? That must have been why the dope you had for a mentor insisted on calling this a date. Even if he didn’t know the sorcerer’s name, he must have known how insanely attractive the guy was, right?

And suddenly, you felt a sliver of gratitude overcome you, eyelids snapping shut with the Zen’in sorcerer’s face as clear as day behind them, while you chanted the incantation Gojo himself had taught you.

“From the murky shroud of oblivion, I invoke thou out the shadows and blight to bask in heavenly light. Through me gain life, and through life gain thine blessed power.”

No more than a few seconds had passed when you heard a thud, your gaze meeting with that of the very man you’d summoned.

The orb barely did him any justice. Not as if crystal balls were ideal measuring instruments, but you’d need about ten more of those to depict his height as he towered over you, the bulky frame of his shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall behind your head. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than one would expect of someone who’d been dead for over a century, with corded veins and taut muscles peaking underneath a black compression shirt, waist accentuated where his hips met with a pair of baggy pants. And once you got to his face— you must have lost track of time staring into the gem-like green orbs of his eyes, considering you didn’t notice the scowl his lips wore until his tone pointed it out.

“The hell is this?” He sounded just like he looked, the bass of his timbre ringing most pleasantly in your ears.

You wouldn’t know what being dead felt like, but if it was anything remotely close to sitting on a dead leg for hours on end, you guessed he’d rather take a moment to adjust over an answer.

His soles circled the tiny space, eyes dancing between the fairy lights on the wall, the moonless sky —and by extension the empty driveway outside your window—, the three Polaroids on your desk that depicted an old family trip to Seoul (your mother silently accusing him from the frame for the crime of wearing his shoes inside the house), and lastly, you. His gaze feasted on your body as if he’d been starved for ages and you were the first oasis in the desert, his expression gradually easing into a lopsided smile as he cocked his head to the side.

“Got a name, sweetheart?” he asked in a syrupy sweet tone, the nickname he’d come up with making you doubt he’d use your actual name even if you shared it.

You set the ball aside and hopped on your feet, standing on somewhat more equal ground, though not equal enough to completely diminish the difference in height. He was massive, and you were still processing the kind of person that possessed the power to end this man’s life.

“Name’s Y/N,” you extended your hand. “You must be master Zen’in, nice to meet you!”

He merely glanced at your gesture, leaving you to embarrass yourself without a single qualm. “No one’s called me that in some time,” he expressed wryly. “You know about me?”

You nodded, wiping your palm against your shorts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a spirit act all high and mighty, a Zen’in at that. “Who hasn’t heard of the greatest sorcerer there’s ever been?” you chuckled, Gojo’s bootlicking advice coming in for the clutch. “You are somewhat of a legend in the Jujutsu world. The one who mastered the ten shadows technique like no other.”

“Is that who I am now,” he pondered out loud, his index briefly scratching his jaw. “I guess I am,” he grinned with confidence. “That why you summoned me? Wanted to meet with great ol’ me in person?”

“Something like it,” you admitted, finding it hard not to smile back. “I just so happen to be acquainted with this idiot who’s a big fan of yours. Had me use my technique for a passing grade.”

A low hum prompted you to continue. “He’s a real pain in the ass,” you groaned. “Calls himself ‘the strongest’ and acts as if he’s ‘teacher of the year’ when he forces me to fish out intel like some lackey— Actually, you might have heard of his family name before, they’ve been around for ages. Gojo,” quickly adding “Satoru.”

At the sound of your teacher’s name, the man’s eyes widened, his darkened pupils blown with an emotion akin to rage. You weren’t sure what great calamity the Gojos had brought upon him in his previous life, but being familiar with their descendant you doubted they put much effort into it.

“The six eyes is your teacher?” he asked, not giving you enough time to question how on earth he knew that title before he pitched in another question. “So, ya just a kid, huh?”

“I’m not!” you objected. “Turned 18 a while ago.”

“A while, you say?” he arched a brow.

“I’m closer to 19 if anything,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“19,” he mocked, his droopy eyelids incapable of hiding the way he sized your figure up.

You didn’t even think to put on a bra before the ritual started. Just like you could vividly picture what his pecs looked like under his clothes, your flimsy outfit left little to the imagination, the sweat that’d shimmered across your collarbones and cleavage working in your favor.

“Nah, you are right. No kid could ever have a body like that. Plump and ripe in all the right places,” his tongue lapped over his bottom lip, salacious stare prodding at what your arms kept hidden. “That’s a woman’s body, no doubt.”

Heat spread from your chest all the way to your cheeks, and for once, it wasn’t because of the room’s overbearing heat. Your toes sunk inside the carpet, thighs awkwardly rubbing together. You’d found yourself in such a position before, yet never with a boy like him— never with a man like him.

“Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your fingers hesitantly sliding down your elbows.

He took a step closer, lacking hesitation as he lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb gently caressing it.

“Gonna let me look at the rest, baby?” his other hand encompassed your hip, the size of his palm alone making you feel oh-so small and fragile before him. “I’ll make ya a deal if you lemme. Tell ya anything you wanna know and more— heh, I’ll make sure ya pass with flying colors.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

Depriving you of the chance to deny his advances, the man slotted his lips between yours and pulled back almost instantaneously, overjoyed to catch you leaning into his touch for more.

You weren’t sure why this was happening— why you were letting this happen. He was a stranger who barely qualified as being alive, and at the time of his death, he was closer to your father’s age than yours. But he was there, and he was paying you attention, and the way he spoke to you as if he already knew your answer ahead of your mouth had warmth spiraling to the lower parts of your body.

Rather than giving in to your pouty lips, the man whose name you didn’t even know cupped your breasts in both his hands, calloused thumbs making quick work of your nipples as they peaked below the drenched fabric, rolling the sensitive buds into full hardness.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he praised, kneading at your supple skin almost adoringly.

The straps of your top slid down your shoulders, and you felt the ghost of a smile press onto your neck, his warm mouth smearing wet kisses right to where your neck and shoulders connected. You bit back a sigh, your breath audibly strained.

“Bet you wanna be touched, hmm?” he continued, finding the sweet spot you didn’t know you had, and pressed on, his sharp teeth digging into your flesh coaxing a purr from deep within your throat. He chuckled, the vibrations making you shudder. “That why you’re dressed like a slut? Wanna be treated like one, mm?” his lips parted again, tongue lapping over the delicate bruise his teeth left as he pinched your nipples harshly. A moan was ripped from your slack jaw, the insult he carelessly threw adding to the slick between your thighs.

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. “Well, I’m not complaining. You’re a sight for sore eyes, kitten.”

He didn’t ask for permission before he tugged at your shirt, your breasts spilling out with a single bounce. You saw him wet his lips once more, fingers seizing your now-exposed nipples and lustful eyes admiring them up close. You hadn’t noticed how close he was standing until his hips bucked against yours, alerting you to how painfully hard he’d gotten underneath his pants. The six-year-long refractory period his body was subjected to was far too cruel— though you wouldn’t know about that until much later.

“Tell me,” he requested, pausing just so he could look you dead in the eye. “Have you ever done this before?”

His lips traversed the valley of your breasts, rough palms sliding languidly across your ribs and waist. You could see him hold you like that while being inches deep in you. Slamming your frail little set of bones against your desk’s wooden surface. Pounding your hole for your parents to return to their precious daughter bent in half by some stranger. Bruising Gojo’s star student until the smug smile was wiped from his obnoxious mouth for good.

All those reasons made you nod at his question, not caring that he’d be ten times rougher because of your white lie. If anything, you looked forward to that.

“Sure you’re not lying to me?” he read your mind like an open book, the elastic of your shorts being torn away from your body. “Won’t be mad if y’are. I love myself a sweet little virgin. Love how whiny their voices get. How,” he lowered himself onto his knees, palm pushing you to sit on your bed “cute their little tight cunts look all stretched around me.”

His hot breath fanned over your soaked panties, index lazily rubbing back and forth between your clothed slit, the added friction sending a pleasurable tingle up your spine.

“You really aren’t one, are ya?”

You shook your head repeatedly like a bobblehead doll, propping your weight onto your elbows as he lifted your legs on his shoulders, the reality of his choppy raven hair nuzzling to your thighs finally hitting you.

“You said all you wanted to do was look, right?” the finger that was hooked around your underwear stopped. “That was the deal…”

For a brief yet conscious second, his eyes bore into yours with such spite that you thought you’d completely messed up. Only a virgin would dare say something this stupid. If he wasn’t bound to you by the ritual, he’d be out the door the moment you spat those words, you knew it, but then his knuckles brushed over your abdomen to find the hand that clenched onto the sheets, and you realized that wasn’t the case.

“Deals get altered and terms renewed all the time,” he mumbled distractedly, deeply inhaling your scent on his nose, while your fingers unfolded between his lips. You gasped, the sight of him fucking them in and out his mouth —tongue slithering right in the middle and saliva dribbling down his chin as he popped them out— enough to hypnotize whatever sense out of your brain.

“I’ll make ya a new deal,” he hummed, gently directing them to your mouth as if he beckoned you to do the same. A smirk tugged at his scar as he watched your pink lips obediently part and round around your own fingers. He didn’t let go until he heard you choke, secretly plotting to replace them with something else—sooner, than later.

“My technique is what interests you, right? How about instead of telling you, I show you?”

You tried to remove your hand, but he shoved it back in, his true colors pouring into a devilish smile. “I’ve had enough of your voice. All you gotta do is sit back like the good little girl I know you are and keep your legs nice and spread for me. How’s that?”

The only thing your head could manage was pathetically bob up and down in agreement, your fingers stuck in your mouth like a damn pacifier, while your cunt pulsed at every single word he uttered; derogatory or not. Were it any other guy talking down to you like that, your knuckles would be leaving an impermanent imprint on his cheek. Were it any other guy treating you as if you had no volition of your own as if you were just a toy for him to break, and you—

There wouldn’t be any other guy for you ever again. He’d make sure of it.

He ripped the fabric into a single shred and tossed it over his shoulder without caring where it landed- your bedside lamp. He looked down at your pussy, debating to himself whether to start with his tongue or fingers first, calculating the time it’d take for him to prep you for his cock down to the last second. He might’ve been a lot less nice than he pretended to be, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

“Let’s see,” he tipped forward, the way his forefinger slipped between your folds without any resistance whatsoever bringing you shame. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, his digit triumphantly pulling out and smearing your slick all over your puffy lips. “Is that all for me, sweetheart? So fucking wet just for me?”

Your hips bucked forward as an answer to his question and he thought he wouldn’t mind taking things slow for once— see how much you could take before you came completely undone.

“Girls like you make the best fuck,” he cooed, voice echoing right through your core. “Surrendering to the first sweet word they hear.” His thumb circled your clit, flicking at the little bundle of nerves. “Leaking at the slightest of touch.” His middle and ring fingers joined in the action, burying themselves as far inside walls as your tight hole let him push. “Breaking so easily.” He drooled, coating your entire pussy in his thick saliva before allowing himself a taste, tongue lapping at the mix of juices straight from the source.

Your thighs clenched around him, muffling the lewdness of a whimper as he looked up at you, his smirk loosening with every kitten lick across your flesh. You wanted to say something, to call out his name and moan for him, but it all felt so unpracticed— similarly to how unpracticed your cunt was when it came to the girth of his fingers; much bigger than yours, more experienced too. He reached depths you didn’t know existed, bringing your body such pleasure that had you writhing for more, hips slamming against his face.

He groaned, his own arousal throbbing against his lower abdomen, begging him to get this over with. “Wanna fuck my face, baby?”

You felt your cheeks ignite anew, the eyes you’d fallen for at first sight overflowing with lust, convincing you it felt as good for him as it felt for you.

“Can’t let ya do that,” he parted your folds, fingers spreading your thighs apart while his tongue darted between your lips, his nose intentionally nudging the pink nub with each deep stroke against your spongy spot. “Gotta earn it first.”

You stared at him like an idiot, wondering to yourself if somewhere between his refusal to shake your hand and his eagerness to quench his thirst with your body you’d passed away because that was what heaven ought to feel like. That was what angels ought to look like.

“Got something to say, princess?” his eyes shot up and he gestured for you to unlatch your mouth.

“S-so pretty,” you whispered.

“What was that?” his ears perked up, not because he hadn’t heard you the first time, but because he could do with some affirmation himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this… f-fuck—” a yelp punched its way out of your lungs as he folded you in half, pinning your thighs onto your stomach, and crawling onto the bed right after them.

He’d had enough of this little game.

“Good girls shouldn’t cuss like that. Six eyes didn’t teach ya that?”

Holding you down with one hand, he dived back into your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace that had your upper body tossing and turning, the first unregulated moans ushering him to keep going. His tongue toyed with your swollen bud, the squelching of your cunt growing significantly louder from this angle, reverberating throughout the four walls of your bedroom. You were close, and so was he to getting his dick wet with all the mess he’d helped create.

His mouth watered just at the thought of his seed being the one to dribble down your thighs instead of his spit. He could picture you in one of those cute blue-navy skirts hanging from your closet and hoped you weren’t a tights person. He wanted to see you off to school every morning with your thighs sticking together so deliciously that anyone smart enough would understand how meticulously he’d fucked the brat out of you—

If only there was a mirror for you to see how stunning you looked. All fucked out and writhing, disheveled hair stuck on your tits and forehead while you nuzzled to the pillows, your shaky voice calling out to the surname he’d left behind. Would you still do that if you knew he played you like a fiddle? If you knew he was no esteemed Zen’in or sorcerer, for that matter, but a man hell-bent on ruining you for his own sick satisfaction?

Your body reciprocated his vile thoughts, your pussy fluttering around his digits. “Gonna cum for me?” he panted, forcing your legs to the side lest he missed a reaction.

Neither of you realized how his one hand had sneaked into his pants, stroking his veiny cock closer to the ecstasy he craved. Precum leaked hot out of the reddened tip, his thumb frantically swiping it over his length in sync with his thrusts. He’d stopped listening to your pleas and instructions. He fucked his fingers in you as he pleased, slowing down only when his balls began to dangerously tighten. Only then did he tear his fingers away ‘cause God forbid he busts his load in his palm like some fucking untouched teenager— regardless of how obscenely pretty you appeared for him or not.

Once he regained his composure, words made sense again. Harder. Faster. More. He hated being told what to do but absolutely loved how pliant you were. A people-pleaser, he bet. Going above and beyond what was asked of you, bending and breaking into whatever molds others force you to fit. He could work with that. Shape you into a mold only he could fit in.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how much prettier y’ can get.”

His cock twitched as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, your sweet face contorting with pleasure, lips swollen with how hard they’d tried to contain the last bits of debouched decency.

How cute.

He set your legs down and moved up to meet your face with his, a wave of genuine softness rushing over him as he thought to kiss your lips tenderly, hushing whatever emotion had you spasming. You were so sensitive. Even if you’d been with another guy before him, he doubted they knew what they were doing— not like he did, anyway. He’d make you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear what a dirty slut lived just next door from them.

After a short while of his stroking your hair and whispering filth into your ears, he decided he’d been good enough to get his trick. He took your hand in his and guided it to his cock, grinning like a little kid as your smaller palm traced the outline over his pants, knowing full well both hands would do nothing to cover his girth.

He’d really missed this— so much that he didn’t mind letting a grunt out in appreciation, certain that more would follow.

Your eyes met, the spark in them telling him you understood what he expected you to do, and even if you didn’t, he’d teach you. He’d teach you everything, snatch you from that piece of shit and make you into his star student, so long as you kept touching him and let him do all the things he’d spent the last thirty minutes fantasizing about.

Everything and anything, all for you to take—

The thoughts that failed to reach your ears along with all traces of the man whose weight alone -up until a moment ago- threatened to crush your body into a fine powder evaporated, the smooth sound of his voice replaced by the crude breaks of your father’s car as he pulled into the driveway— your mother’s kitten heels soon clicking atop every step they climbed.

Shit.

A/N: I actually intended for this to be a one-shot, but I guess it sort of ended on a cliffhanger so, oops. Lemme know if I should write a second and final part, or if you have any Toji ideas/requests ♡

[lialuvsaven]

Happy Birthday, Aventurine!!

“Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget his birthday, again.”

Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort in the end to compensate for everything else ❤️ Reader is not physically present in the fic (they're not dead it's ok)

wc: 3.3k

Aventurine was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door just as the sun began to slant westward.

With a sigh, he puts down the pen and glances at the wall clock. The hands on the parchment-shaped monstrosity read 1 pm, but his eyes are drawn back to the purple tongue protruding from its massively extended mouth. Seriously, where does Stelle find these items? "An ugly, purple parchment shaped wall clock that looks like it's ready to eat people"— isn't something most people would think to give him, to say the least. But that's the thing—it was Stelle.

She claimed to have found it during one of her "excavations." And even though Miss March 7th did her best to keep her friend from going into further details, stepping on Stelle's toes right in front of him and giving her a sidelong glance, as if he wouldn't notice, he could tell what kind of "excavations" would turn up something like this. Not like he minds the origins of this gift, however. Gifts from friends are few and far to come by, especially ones who actually tolerate him. Not to mention, Stelle likely sincerely believes that it's a cool gift, which is why it has replaced the diamond-embedded wall clock on his wall.

His musings are interrupted by a second knock, which, like the first one, reverberates once around the room before fading away in embarrassment. "Come in." He announces, reclining back in his seat and looking at the door with expectation in his eyes. It was not uncommon for his secretary to appear randomly in his office, constantly fussing over yet another minor issue. He believed it was her; at least, his itinerary showed he didn't have any guest visits today. Maybe it was time to replace assistants—the new hire is clearly not on the same wavelength as him. But he'd only recently had Topaz yell at him for changing staff so frequently; he'd prefer not to tell her that her choice was horribly disappointing just yet.

With a tiny bag bearing a brand he is all too acquainted with, the secretary enters the office. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor the entire time, hence doesn't notice when her supervisor raises an eyebrow at the sight of his favorite jewelry brand. "Sir," she says in a low, somewhat flat voice, akin to that of a news reporter. "Earlier, a staff of Madam Jade stopped by. You have a present."

A grin appears on Aventurine's face, followed by a joyful chuckle. With how busy work has been lately, he'd almost forgotten when he asked Jade for a pink diamond, as has Jade apparently, seeing how long it's taken for her to send this. His request was a joke, of course, only meant to irritate Topaz. But he wasn't surprised either; Jade always takes good care of her weaponry. "Ahhh, no wonder!" He chirps and presses his palms together. "She must've finally found some generosity in her heart, hm?" He muses, and his assistant can only stand there stoically. He waves her off as she places the bag on his table and departs with an unnecessary low bow, never looking at his eyes once. As always.

When the secretary has left the room, he opens the bag, humming as he removes the box and gift card. Jade's handwriting is distinctive: prim and precise cursive that resembles a font.

"Happy birthday, Aventurine. This jewel would suit you far better than the pink diamond you asked for, don't you think?" — Jade

Kakavasha freezes. His birthday, she says, but she'd need to align the standard calendar system to the Sigonian one to find that out. She sent him a…..….a gift? For his birthday? 

Is this a fucking joke?

The box reveals a chunk of corundum. Raw, uncut, pink and blue hues all over. Shades way too close to his eyes, and it doesn't take a gemologist to tell that Jade had done her searching thoroughly to obtain this. A jewel the color of his eyes, the color of Avgin eyes, neatly wrapped in a box for….to send ..what sort of message, exactly? Oh Avgin, never forget who you were before I found you—unpolished and undeserving. forget your name, but never your roots.  

The note is crumpled and thrown in the trashcan, while the corundum and its box are hastily and carelessly pushed back into the bag. Really, so typical of Jade, he scoffs as he tosses the godforsaken bag into a random drawer, never to be seen again. 

Kakavasha— no, Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget, again. 

In any case, Aventurine concludes that it is not good for him to worry about this too much. Yes, he can just forget about the corundum. Yes, he is able to forget how it resembled Avgin eyes. Yes, he can also forget that Jade most likely sent this to "keep him in check" following the stunt he did in Penacony. But it was a mistake on his part to not see something coming. She had done this before, and it would not be the last time. He smiles at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, composed, shrewd, and calculated. Since a mirror has the freedom of choice, it does not return his smile.

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By the time the car comes to a stop in front of his house, Aventurine is exhausted. His chauffeur unlocks the door for him, and he makes his way to the elevator. Yet he's interrupted again— of course, because it's a cursed day, and Aventurine has to restrain himself from scowling at the gateman, who stands in front of him wearing an anxious expression. "Sir, your friend had visited earlier to drop off something."

He raises an eyebrow and is about to inquire when he notices the bag the man is carrying. Without saying anything further, he simply takes the bag. You are the only one who'd own a dumb clockie bag and the only one who'd ever drop things off at his place.

When he steps in, his three catcakes meow loudly to greet him, and feels somewhat grateful for it. Today was just too exhausting, after all. He understands what this is about, based on the fact that you always give him gifts in person. Why, of all days, would you consider dropping it off today? And with no advanced notice- completely unlike you. How annoying, did Jade really have to do this too? He's never disclosed his birthday to you, so you probably coerced her into telling you, and she was glad to oblige, given you are of value to her.

Aventurine doesn't realize he's been standing in the kitchen for a long time until Spade begins massaging its fluffy body on his legs. He is surrounded by his three catcakes, who are all staring up at him expectantly. The message is crystal clear: We Want Food. He moves swiftly to get their food bowls, chuckling to himself before setting your lunchbox on the counter, sort of as an afterthought. At least they'll be able to go to bed well fed tonight. 

After serving them dinner, he leaves the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine, hoping to spend the remainder of the evening crashing on the couch. He can just leave everything else for tomorrow. The benefit of drinking is that it can temporarily impair your ability to sense emotions. He only needs a short term fix, after all. Come tomorrow, he'll take hangover pills, and walk out of this house as Aventurine of the stratagems again— undoubtedly.

He turns on a random B-grade movie, prepared to drink the night away. And he does precisely that—he pushes down thoughts of how his childhood friends, whose features now misty in his memories, would react if they were to see him. With another shot, he pushes down recollections of his mother's cooking—the special meals for the Kakava—and his birthday. Another to accept the now-blurry face of his sister in his memory as the only proof of her existence. Another to forget the clay dolls she'd made for him, on the last birthday kakavasha got to celebrate, that were broken when he had to run for his life. And one more shot, and another, till he's forgotten everything; till he's numb and emotionless.

Feeling empty and hollow is far worse than anything else, and being unable to cry isn't as pleasant as he thought it'd be. But in his lavish home, where gold abounds in every nook and cranny, he has little reason for tears. Money may not be able to buy him happiness, as he is well aware, but it certainly does spare him from ugly tears unfit for his visage. Maybe that's why he hasn't cried in a while, or perhaps he has simply lost his soul somewhere along the way. He stays on the couch till 3 am, accompanied by his pets. He pretends not to see the troubled looks they shoot at him, whispered words passed between them that are clearly about him. By the time he decides to rest for the night, he is fatigued, sluggish, and barely keeping it together.

When he gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, Ace makes a protesting noise before promptly shutting up. Catcakes are smart creatures, and they understand him better than most individuals in his life (or maybe the difference lies in care) His throat is dry, and ice cold water from the freezer provides enormous relief. However, the respite is taken away from him by the crackling lightning, loud as a whip, pulling out memories up to the forefront of his mind again. Of the lightning without the rain, of Sigonia-IV. The drumming of the thunder is largely hidden by the concrete walls, so it isn't as hard on the ear—but it aches a lot more than it did before. Aventurine sneers to himself, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. As if.

The second time the thunder sizzles, Aventurine has to take a sharp breath and grip the countertop to steady himself. It sounds like playing dead in the bleeding streams of Sigonia-IV, like the booming cackle of the mocking thunder. Had he been an insolent child, just a little more doubtful than he already was, he'd believe it was Mama Fenge herself laughing at her so called "blessed child". The thunder sounds similar, but it's not the same. No, because this is still Aventurine and he's still here and those are someone else's memories, forgotten and buried in sand.

Aventurine sighs.

Drinking too much has never done any good to him.

Just as he is ready to leave the kitchen, he notices the lunchbox sitting the counter out of the corner of his eye. Oh, right. He hadn't even touched it. A distraction doesn't seem bad now, though. If he wants to fabricate a plausible lie about eating the food, he would at least need to know what kind of food you sent. If the mental image of your frown after discovering he never even looked at what you sent is what gives him the final push , he would never admit it.

The lunchbox has a plains bear cub logo: you've always been a sucker for cute things. He sets aside the little note attached for later this time, preferring to taste the dinner first. It looks like you chose to make him some kind of soup. Insulated lunchboxes are a blessing— because it's surely been well over half a day since you made it, yet it's still warm. While the presentation is relatively simple, it smells strangely comforting— effect of some potion? He's heard of those, but they're usually used for sick patients, no? Other than that, this is the first homemade meal he's having in a….while. Not that it matters. Aventurine isn't picky, and while the leafy greens are unfamiliar to him, he believes he can handle at least a tablespoon.

Even the largest avalanche can be triggered by the smallest of things. Just one spoonful, and yet it's enough to make his world stop.

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The dry, broken soil scraped against his bare feet, producing little clouds of dust in its wake. His strides were light and rapid, nearly tripping over himself with excitement and giddiness. Just a little more, and he'll reach the finish line. Even the Sun's typical glare felt kind today; warm and tender against his tanned skin. Jumping over the homemade hurdles, he reaches the finish line far ahead of his friends. They protest and pout, and he taunts them with the biggest smile on his face. The soles of his feet feel slightly sore from running barefoot, but Kakavasha wouldn't risk destroying his only pair of shoes for a game. 

When he hears his sister's voice calling for him, he rushes to embrace her and buries his face in her apron. His mother once told him that the Avgins all possess lovely voices, but Kakavasha believes his sister's is the best, especially when she laughs.

"And when will you listen to me and stop running around in the middle of the day, hm?" She pinches his nose and uses her apron to wipe the dirt off his face. Kakavasha beams at her with no regrets, proudly displaying the gap between his teeth. Once kakavasha had said his goodbyes to his friends, they walk hand in hand towards their tent.

There, his mother welcomes them with a warm embrace that smells like creosote bush and desert rain. “My darling," she coos, putting his small hands in her larger ones, rough from labour. "I remember you promised to be on time for lunch last time?" He grins cheekily, vowing not to do it again. (He's a repeat offender, but he knows that his mother and sister can't stay upset at him for long.)

His mother laughs, and tells him to tidy up before eating. Kakavasha's tummy is grumbling by the time he returns, and he finds the mats his sister laid down to sit on. The two siblings sit next to each other, chatting and giggling as they wait for their mother. She serves them a pot of hot soup with nettle leaves and lentils, just the way Kakavasha prefers it. He's overjoyed; quickly finishing his prayers before digging in. Kakavasha is a growing boy, and that's proved again when he finishes his bowl before his family.

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The soup she'd served him back then wasn't anything lavish; just a simple soup with local herbs and nettle leaves in a broth that smelt so uniquely of hers. His mama may have had a knack for cooking, but due to a lack of opportunities and resources, she never got to demonstrate her abilities. Compared to that, your food is much finer, and while excellent, it lacks the warmth of his mother's hands.  

Nevertheless, he can't resist taking another spoonful and quickly putting it in his mouth because the familiarity is so, so palpable. He recalls that his sister wanted him to eat better, so she gave him half of her portion after he finished his. His mother then gave his sister half of her portion, as they are Both growing children. All of a sudden, the bickering, the laughs, and their voices are as plain as day in his mind. He can't fully recall the glitter in his sister's eyes or the dimple on his mother's cheek, but it's clearer than any other memory he had of them, that's for sure. 

Aventurine can't stop crying, even if he wants to. Trying to halt the choking sobbing is fruitless, as is trying to figure out what's going on. He picks up the little message with shaking hands, hoping—praying—that it will help. You'll make it make sense. Somehow.

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“Dear Aventurine, I hope you have a wonderful birthday!!!!”  

Written in thin, flowing, rounded letters that are noticeably cleaner than your actual handwriting. You undoubtedly put a lot of effort into each letter you wrote. Aventurine was correct in assuming you found out his birthday through Jade, as you have written it here. "Buying a gift for you seems…a little perfunctory," you said, "so I've settled with cooking you something myself."

"And if the dish tastes familiar (which I hope it does) then yes, you've guessed it right— it's a traditional Avgin dish."

The perfumed ink is thicker here, a few ink blots from where you've likely paused to think, go over each sentence in your head before writing them down.

You mention finding the Avgin dishes by reading some kind of research paper on Sigonian culture and food, but Aventurine isn't sure he can believe that. You wrote, "I was fortunate enough," yet chance alone wouldn't get you something like that. Sure, maybe some doctoral candidate was crazy enough to choose a dead planet and its deader tribes to write about, but finding that paper would be too difficult. The biggest issue, however, is that Aventurine believes this dish should not and cannot exist. The stinging nettle leaves his mother used are no longer available, and while he didn't know much about cooking at the time, he was aware that all of the spices he knew were almost extinct. He's looked enough to know.

"I'll be honest, I had some trouble locating the ingredients for it and had to swap the majority of them because I couldn't find them. I really wanted to bring back a familiar feeling, even if it tastes very different from how you remember it. Plus, it's the thought that counts, right?"

In contrast to the light-hearted language, your writing is slightly wobbly and darker here, and Aventurine wonders if you realise your emotions seep through every single one of your actions, laid bare for the world to see.

Noting the disappearance of their owner, curious, the catcakes peep into the kitchen are immediately alarmed to see their owner sitting on the counter stool, sobbing and clutching a box. Spade, unsure of what to do, nuzzles it's head on Aventurine's leg, while the others meow in an attempt to calm him down. Aventurine hasn't sobbed in a long time—he can't remember how to anymore. His body shakes with each ragged and broken sob, sounding shattered and damaged, but he can't stop.

"I hope it brings you fond memories" is what you wrote down, but are you aware of the full impact of what you did for him? Most likely not. Aventurine cherishes all of his memories, including the unpleasant ones: as long as it involves his family. His misery knows no bounds, but he's only had a few years with his sister, and even fewer with his mother. So even the saddest memories are never forgotten, so he can preserve as much of them as possible. They live through his memories, after all. 

Even when plain, his mother's meals provided him with more warmth than anything else back then. To feel that warmth decades later is a blessing he can't repay— but a blessing nonetheless. He doesn't have many memories like this one either, gentle and happy, contrary to the endless memories of struggling. He remembers their love so vividly right now, feels it so strongly, alongside yours— that he has no choice but to revel in it.

(Come tomorrow , when he's sober, puffy-eyed from crying and not as vulnerable, he'll have trouble figuring your reasoning. But for now, he'll be fine. Tonight, he'll go to sleep feeling loved. Tonight, his pets will cuddle him to sleep. Tonight, he'll dream of a Sigonia Only he knows.)

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A/N: I'm honestly still so embarrassed about this bc I have an idea but can't execute it like I want to and 🫠🫠 As always, comments and reblogs are really appreciated!! Thank you for reading <3

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ [2, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 13k for parts 1+2 a/n: two weeks of brainrot later

The reflection in the tall store mirror looks like a mirage—an almost tangible fantasy. It’s you—enough, your eyes, nose, skin and hair. But the fabric wrapped around your body, a breath-taking sanguine hue, it distorts your perception. 

You stood in silence, captivated by your own self-reflection. A delicate diamond necklace adorned your neck, its shimmer accentuating the sparkle in your eyes. You touch it delicately, trying to make the woman in the mirror feel real. 

In a fleeting moment, you try not to think about the price tag on either item. Below you, the dress slits at your right thigh, stopping perfectly just before your ankles. You typically abhor dresses, frustrated by how they sit on your hips or pull on your shoulders. Yet this one felt different, as was crafted just for you, hugging your short frame.

“Do you not like it?” Tony's firm voice interrupted your reverie, seated in a plush armchair nestled in the corner of the dressing area. 

His own reflection caught your eye in the mirror. He too was impeccably dressed in expense— a midnight suit that mirrored the shadowy desire in his eyes. It was only then that you noticed the crimson tie around his neck, perfectly matched to your dress. A forgotten pit in your stomach sinks further at the realization.

You weren’t here exactly by choice. You’d met Tony a few weeks ago while bartending and since then, he hadn’t left you alone. Initially, he had left his phone number scrawled on a napkin, which you promptly ignored. Such advances from inebriated, lonesome men were all too familiar— their attempts at wooing the bartender often aimed at securing complimentary drinks or borne from relationship troubles that had led them to the bar in the first place.

They all normally moved on after one night, but not Tony. 

Tony came back three nights in a row after, making pass after pass, calling you doll and honey through whiskey-tinted lips. You had been polite in declining him, partly because you had googled him after a $300 tip on the second night and realized who he was (some hot-shot CEO with a few legal issues you chose not to look into). But also because, against your better judgment, a small, insignificant part of you didn't want to decline. His appearance in the bar made your night infinitely more enjoyable. Funny enough, you’re certain his charisma was so enigmatic it spread the room and raised everyone’s mood. 

Unlike your typical patrons, Tony possessed an undeniable allure, an allure that kept you talking and pouring drinks—well past closing time. Perhaps because your usual patrons didn't leave extravagant tips or wear thousand-dollar watches. More likely, was how easy it was to talk to him about anything . Local politics, the nature of friendship, European art- it didn’t matter. 

On top of it all, there was no denying how attractive he was—towering over you with silk ties and shiny grins. Despite whatever attraction you held, you knew better than to get involved with him. Something told you he wasn’t worth the trouble, not to mention he was almost 20 years your senior. 

Still, every night ended the same, with Tony insisting he take you on just one date. You’d give a kind smile, flip the sign to closed , and craft a polite but convoluted (and reluctant) excuse. This passive resistance only seemed to encourage him, possibly because he saw through you, recognizing that tiny part of you that longed to say yes.

Maybe it’s what gave him carte blanche to wait outside on the fourth night until you closed the bar—alone. 

As you stepped into the cool night air, a sleek black car glided to a halt beside you. You thought nothing of it, locking the door behind you and starting your usual, albeit long, trek home. You glanced back at the sound of the passenger window rolling down, revealing Tony leaning over the center console, a playful smile on his face. Quieting the alarm bells in your head, you offered a curt wave and resumed your stride.

As you do, Tony calls out your name, gesturing you over. At the time, you hoped all he wanted to do was exchange some small talk or maybe he left something in the bar yesterday. You couldn't fathom why you obeyed, heading towards the open window instead of heading home. Just like now, Tony's true intentions were unknown. You convinced yourself that the worst he could do was ask you out again and make things awkward.

“Miss me?” he asks with that same flashy grin. His gaze roams over your simple jeans and t-shirt, heavy enough to make you feel exposed.

“Everything okay?” You choose to ignore his question to hopefully get to the reason he’s here after hours. 

Under the parking lot’s harsh fluorescent lights, Tony's disappointment shines. 

"Everything's fine," he replied in a sing-song tone, reaching across to open the passenger door. "Come on, let me give you a ride home."

The alarm bells grow louder, leaving you to stammer over your words.

“That’s generous, thank you, but I enjoy the walk.” A good lie holds a little truth to it, right?

Tony does a disapproving, almost condescending tsk , patting the empty leather seat. 

“Now, what kind of guy would I be if I let a pretty girl like you walk home all alone?”

Despite the rhetorical nature of his question, you struggled to resist the urge to retort, to point out that allowing you to walk home alone would make him appear rather ordinary—a quality he clearly sought to avoid.

“Really, I’m fine, thank you.” You try to sound more assertive this time, but your voice still wavers under his gaze.

Tony continues to insist, using every persuasion tactic in the book. Your mind whirled with a flurry of thoughts and possibilities. After all, he was a familiar face, a regular patron who had never made you necessarily afraid (normally quite the opposite). And a highly respected businessman. Plus, eight hours of tending bar left your feet aching. You did like the solemnity of the long walk, but tonight you were dreading it a bit more than usual.

What was the worst that could happen?

So, you inevitably gave in, watching his smirk stretch into another toothy grin as you opened the passenger door. Tony’s cologne saturated the plush leather interior, filling every corner of your nostrils with bergamot. In the dim car, you grant him a meek smile.

“That’s my girl,”

There’s an edge in his words, suddenly forcing you to wonder if you were better off walking. You tell yourself he’s a handsome billionaire doing his charitable act for the week-nothing more. 

Tony reaches for the gearshift, rolling your window up and muffling the sounds of the city. 

“Let’s get you home.”

The worst turned out to be not so bad—still stunned by your own beauty in the mirror. 

At first, you were nearly mortified when you noticed Tony’s route doesn’t quite follow the directions you gave. With a dry throat and skipping heart, you struggled to find the right words. Tony had remained unusually silent, not making witty quips or heavy-handed compliments. It worsened your unease. One he must have sensed, glancing over at you.

“Don’t worry,” he draws out, making yet another unknown turn. “I’m taking you home— just have a surprise for you first, dear.” he finishes, winking. 

The vulnerability you knew you had—getting in this car alone with him—it swelled in your throat.

Now, you stared at that same throat, adorned with shimmering diamonds. 

Tony’s surprise turned out to be a private fitting at some lavish boutique you never knew existed. 

You tried to protest as the car pulled into the storefront, noticing a lack of light inside and still cautious about what he had planned. Tony simply gave you a stern shush, and pointed your attention back to the building. Then, to your astonishment, the windows filled with orange and white hue. Out of the ornate glass doors, a tall, blonde-haired woman peered, and a wave of fear suddenly ebbed away from your body, only to be replaced by a flood of bewildering confusion.

The blonde woman, whose name you can’t pronounce, devotes a half hour measuring every aspect of your body. She swatched an array of dark hues and fabrics against your skin, contorted and posed you in every conceivable manner. Despite the weird, yet so far, non-hazardous situation you were in, a cloud of confusion still clung to your thoughts, while Tony remained outside the dressing room. 

Even still, you felt entirely too exposed, waiting anxiously. Your only recourse was to gaze at the marble ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell Tony was playing at. He wasn’t particularly eccentric all those nights at your bar, you figured he had to be more level-headed and reasonable than this. 

The woman eventually reappeared, holding the tight red dress on a satin hanger.

Leading to your mesmerized trance, still engulfed in the mirage before you.

“Hey, talking to you there.” 

Startled, you had forgotten he'd even asked you a question. Hell, you had forgotten he brought you here at all. Worse, you didn’t know what to say. The honest answer was an unequivocal yes – you adored the dress, but you knew alone it cost more than you ever made bartending, not to mention the necklace. 

The pit in your stomach churned at the reminder of Tony’s presence. The beauty you saw in the mirror suddenly felt ill-gotten- like a bill you hadn’t paid. Technically, you were brought here against your will by a man who you, although reluctantly, rejected. An unforeseen product of his infectious smile and your polite demeanor. 

You reluctantly turn slightly to face him, trying to find the words to get out of this without escalation. A shiver ran down your spine as his molten gaze traversed your form, causing your face to warm.

“I think you look stunning.” he says, gaze still fixed on your body. It wasn’t unusual for Tony to compliment you, as he often did at the bar regardless of whatever tired, stained state you were in. This time though, with the way he’s staring, it does something else to you.

“Thank you, but,” you trail off, stealing a quick glance back in the mirror. “I–It’s a bit out of my price range.”

Tony scoffs playfully, giving a dismissive wave as he rises from the armchair.

“It’s on me.” he declared, slow and deliberate as your nerves spike.

“Really, thank you, but I can’t accept this. I should be getting home.” you stammered, attempting to keep a level voice.

Your words tumbled out in a rush, but Tony continued, making your heartbeat escalate with each passing moment. 

To your surprise, he stops his advance to sigh at your anxious form. 

“ You are worth a million times that dress and more.” 

You avert your eyes to the floor, left again without the right words to maneuver out of this awkward conversation and trying to ignore the heat on your skin.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, doll.” Tony’s voice shifts to an unfamiliar tone, one that forces your head up.

“What’s with the whole ‘ uninterested ’ act?” he hums, resuming his walk towards you.

You stammer, trying to deny his accusation, knowing wholeheartedly he was right. Tony came to a stop in front of you, reaching out to caress your shoulder. As you instinctively recoil from his sudden touch, his calloused hand stiffened to hold you in place. 

“I’m not acting .” you finally manage with a wavering voice valiantly ignoring the want and fear his touch stirred in you.

“Oh, is that so?” he taunts sourly, bringing his free hand to your waist. “Why’d you get in the car then? Why are you letting me touch you?”

You don’t have an excuse for that one, staring back at Tony in silence. You could try and hate his arrogance, but that hasn't worked so far, so no point trying now. 

“Just take me home, okay?” you whisper, eyes flickering between Tony’s hand and his slightly parted lips.

He makes a face at your words, eyebrows scrunching and mouth turning into frown. 

“You think I’d hurt you?” Tony sighs, offended. He releases your arm out of his grasp and steps back from you. Still, he maintains the closeness between you, still locked on your eyes.

Instantly, you feel terrible for assuming the worst. Sure, you didn’t exactly ask for any of this, and maybe he was persistent, but all he had done was give you a dress and a ride home. Tony had ample opportunity to do whatever he wanted, and you were fine. And nothing he’d said had been wrong . So what exactly were you worried about?

“No, no,” you quickly scramble, shaking your head. “I just—what do you want from me?”

Tony sighs again, this time deeply, shoving his hands into his suit pockets. “Told you—a date, that’s all.”

“Really? You’re really doing all this just to take me out?” You asked in confusion. 

“You keep saying no even though I can tell you want to. ‘Figured you could use a little push.” He chuckles and a hand leaves his pockets to rake through his brown locks.

“I-I, why all this, really, come on-what are you playing at here?” You gesture to your outfit, still in disbelief.

“What can I say, I’m all about presentation and you deserve the best.” Tony grins, making his second attempt to stroke your cheek. This time, you let him, even if you're not sure why. Maybe persistence did work best on you. 

Regardless, you roll your eyes at the honeyed words. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s still waiting for a yes , and you’re running out of logical reasons to decline. God knows the idea of a date with Tony Stark was something any other woman would jump at. So why not you?

“I work nights , Tony—”

“How much?” He cuts you off sharply, the hand on your face tenses ever so slightly.

“What, I don’t—”

“How much do you make in a night? Hourly, tips, everything—how much?” 

You’re starting to think he enjoys confusing you. “I don’t know, it varies. Maybe $200 on a good night?” 

With that, Tony turns back to the armchair his jacket rests on, and you have to ignore the way the loss of his touch makes you feel. He fiddles with the garment for a moment, rummaging through the pockets until he produces a thin leather wallet. As five crisp hundred dollar bills emerge, he struts back to you.

“Here, now you can call in tomorrow night.” He says matter-of-factly, holding out the bills. 

You scoff at his audacity, feeling a bit offended at his demeanor. “I’m not some product you can just buy.”

“Oh, doll, don’t think so low of yourself,” he chuckles, “Your time is valuable, I’m just hoping this makes it easier for you to spend it with me.” 

The paper is folded between his fingers, before he takes your hand and places them inside. When in doubt, fall back to basics. Money normally fixes most problems. You could have said any number and he would’ve made it happen. He was nothing short of infatuated with you- so no cost was too high. 

“Fine.” You respond indignantly, staring at what’s easily half of your rent before glaring back up at him. If a date was all he wanted— fine . If he turned out to be a huge dick you’re expecting, you could leave and never speak to him again. You're certain he at least wouldn’t keep showing up at your workplace after. 

“We’ll see how much longer you can keep up this act.” He smirks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

Just as you're preparing to tell (lie) him again that you weren’t pretending, he walks back to the chair and takes a seat, pulling his phone from his pants pocket.

“Go ahead and change, I’ll have everything wrapped up for you to take home tonight. You can be ready by 7 tonight, yes?” Tony doesn’t look at you when he speaks, fingers typing away on the electronic screen.

He misses the eye roll you give walking back to the dressing room. 

Sure enough, you make it home without any bodily injuries or traumatic experiences. Tony kisses your hand when you go to exit the car, dress and jewelry in tow. He reminds you to be ready on time tomorrow, and you enter your apartment feeling like you just walked out of a movie. 

This felt entirely too insane. You found yourself more than lucky all those nights he flirted with you, but this took the cake. 

It’s nearly 5 in the morning when you toss the dress onto your green couch. The half-finished canvas and paintbrushes in the corner of your living room go abandoned for another night. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to do anything, replaying every detail in your head. Instead, you find yourself sat on the worn cushions, staring at the lilac bag, adorned with the boutique’s fancy name in silver lettering. Next to it, sits a smaller version, possessing a white box. You’re fixated on the bags, mentally picturing your reflection from earlier. 

Contrary to what might Tony believe, you didn’t think of yourself as ‘low’, just maybe not genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist levels. Self-confidence wasn’t something you were lacking, but it wasn't in extreme surplus either. You didn’t know his type, but you figured odds are you weren’t it. You could imagine the kinds of girls Tony could get, with a lot less hassle, too. So, why you ? 

Eventually, the sounds of your roommate waking fills the apartment, forcing you to realize it’s around 6:30 and your mind’s been taken over with purple and red hues for too long. You give a short good morning and abandon the couch for the comfort of your bedroom, deciding to save the shower for later and get some sort of rest. 

You don’t answer when she asks about the bags, convinced you’ll wake up in a few hours and find this was all a weird dream.

The train rushing by your window wakes you before your alarm gets the chance, blaring its incessant tune throughout the small space. The afternoon sun diffuses through the sheer curtains, covering the room in golden light. It gives you a peaceful few minutes where you’re groggy enough to forget about Tony.

Then, the memories pour in. 

The night plays back in resplendence. You don’t know he managed to get you to agree after all that. A tinge of excitement filled you alongside the dread. 

You hoped last night for it to all turn out as fiction, but lo behold, the shiny bags sit atop your dresser like a bad omen. Poking out from your purse are the crisp bills. A cursory glance at your phone reveals two things— one, it’s almost 4 pm and two, a text from an unsaved number.

[ hope you didn’t forget. see u soon. ]

You wondered where on Earth he got your number. 

As much as you hated feeling you owed him something, a part of you was glad you did. Although you didn’t plan on admitting it, you were into him. You were just convinced his behavior was too good to be true, a precursor to something worse. Plus it bugged you that it was apparently impossible for you to hide it from him.

Nonetheless, you rise from your bed, heading for the shower you skipped earlier and thinking of a response.

[ 9 pm right? ] 

The bathroom door creaked as it opened, drowned out by the traffic on the street below. 

[ are you this difficult with everyone? ]

Water spouts from the shower head as a dry chuckle echoes in the chamber at his response. You hadn’t actively dated in a while, but it was a common complaint. Normally they would say stubborn or strong-headed, but difficult worked too. 

You work through several different waves of nerves and anticipation as the clock ticks down to 7. Your boss, ever an asshole, wasn’t thrilled about you calling off. It almost made you reconsider, tell Tony you couldn’t. Something told you he wouldn’t appreciate that, though, so you stood your ground with your boss instead of him and got the night off. 

When the time came to slip the red dress on again, you felt off. At the store, the lighting and lavish background only added to your beauty. In the dim, run-down atmosphere of your apartment, you’re out of place, like a fraud. The browns and greens drown the shimmer on your neckline, reminding you that you had no business dating someone like Stark. 

Your mind’s saving grace is the buzz of your phone, a text from the punctual Tony, arriving right at 6:58. 

You expected the veil to be pulled from your eyes. Tony’s true nature, whatever that may be, would be revealed and all his charm would fade away. Clearly, something was wrong with him to go after some bartender, to go after you. The date would go sour, he would move on, and your life could continue as planned.

Instead, you end up having one of the best nights of your life. 

The restaurant is indescribably out of your depth. It’s clearly a popular romantic site for A-listers, with mostly couples filling the warmly lit dining area. Everything seemed meticulously prearranged— the host leading you two towards a tucked away booth just at the sight of Tony. You're worried he’d be overly touchy and make you uncomfortable, but instead his hand rests against the small of your back as you navigate to your table. 

He was nothing short of a perfect gentleman, pulling out your chair and pouring your wine. Conversation flowed just as it did at work, at least once you got your nerves out of the way. You learned a bit more about Stark Industries, even though he was clearly skipping some details for reasons you were too enamored to think about. 

Occasionally during the dinner, people would come up and exchange a few words with Tony, and he always introduced you. There was something about the level of attention that just pulled you in. You had started to think you were overthinking this whole thing, that maybe something nice could come out of this. If wooing you was the goal, he was well on his way to success. 

As the final bites of dessert lingered on your plate, a subtle disappointment crept in, acknowledging the inevitable conclusion of the evening. It had been an embarrassingly long time since you'd gone out for a night like this, and you wished you’d agreed sooner. 

The idea of shedding the vibrant sanguine dress and returning to the routine of crafting dry martinis the next night sounded more dreadful than ever.

Yet, that’s exactly what you did. 

When Tony drives back and walks you to your apartment door, you half-hope he’ll ask you on another date, and half-fear he’ll try and make a move. To your surprise and disappointment he does neither, opting instead to tell you what a wonderful time he had before departing. 

You feel a bit foolish for expecting anything more, closing your door with a heavy sigh. Your roommate seems to read your emotions on your face, deciding it best not to ask why you were dressed like that. 

The remaining hours of the night pass with you getting ready for bed and staving off sleep to not wake too early for work. Every so often, the urge overwhelms you to see if Tony texted. Teeth brushed— no text, shower—nothing, late night popcorn snack—nope. Every time you look, you grow more annoyed, feeling like some sort of teenage schoolgirl.  

By the time your head hits the pillow, you’re close to desperation. 

When you wake, it doesn’t take a few minutes for Tony to come to mind. He’s the first thing you think of. You groan in frustration when your notifications disappoint you again. Two texts from your roommate about her night out, a missed call from a friend, and a few emails, but no Tony.

You really do try to make it through the afternoon without thinking about him. You fail regardless, spending every second of the day consumed by bergamot and red. The one thing that keeps you from reaching out first is the certainty you’ll see him this evening. He’ll saunter in, order a single malt and overpay. The script unfolds in your mind—engaging conversations that span the night, and it’ll end with another pass made your way. This time, you won’t hesitate to say yes. 

The hours at work tick by painfully as you wait for him to show up. For the first time, you’re doing terribly at work. Wrong servings are poured as your eyes bounce between the bar's entrance and the mocking hands of the clock. 

Inevitably, you switch the sign to closed . A sliver of hope remains, hinged on the small chance he could appear outside as he did before. And still, he doesn’t.

Self-doubt starts to overtake you. Maybe you said the wrong thing, or did something abnormal that made him suddenly change course.

Once you're home, your resolve breaks, and you open the messages app in an act of desperation. 

[ thanks again for the other night  ] 

As soon as you hit send, you’re convinced it’s single-handedly the stupidest text ever sent. Before you can think of what to add on to repair it, your phone buzzes.

[ not a problem ]

[ i had a good time, nice place ]

[ miss me already huh ]

[ who said anything about that? ] 

[ thought you weren’t interested, but look whos texting me ]

[ yeah, to say thx ]

[ you said that when i dropped you off. gonna have to try harder doll ]

How did someone so arrogant manage to have you swooned?

[ fine. maybe i did. ]

[ see, was that so hard? ]

With a huff, you crawl into bed. You weren’t the romantic type by any measure. Your romantic philosophy entailed waiting for the right person to come into your life. Naturally, you assumed what everyone said was true—that’d you know the one when you saw it. In the case of Tony, it wasn't a lightning-strike love at first sight, but rather a rapid realization that there was an intangible something about him. Excluding the early worries over his intentions, he spread this sense of ease throughout you whenever he was around. 

On Tony’s side, it was more akin to obsession at first sight. He’d had decades of escapades under his belt, all incomparable to you. A limited edition, one of a kind, breathtaking woman he knew he couldn’t let slip away. 

You were a fresh breath of air in his world of tragedy. People in his sphere were usually tainted by it, but not you. You didn’t have some preconceived, inflated notion of him.  He was happy to recognize the mutual attraction. Unfortunately for him, you being from outside of his world meant losing you if you found the wrong information at the wrong time. 

He felt you deserved a life without the grime and troubles of everyone else. He just knew that’d only be possible with him . He just had to keep a few things from you for a little while. Long enough for you to be too committed to leave.

Tony learned at a young age that planning is the key to everything, so that’s precisely what he does. 

The lack of interaction was a purposeful step on his part, only partially. There was little fun in biting back the urge to talk to you again, to kiss you goodbye at the door, but he knew it was the best method to have you hooked. Originally, he meant to visit the bar once more tonight, see if your face brightened up when he walked in. That plan is foiled by an unmovable meeting, which keeps him occupied until close. You just happened to beat him to the text. 

For you, the date served as a testament that he wasn't some idealized, too-good-to-be-true fantasy. It wasn't a dream; it was a tangible reality and you found yourself unwilling to let it slip away. The initial worries had given way to what you prayed was something genuine.

[ so do u often take people on one date then ghost or is it just me? ]

[ doll, i don’t bore myself or waste my time with people i don’t enjoy. ]

[ i’m sure there’s better options for you ]

[ not better than you ]

[ hows that?  ]

[ i’ll tell you if you agree to see me again ]

In the dark of your room, the message illuminates your face, stirring the anticipation in your gut. This is what you wanted, the perfect opportunity. 

[ deal . ]

From then on, you and Tony find yourselves going out a few times each week. Whether it's another intimate dinner or museum, Tony consistently showers you in gifts—ranging from exquisite jewelry to coveted concert tickets. He makes jokes about making even more grandiose gestures, like moving you to a better neighborhood or getting you a car so you don’t have to walk home at night. Despite the overwhelming generosity, you can't help but feel weird at the unfamiliarity of it all, lamenting that they aren’t necessary (though you never admit how much you were beginning to love it). 

Nonetheless, Tony remains steadfast in reassuring you, emphasizing that the smile on your face is worth any amount. There’s little doubt to this, given he hasn’t made a move beyond kissing your cheek a few times. You’d like to think someone with ill-intentions would move a bit faster. 

His charismatic nature continues, enveloping you in a world of affection and companionship beyond your wildest expectations. He treats better than you could ever fathom, and asks for seldom in return. Stark handles every detail, every direction providing you with much needed mental relief. 

The thing you’re most grateful for is the ease of it all. It’s easy to indulge in him, to agree to his few, but necessary stipulations ( don’t spend my money poorly , answer when I call , be honest with me , etc. etc.) They were much milder, and more enjoyable, than ones you had in past relationships. Your most recent ex? He’d ask for a photo of your timecard from work, paranoid you were sleeping around. 

However, it takes a while for you to shake off the nagging suspicion that he’s just playing the long game. Your relationships had often ended in emotional horror for at least one side, and you dreaded a repeated end. Gradually, though, you feel more secure, even as he pulls you more and more out of your comfort zone. 

Although it didn’t really help you understand where his money came from, he brought you along to company dinners and fundraisers. These outings, while a testament to the serious nature of his work, become less enjoyable for you. Mostly because Tony’s line of work seemingly employs nothing but the most annoying of the 1%. 

He has a terrible habit for making you feel like (and dress you like) fine art. Yet, amid a room of stunning women with envious glares directed at you and Tony, you feel like second-rate trash, despite the arm draped on his meant to signify your belonging. It didn’t help that at the end of the day you and Tony never put a name to what you were, and you had no idea who he was with when you were apart. 

It doesn’t harm the connection too much for you, but it does lead to your first argument after a blissful first month. 

Truthfully, it’s mostly your fault. You’d gotten a bit more than jealous at some socialites' snide remarks about Tony being with someone so young and ‘rudimentary’, as she deemed. You blame the alcohol for tossing your drink in her face. Tony had warned you before about keeping positive appearances, but oh well. Vodka has a tendency to do nefarious things. 

The entire car ride back, Tony gets a number of phone calls, leaving you the sinking feeling you’ve angered the wrong person. There’s something semi-terrifying on every inch of his face as he talks in terms you don’t understand. The calls don’t stop until long after you make it back to the tower. You’re seated on a leather couch in his office, anxiously preparing your explanation for what happened. 

At the end of what he hopes is the last call, he turns to you. The look in his eye disintegrates whatever words you had mustered together. 

“What were you thinking?” he asks harshly, but with a low tone as if he’s trying not to sound as pissed as he truly was. 

“Tony, I didn’t think it would-”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, holding his hand up in a quieting manner. There’s a few beats of silence, where you’re wretched with guilt, not even knowing fully what you did wrong. 

“My associates are not people to mess with, honey. You need to be able to control yourself. Your little show almost ruined a deal I’ve been working on for months.”

“My little show ? You didn’t hear what she was saying and how was I supposed to know-”

“That’s my mistake for expecting you to have thicker skin than that.” Tony reprimands, his eyes reflecting an anger that leaves a mixed feeling in your gut. .

“You’re right, next time a woman starts talking about how better off you’d be with someone else, I’ll go ahead and give them your number. God knows you live for the fucking attention.” you retort, tears of frustration burning in the back of your eyes as you stand to head for the elevator. 

Tony moves from his spot in the middle of the room to cut you off, blocking your path out. 

“If you’re gonna act like a jealous brat, at least have the guts to admit it. Don’t try and make it about me.” His voice keeps its edge, standing close enough to force you to look up to meet his eyes. 

He’d never been so much as annoyed by you, and the anger in his dark irises was unbearable. Behind the darkness is something else, a heat that trails down your lips. Still, the sourness in the room is enough to make you repentant. 

“I,” you sigh, averting his eyes to stare at your heels. “I’m sorry, okay?” Your voice is small and shameful under his gaze. 

Tony’s hand meets the bottom of your chin, tugging your head back up. 

“Look at me.” he says sternly, and you’re reminded of the boutique that feels lightyears in the past. The touch twists your shame cruelly into a tight knot. 

At the sight of your watering eyes, his expression softens. A flared temper had been a life-long condition, but his last wish was letting it off on you. There was something about the way you underestimate your value to him, it makes him want to stop holding back—show you just how badly he needed you. He’d done a piss poor job of keeping you isolated from this side of his life, but it couldn’t be undone, and you needed to be able to handle it. And a sobering part of you knew you were overreacting, at least a little bit.

“You can never do something like this again, are we clear?” 

You nod, taking a deep breath. A calloused thumb strokes your face, rendering every word he said null. 

“That’s my girl.”

It reassured you that this had to be a one-off situation-a unique, heat of the moment event that caused everyone to act out of character, not just him.

In the morning, the full weight of his words hits you like a brick wall. You do a bit of mental gymnastics on yourself, flipping between blaming yourself for Tony’s reaction and blaming him for behavior. Ultimately, at the battle’s end, you let the blame reside with you. 

The next few weeks are a return to your new normalcy, turning any thoughts of ending things unnecessary. Aside from that night, Tony’s allure didn't stop, and it became safe to say you were falling, rapidly. You texted and called nearly constantly whenever you weren’t together, not that Tony seemed to mind at all (it helped that he was never far from his phone). It was clear Tony did all he could to make your outings last longer, but eventually one of you (typically Tony) absolutely has to head home. 

You’re left with a somber emptiness every time, waiting to see Tony to feel whole again. The level of care you were showered in was, well, addictive. There was enough to ignore the ambiguity surrounding whatever your relationship was, and what his life was like outside of you. Trust wasn’t exactly your strong suit, so an occasional strife happens whenever you think about it too long. It still tested his patience, and resolve, irately wishing you’d take him at his word just once. 

Something poetic could be said about rose-colored glasses and red flags.

One spring night, the rain grows far beyond what Tony’s outdoor plans can accommodate. Not wanting to cancel, he moves the date to an art gallery. There’s no hiding your excitement, and Tony expected as much. He was saving this location for another time, but you sound far too happy on the phone to regret it. 

Unsurprisingly, the night goes just as fantastic as any other with Tony. You loved art in nearly any form, and dreamed of creating pieces worthy of hanging in a gallery. This one though, is unlike any you’ve ever seen, a high-ceiling bright open space, with prices starting in the six figures. 

They’re all worth the price to you, elaborate shapes and colors sitting in huge antique frames. Like any other night, he occasionally slips away for a phone call, or you’ll turn to see him typing away another email or memo. It’s not frequent enough to bother you, and either way you accept it as an occupational hazard of seeing someone like him. Besides, you were too busy enjoying the art to care. 

Tonight though, you feel bold enough to dig into it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tony pocket his phone for the fourth time in a half hour, striding back over to you with a grin. You were transfixed by the painting in front you, having stared at it for the last fifteen minutes. It was a mirage of playful colors, swirling and fading down to a dusky abyss. Two faint abstract shapes floated in the gradient, seemingly intertwined and bursting outwards. You’re certain Tony will give you grief for fawning over what probably looked like kindergarten work. 

“I could just buy it for you, then you could stare at it all day.” he taunts once he’s in ear shot, looping his arm through yours. 

You laugh back at him, resuming your slow stride through the rest of the quiet gallery. 

“It’s like eight feet tall, no way it’s making it up my stairs in one piece.” you laugh, “You absolutely have to buy something for yourself, though. Something that, y’know, inspires you.” you say playfully, stopping to get a better look at another piece. 

“You are the only muse I need.” 

He plants a kiss on your forehead when you roll your eyes at his saccharinity, letting you slip away. You really were all the motivation he needed, especially if you kept wearing tight black skirts like the one you're wearing now. When you finally turn back to him, his hands are occupied again, typing away incessantly.

“What kind of company do you run that they can’t survive without you for a few hours?” you taunted playfully. You’d idly clicked your heels on the dark stone floor, studying the machinations of his face, trying to get a sense of what transpired in his head. 

The phone is switched off in his hands, abandoned in his pocket before beaming at you.

“A very important one.” he drawls, circling the soft skin behind your exposed collarbone with his fingertips. The padded digits trail around in random shapes, inkling up your neck slowly.

“But I have recently taken on a new,” Tony pauses, still drawing northward to caress your face. “-endeavor, that’s requiring a lot of attention right now.”

“A new endeavor?” You really try to act interested, but his touch sends shivers down your back. A subtle graze on the soft corner of your mouth becomes the most sensual touch in the past two months (and you weren’t expecting it here of all places). You, permanently apprehensive of scaring him off, never made a move to progress things physically, no matter how much you thought about it.

He says something else your brain can’t be bothered to process, giving a final circle on your cheek before meeting your eyes. “But, my attention should be on you, honey.”

Your mouth is suddenly painfully dry, clearing your throat before responding with a forced laugh.

“You’re fine, I was just prying.” 

Tony reassures you softly, “Nothing wrong with that.” giving you one of those toothy smiles that makes your head a bit light, especially with his closeness. “But only if you listen when I answer.”

You chuckle at being discovered, shaking your head slightly. 

“Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

“Well, doll, you missed an invitation to Los Angeles, gonna have to pass that on to someone else I’m afraid.” 

He shrugs his shoulders defeatedly when you scoff and swat his shoulder.

“Had you been listening , you would have heard that I’ve just been made partner in new company, and there’s supposedly a very nice celebration happening this weekend.”

It takes a beat for you to fully process the short time frame. 

“So, you should definitely come.” The matter-of-fact tone he uses breaks your stunned state with a laugh. 

“Unlike you I cannot just go to California for a weekend-”

“Aht!” He intercepts, smiling. “I recall two hours ago, a certain someone told me she was off Friday and Saturday, therefore, you can just go to L.A., this one weekend.”

Now, that was very true, and put you in quite the predicament, stammering at his growing smile until you finally found an excuse.

“I don’t have a valid ID.” you say proudly, crossing your arms.

“I have a private plane.” he responds pointedly.

“I’m terrified of airplanes.” 

“That’s a lie.” he laughed, resting his hands on your hips. “What is the problem with taking a trip with me? Is it LA? Cause I can just ask for it to be moved—”

“No, no,” you gave a disheartened laugh and sighed, “It’s just, I don’t know, a lot?”

“California’s pretty normal these days-”

“Okay, okay. Just what is your end goal here? With all this?” The incessant question in the back of your head, which you hoped didn’t cause another instant implosion.

“What do you mean?” Unbeknownst to you, Tony knew precisely what you meant, from the countless conversations, and had a very concrete answer, but there was some enjoyment in stonewalling you. 

“I mean you’re always trying to do insane things like trying to fly me across the country but you haven’t even so much as kissed me getting kind of confused-” 

“Would kissing you get you to go to L.A. with me?” Tony cuts off your exasperated tangent, laughing softly.

You roll your eyes, bracing your arms by your side, preparing to walk away. Tony senses he might benefit from a moment of seriousness and stops you with a hand on your wrist and quick spoken apologies.

“Having you on my arm is more than enough for me, doll. If you want more, that’s up to you.” This was by no means new information to you. He’d given similar reassurances to you, none which seemed to ease you for long. 

“So, answer the question, would that get you to go?” Tony pushes, leaning towards you.

“Probably.” You wish he didn’t have this effect on you so easily, but the words barely manage to register above a whisper. 

For your admission, you're rewarded with the taste of bourbon on your lips as his hand abandons your arm to rest under your chin. His teeth graze the skin of your bottom lip, stubble tickling your chin.  When he pulls away, he can’t help smirking at your dazed look. Really, Tony dreamed of doing a lot with you, but saw no need to rush. Especially since every light touch so far left you a flustered mess.

“We’ll leave early Friday morning, you can sleep on the plane, sound good?”

You don’t have a reason to protest anymore.

 After Tony drops you off, he decides to get something for future you. The colorful painting finds a new home, wrapped in an empty room at the tower, shelves lined with blank canvases and paint. 

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ʜᴇʀᴇ

[0lshadyl0]

Let's talk about Umbratras Part 3/?

Continuing with the line of posts (part 1 and part 2 here) about this species until there is enough lore to start the Umbratra AU the yandere Batfamily x Umbratra reader (either batmom or batsis), in this part we will explain very briefly (because it is not that important actually) how the Umbratras came to Earth and other curiosities of this species and this time I will do this in questions and answers format, to add more variety

So how did the Umbratras end up on Earth?

Although they were already living on a planet that was about to self-destruct (remember, Tenebrae Prime was an extremely old planet) they had no way to escape from the planet and its impending end, (sure, they had magic, but not advanced knowledge of what to do with all that power and potential they had), they left their home planet thanks to "outside help"

Which basically means that a more technologically advanced alien species came to Tenebrae Prime and took the few resources left on the planet (the Umbratras were also considered resources); which means that this species was forcibly removed from its home planet by a superior alien species of conquistadors (but talking about them is a topic for another post)

These aliens initially tried to use the umbratras as food, but when they saw that they were more valuable as for labor than as food (the truth is that in the end they were not completely convinced by the "flavor") and thanks to the umbratras' ability to imitate, over the millennia, they made a name for themselves in the new alien society to which they belonged until they were finally seen as one of them instead of second-class citizens or slaves.

So over time the umbratras and the other alien species went and looked for other planets with resources either to conquer, colonize or control and that last thing is the reason why the umbratras are on Earth

Thanks to their mimicry abilities and high adaptability, they were tasked with patiently beginning to take control of planet Earth and its most intelligent species (humans) so the Umbratra throughout the history of humanity have infiltrated all circles of power all over the world to control humanity (insert any conspiracy theory here, just say an Umbratra did it and in this AU it might be true)

What do umbratras taste like?

Literally nothing, that's why it's not fun to eat them

Why are they called vampires?

That's the name that humans gave them, but they prefer the name that the Kryptonians gave them and that the other alien species later told them that was what they were called (they like Umbratra better because it sounds more mystical)

Why do they like the gothic style?

That was the fashion they imposed when they already had enough control over human tendencies, for them that is the coolest thing that exists (it is not a phase, it is a lifestyle)

Is it true that garlic is harmful to them?

No, but they don't like the smell of garlic and if possible they will try to get away from the source of the smell, even so they can eat food with garlic as long as they don't smell it

Can they eat human food?

Yes, although for pure umbratras human food has no nutritional value and they only eat it to keep up appearances, but in the case of umbratra-human hybrids, human food can feed them but does not increase their magical power

Are they afraid of crosses?

No, but it is something they invented and pretended they were afraid of in order to make humans feel that they had a way to defend themselves from them, the same with holy water or items

Why were they not reflected in mirrors?

This is a misunderstanding, in reality, umbratras are not reflected in silver, in ancient times mirrors were made of silver and it was for this reason that there was a time when it was easier to detect an umbratra/vampire, using mirrors

Why do they drink human blood?

Human blood is the closest thing, not to say that it is exactly the same as the liquid that the Sanguivium flowers produce and that was the main and only source of food for the Umbratras when they inhabited their home planet

Can they only transform into bats?

No, although this animal transformation is their signature transformation (it is literally the first animal transformation they used when they came to Earth) as long as they drink the blood or consume the animal they wish to transform into, they will take its form, although the color of the animal will coordinate with the hair color they have chosen for their human form

Why do they sleep in coffins?

At first, when they were adapting, they used cemeteries or caves as homes to go unnoticed, they would hide in coffins and pretend to be dead in their resting graves (also in cases where they needed to take naps for decades, they would pretend to die and be buried during their resting periods). In the end, it became something cultural for them and they continued doing it (plus it matched the gothic style they created and like so much)

Do they need oxygen or to breathe?

No, umbratras don't even have lungs and some of their hybrids don't need to breathe either, but they pretend to do so

I think that's all for now, see you in the next part or if you have more questions and curiosities I will make another post with this style to solve them

[mothybean]

Average

Jinx x Fem!Reader

a/n: A buddy of mine recommended me to post my fics here sooo...

This is a MA story!

Explicit Sexual Themes

Minors DNI

Both characters are 18 years old.

(Y/N is depicted as 5"1 with mid length hair.)

---

Chapter 1. Ordinary

There’s nothing worse than being average. Being average never won anyone an award. It never allowed one to be picked first for sports to join their team. Most of all, being average almost always drove my thoughts to make me feel as if I wasn’t important; as if I didn't deserve to exist with the rest of the society. Not quite a nobody, but not quite somebody: a depressing limbo.

Average. 

The way the word rolled off my tongue made me want to rip it out, tainting my mouth with such a despicable word. I’ve been average pretty much all of my life. I would rather be super nerdy if that allowed attention from someone other than my small knit group of friends. I yearned to be something other than what most would consider an NPC. It was a curse. 

I huffed silently as I let the negative thoughts thunder inside my head, each pessimistic worry bouncing back and forth against my skull like a rabid squirrel trying to escape animal control. I slumped in my chair, my arms dangling off the sides with my cheek squished against my notes staring off into a bookshelf across from me. I really should be studying, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pick my head up. I was too busy drowning in my dismal self-reflection.  As I stared at a random thick leather book spine, another intrusive thought appeared. Did studying in the school’s library during my free period make me even more average? Should I study underneath a busy overpass? Or maybe in the middle of the street?

“You look lively.” I heard a familial voice say behind me. 

Still too upset to move, I lazily lifted my arm to give them a half-assed wave before letting my arm go limp again. I heard Calista snort before she stood in front of me, blocking my intense staring contest between the leather book and me. She placed her hands on her hips, giving me her infamous look of disbelief.

“Goin’ through it again, huh?” Her displeased look softened into one of empathy, taking the seat in front of her.

I nodded softly, my cheek slightly sliding the paper beneath it. “Oh, Y/n. There, there.” She sighed, giving my head a couple of pats. “Is it the usual Y/n thought special a la carte?” She chuckled, leaning on the table with their head supported by her hands.

“Yeah…” I trailed off, flashing her a pair of somber eyes. “When is it not?”

She dropped her pastel pink satchel onto the table, the thud resonating between the table and my head. Calista started to dig through her bag, various sounds emitting from it as she blindly searched for something. A few more seconds of noisy clutter clashing around echoed before she exclaimed, “Aha!” She triumphantly pulled out the item, hiding it within her closed fist and extended it out towards me.  “Give me your hand.” Calista demanded.

I pinched my brows together with curiosity as I held my palm under her fist. She opened her hand and a small blue wrapped candy fell into my palm. A Blue Raspberry Warhead. I should have known. Were they my favorite? Yes. Did she only ever give them to me when I was being “sour”? Also yes. I felt a smile tug at my lips as I unwrapped the citric acid coated shell, my mouth already salivating from thinking about it. I finally separated my cheek from the table, sitting up straight in my chair as I popped the vibrant blue candy in my mouth.

“Better?” She beamed, closing her bag before dropping it at her feet.

I rolled my eyes, trying to regulate the amount of saliva I was producing and nodded slightly. She knew me better than anyone else. I was grateful for her.

“Yeah. Thank you.” I replied, moving the candy to my opposite cheek.

She watched as I enjoyed my little sour delight, her face visibly concerned before giving a forced shutter.

“I don’t know how you can just eat those with a straight face. Any normal person would be puckering until their whole face was sucked in.” She stuck her tongue out and let out a low, guttural sound of disgust.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her comment, sticking out my blue stained tongue at her. I guess I wasn’t completely “normal” after all. Even if it was over something trivial as being sour resistant. I’ll take it.

“Our free period is almost over. Wanna walk to class with me?” She asked, glancing at her matching pink smart watch while simultaneously reaching for her bag.

“Mhm.” I mumbled, gathering my loose notes sprawled in front of me. 

As I gathered my belongings, the raucous laughter of a group of girls reverberated through the library, their footsteps echoing loudly as they made their way towards the exit. Not wanting to look like a weirdo, I discreetly stole glances at them, envying their perfect hair and bodies swaying with each step. They were the epitome of popularity in our school, often referred to as the It Girls given by yours truly. I felt jealousy surge through my veins. They looked like fucking models while I’m over here looking like Plain Jane’s sister, Basic Betty.

There was one girl in particular out of the bunch that stood out to me, Jinx. Not only was her name super edgy, but she was the most gorgeous girl to me. Her strikingly long blue hair was typically meticulously woven into two flawless braids, cascading gracefully down to her ankles. Her complexion? Flawless. Her outfits were always so trendy, constantly wearing a mixture of alternative, yet stylish comfy clothes. And, probably one of my favorite attributes about her, she had a sleeve of baby blue cloud tattoos going down her right arm that were almost always visible. That girl was just effortlessly oozing perfection. She was so lucky. 

“Ready?” I asked Calista, tearing my eyes away from the girls, hoisting a single backpack strap on my shoulder. She replied with a smile and started towards the exit.

As I tailed a few steps behind her, my mind once again started to plummet into a tumultuous sea of self-deprecating thoughts, each wave crashing against the shores of my consciousness with a relentless force, dragging me deeper into the abyss of despair. God, I wanted to be her.

[doubleddenden]

According to people who got to play Indigo Disk early LEGALLY after being invited by Nintendo/TPC, we know a few things

Spoilers below but nothing story related, just mechanics, difficulty, visuals, and performance.

Positive:

1. The difficulty is apparently very high and there's a reason they want you to beat the rest of the story first.

To elaborate, someone mentioned trainers with level 80 and HIGHER pokemon- keep in mind only a small handful of trainers- such as Red or Barry- have had pokemon anywhere NEAR that level.

Second, it seems that Double Battles take a big priority, which is interesting because we only had a handful in Rime's gym prior.

Third, opponents will apparently use items and Competetive strategies- think like the Elite Four in BDSP that full use of items and creative movesets or battles in Colosseum that make use of specific strategies- in their case things like swapping Slaking's ability or explosion and earthquake with a levitating Misdreavus.

All of this sounds like it's meant to replicate competitive play to some extent- which makes sense, given BBA is meant for the best of the best battlers. On a personal note, this excites me, because it sounds like we'll finally have to use strategy, and I'm somewhat hopeful after Teal Mask's spike of difficulty towards the end.

Continuing on:

2. We apparently have access to 4 new uniforms akin to N/U Academy- probably expected but it's good to have confirmation.

3. Graphics apparently APPEAR improved- at least, if I understand correctly, various people who played have at least complimented the textures and colors.

4. Music is interesting :)

5. The Terarium is apparently a tad bigger than Kitakami but not as big as Paldea.

The bad:

There's still problems with performance, to nobody's surprise, and this was even pointed out by Serebii himself. It's something that should be pointed out, because we're now a year after release and have dlc, and still have slow downs and performance drops. Of course, they probably won't fix that. After all, once ID drops, they'll probably wrap things up and move production to the next project.

I'm not gonna sugar coat it. I'm excited for the good, increasingly frustrated with the bad and I just feel embarrassed. I can hope that maybe there will be some slight stability patch like they did to make PC loading better, but I highly doubt it'll be the performance overhaul the majority of us want.

But from what good there is, I do look forward to that. Despite performance somehow being worse in Teal Mask than base game, I actually did enjoy it and was pleasantly surprised by its difficulty spikes, and like Crown Tundra to IoA, this sounds like more of the good.

[heronoegg]

said i would talk about the quirks i have so lets do that

Quirk name: Snake eyes

User can turn any part of their body into snakes that they control, they are not sentient and the user can even shoot off a snake and have it slither away to go get help if needed the way to stop the quirk from working is to chop off the snakes head the user can transfer their eyes to the run away snake but upon having its head chopped the user returns (like watch dogs but its watch snakes)

Quirk: RPG

User can see game video game stats in real life like an RPG video game. they can even see stats on food and clothes as a result of this so everything’s like a power up item to them. Names,quirks,HP and SP are displayed for everyone in the field of vision. they can look further into a person's details the better they get to know you but if they dont know you nothing about you or your name and abilities are displayed to them it’s just ??? if they know your name when you stop moving around and stand still your name appears over your head with your HP and SP

Quirk: trade (Healing quirk?) i was told by my friend healing quirks are rare in the MHA world so this person they come from america cause i heard/read somewhere that america has the best doctors and this is a play on that

User can take your pain by putting it onto their own body, exchanging it for better health. This is only good for the receiving end of the quirk but the user has a healing regeneration that is far greater than normal so it wont be too bad on them cause they will heal slowly.

Quirk: Personal Physic control

User is able to change their own Physics on how they rebound from any object to be dense or bounce

Quirk:  property knowledge

User is able to compare the property of objects they are holding/touching

Quirk: Multi-numeral

its a quirk that scales the the users strength agility and durability based on the number of numbers the user has on their body ranging from 1 to 20 currently however the more numbers they take on the user gains the bane of drowsiness that eventually will take them into sleep the longer they use their quirk they will sleep until the number receds back to 1

Quirk: Sweat and Tears

User can control any lquid from their body including blood

Quirk: Cactus

User has needle like points and spikes on their skin which they can shoot or just make poke out further

Quirk: Light in take

User stores the light rays they get from being exposed to any light source kinda like a solar panel they can dish out this light by turning it into energy or flash bangs in any way they decide their hair glows like the glowing baby

Quirk: sound displacement

User is able to take the sound of anything within their earshot and hold it to release anywhere they cannot store it and can only hold it for 10 minutes before it is forcibly removed from them or "Let go of" some sounds are too loud to hold and will vibrate the user violently if they try to hold it

Quirk: Size difference

User can manipulate the size of living and non living things the only exception is themself or anything over a certain limit

Quirk: Window to my eyes

When you look at the users eyes for even a second they can make you see what they want you to see you are trapped in their allusion for 20 minutes depending on how strong your will to believe what your seeing is it could feel like you are stuck for hours or days but only if you believe it, the only way to get out is if the User lets you out or you fully believe and understand this isn’t real

Quirk: Holding

User is able to eat items including weapons and other necessities and store them in their stomach for later use.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Confinement Xu

Here we have Episode 1 Zhou Zishu, with the last of his real face that we see for quite some time. Certainly enough time to make me forget what he originally looked like, the first time I watched the show, giving the later face reveal that much more impact.

I'll have you know that every single time I go to take screenshots for this blog, I lose so much time because I can't help but rewatch the entire episode! It's so good. The little segment this fig portrays is so short that I decided to clip it so you could re-enjoy the whole thing.

The fig maker named this fig 坐月子絮, of which 坐月子 refers to "confinement", the traditional month after childbirth in China where the mother stays indoors to heal and recuperate. 絮 is the Xu in Zhou Xu's name. As always, there are no doubt multiple levels of meaning on this name going right over my head.

Now that you're ready for this fig, let's get into it!

This fig came in two individual boxes. I was a little surprised the table didn't come in the table-looking slot in the figure box, but what do I know. Maybe the empty cutout didn't end up being the right size or something. I'm not here to second guess the fig maker OR the factory, because the packing job worked great! This made the trans-Pacific trip with no issues whatsoever.

As you could already see, the fig came in two separate pieces - the table with the mirror and his outer robe / scarf on top of it, and the free man himself. I will note this is indeed only two pieces... none of the items, including Zhou Zishu himself, detach from their places. Thankfully. I have enough gluing of figs to do already!

Here he is, at his desk of disguises. I pushed the chair right up against the table, but it could just as easily sit back a bit.

Look at those rosy cheeks! What a shame to disguise them.

I'll note that the table looks a little tilted up here, and it is. Less so than it looks here - it's actually totally un-noticable in actual life, but like everything else, the camera magnifies small flaws into appearing to be much larger. Anyway, please do note his cute little ear mole and his impeccable Zhang Zhehan posture here, it's fantastic.

Now we're getting some of the chair! You can note the little reflective surface there on the mirror as well.

The chair actually snugs up to the desk well - it doesn't scooch under or anything like that, the chair handles just meet the desk and stop.

His hair here is still relatively neat - this is right after he's tied it back and he hasn't yet put on his mask or gone full hobo.

You can see here how the chair handles just touch the desk here when you push the chair in all the way.

A better view of his outer robes, ready to be put on once the transformation is complete!

And now we're back around. I took a photo from a slightly higher up angle, so you can see a little more detail on the back of the mirror and the top of the desk.

Nothing too crazy at the bottom of these figs.

You can see how the table just slots under the arms of the chair (if you want).

This fig maker doesn't do printed boxes, but her box cards are often exceptionally beautiful!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 361

Scene Count: 24 (I don't think this counts)

Rating: Zhou Zishu has no idea what is in store for him...

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[base-set-remastered]

Patch 1.10

tl;dr

Poke Ball rework. Pokedex rework. Charmeleon nerf. Seaking buff. Clefairy/Clefable nerfs and clarification. Articuno nerf. Mewtwo rework.

I feel like some parts of the format are trapped in a limbo between being almost as consistent as modern Pokemon and being chaotic and unpredictable. From my perspective I would much rather have chaos, but of course players will try to fight it with every tool I give them. That is not to say players hate chaos and randomness - the fact that every game is different is one of the main draws of a Trading Game, and there are popular singleton formats in both Pokemon and Magic that exist specifically to make games random and chaotic. Consistency is just something that cannot be passed by idly when available. And one of the main facilitators of that consistency is Poke Ball. I like Poke Ball in its current form. I actually consider it one of the biggest successes, especially when it comes to evocative cards that nail how a "starter ball" should feel. However, Poke Ball is actually extremely strong. That's not just a matter of context, as it is probably stronger than any Ball ever printed in the official game - bar maybe Ace Spec Master Ball, but that's not really a fair comparison. Poke Ball can find ANY basic Pokemon and has a 50% chance of finding Evolution Pokemon. At the time, that wasn't really a concern to me, but lately I have taken a look at another card I made - Pokemon Trader. That card is extremely bad compared to Poke Ball, wasting your Supporter play for the turn and a Pokemon card from your hand just to grant a marginally better effect than Poke Ball. That got me thinking: what if Pokemon Trader was actually the baseline, not the outlier? Maybe having Item cards that can consistently pull any card from the deck is a mistake? Maybe getting what you want should be, at least, on the level of a Supporter, not an Item card? These ideas preoccupied me. Sure, it would make the game very inconsistent. But, then again, isn't that pretty great? Playing with the cards you drew, not the entire deck?

One thing to consider is an effect like Quick Ball - picking the first Pokemon you find from the top of your deck. However, this encourages players to run as little Pokemon as possible, to maximize the chance of good hits with this effect. That is definitely not something that should be encouraged. The other option is just taking the Great Ball's effect - picking a Pokemon from the top 7 cards of your deck. This actually encourages players to include a lot of Pokemon, to guarantee a hit and maybe even have a choice included. It is also a type of effect that isn't universally good - decks that run low Pokemon counts won't be interested. It does pose two puzzling questions, though. One of them is, of course, how could this effect scale if Great Ball was to turn up and require a new effect. This is kind of a moot point, since Great Ball won't appear in any Gen 1 set, but it's not completely pointless, since Master Ball does. Second, more pressing one, is Pokedex - it has an extremely similar effect, although with an upside of getting to sort your top cards.

Lets shelf this discussion then and switch to looking at Pokedex. Pokedex isn't a very strong card for the very simple reason that Poke Ball exists. Also, it's not really evocative - sure it has ties to Pokemon cards and "knowledge" by letting you sort your top cards, but it's nothing to write home about. Also, sorting your top cards is usually extremely undervalued by players - yes, it lets you choose exactly what you'll draw in the future, but players below a certain level usually get bummed out when they have to sort a bunch of cards they don't want to draw anyway. So, is there a solution? I believe there is. By removing the Pokemon part completely and giving Pokedex even stronger sorting abilities, it becomes a very strong consistency card. Sure, it doesn't draw you anything, but gives you extreme control over the cards you'll get in the future. Lets look at the changes, then.

One card is missing from this whole puzzle here - Rare Candy. It's yet another card that lets you find any Pokemon from your deck without fault, but this time only working on Evolutions. For now, I want to take it slow - evolution decks deserve a strong tool to compete with basic decks and Rare Candy itself has enough conditionality that it fits the definition of what an Item Card should do. This is a massive change for the format, because it fundamentally changes some of the best cards of the format, down to the very rules of what certain cards can and cannot do. I am excited to see what it brings.

A Char-Reminder

If there's any lesson I have taken from designing this format that's more important than any other, it's that bringing Energies back from the discard is much stronger than bringing them out of your hand. This is somewhat counter-intuitive - first of all, Energies in your hand feel much more accessible than those in your discard, since you need to put these Energies in the discard first before accessing them. Second, I already made sure there is no way to put Energies in the discard pile from your deck or hand, so you cannot sneakily accelerate using these cards. And yet, that still doesn't change the fact re-acceleration is stronger than acceleration. The reason for that is simple, and you can see it in today's modern Pokemon TCG with decks like Gardevoir ex. Energy in your deck is a limited resource that ends, when they all find their way into your play or discard. Meanwhile, energies in your discard are unlimited - even when brought back to play, they'll find their way back through various mechanics, such as retreats and KOs. It means a recurring re-acceleration effect can bring back much more energy than a from-hand acceleration effect, even if the latter can technically put you ahead for a while. Also, since getting KO'd also means losing your energy, re-acceleration is much more important than acceleration, especially in formats that aren't ridiculously fast. All of that is to say - Charmeleon is broken. It's a re-acceleration card with no downside. The solution, as worked out on our Discord, is to punish the use of its Power by adding one damage counter along with the energy, truly living up to its name of "Energy Burn". It still doesn't mean the card is perfectly balanced, but it'll give it some kind of downside.

Smaller Fish to Fry

I felt like Seaking was too focused on this one "blowout" attack, so I decided to pair it with a technical attack to give the card more utility, before or after the massive Waterfall.

Cle-ptomaniacs

The Powers of Clefairy and Clefable have been nerfed to only works on a single Tails flip per turn. Also, Clefable's Metronome had its price increased.

Articu-NO

This is the worst pun I came up with so far and that's your reward for getting all the way here in this massive update. Articuno was extremely strong because of its second attack. 50 damage is nothing to scoff about, even with the restrictive cost. The added effect of stalling your opponent's entire bench was oppressive and, on top of that, it had 70 HP and no weakness. All of these needed to be torpedoed immediately. Articuno now does less damage, the amount of Paralyzed Pokemon was dropped to 2 and its health was dropped to 60.

Mewtwo

Finally, the last Pokemon that was "allowed" to discard cards. I let this Power stay specifically for Mewtwo, but I should have learned my lesson. Yes, it was abusable, because the mechanic of discarding whatever you want is abusable. The change is extremely simple and makes Mewtwo a Pokemon like any other - which is a bummer, but perhaps this concept will come back in a more balanced form.

[ikahnik-gaming]

Walking Dead Saint and Sinners Chapter 1 tips

Hey there, I’m Jace. I’ve been playing the first chapter of the Walking Dead Saints and Sinners game on PSVR2. And here are some tips that I wish I had known before starting the game.

Here’s the video: 

Days don't really matter, at least not in chapter one. So don’t worry about encountering more zombies or having less supplies.

If you have time, and not rushing the story, farm the first town for a few days until you can unlock the bigger backpack. Also this is the perfect time to practice and get better at killing walkers.

Crouch down when low on stamina so that the meter can refill faster. Also there’s no stamina penalty in the safe area. I didn't know that until much later, sadly.

When rearranging things in the backpack, it’s faster to drop them on the floor than dropping them in the top hole, otherwise it will always take you to the first page that's not filled, which is slower then picking up the items off the floor.

Always aim for the head - unless you manage to cut off a walker’s arms, body hits do nothing.

The last shotgun that you unlock, the Nova, is much better at headshots.

use spoons, screwdrivers or bottles when in a house in order to save your weapon’s durability.

Fight the temptation to swing long weapons, like the spiked baseball bat, wildly. If you don't hit walkers correctly on the head, it will only make them stumble and do no damage. Make sure you can see the spike edge to line it up just right for that headshot.

You can use a katana with one hand and instead of slashing, you can stab zombies in the face, Although I’m not sure if it uses more or less stamina.

Use blunt objects like pans, angel statues, or the butt of your pistol - they dont break and 2-4 hits will do the job.

Hold a walker by the head to get that guaranteed head damage or to push them away. They will usually stumble other walkers in the process.

If there’s too many walkers or you’re low on stamina, climb a car. Walkers can’t climb or reach you - Just be careful because not all cars are climbable.

Carry a nail bomb, or two, if you have the space. Just watch out; nail bombs or explosive arrows can take you out just as easily too.

Don't use ammo to break boards. Use a crowbar or the butt of your gun.

Some walkers, the more infected ones that are more green with green stains on their chests, will spill out a green liquid that causes damage when you take them down with melee weapons. Instead, push them away and use a long range weapon.

Pick up your arrows. They can be reused a second or even a third time before breaking. And keep in mind that arrows will bounce off enemies’ masks.

When your health is too low you will cough which could attract walkers

Some walkers are faster than others

Walkers have longer reach than they look - think of the warning: “objects in rearview mirror are closer than they appear”

Once you unlock Guts Mode. Always keep a few guts in your backpack so that you can casually walk to your boat after the bell.

That’s all the tips I have gathered online or learned through my playthrough. Let me know if there’s any tip I missed in the comments. Come back for my Playthrough Audiobook that you can listen to as you go about your day. As always, like and subscribe if you haven’t. It costs you nothing and does wonders for me. Peace.

[taeyamayang]

LOVE LANGUAGE

ㅡhc on how they show affection

tokyo revengers | haikyuu | jujutsu kaisen

✦ BAJI & SANZU - acts of service

ㅡthe saying "actions speak louder than words" may have taken up a notch by these two. they would do literally anything to show their love (not bc they suck with words, but that could be a possibility too lmao). baji, compared to sanzu, is a bit softer, and by that i mean he is courteous like a gentleman. he opens the door, put his hand over your head when it starts drizzling, reaching high places, tying your laces when he sees it undone, cooking you breakfast in bed, etc. whereas sanzu would go lengths just for you. pick you up from work even if it's hundreds of miles away? sure. climb back to your 6th floor apartment for the wallet you forgot? no problem. punch your asshole-of-a-colleague on his face? he's good at that. these two will show their loyalty and devotion towards the small gestures and favors they do for you. so, better keep an eye on the details.

✦ MITSUYA & DRAKEN - words of affirmation

ㅡmitsuya and draken is the friend and lover 2-in-1 package. when you need someone to support you in times of crisis (mostly mental and emotional crisis) these two will soothe your nerves by their use of words. they have the ability shift your mood positively by the use of reassurance and advices. i'm pretty sure they are not aware of their ability to do so, but their oblivion actually adds to their charm. you just love how they look at you with bewildered faces as they wonder what they have done to cause you to smile from ear to ear. they don't know how much you adore watching and listening to them as they explain their perspective on things. you just love their unique way of thinking.

✦ RINDOU & INUI - physical touch

ㅡgod, these two can't keep their hands to themselves! they love touching, groping, and stroking every part of your body exposed to them. they take advantage of small spaces. they love sitting next to you when you eat out, intertwining hands while walking, when you rake your fingers through their hair as they lay their heads on your lap. they aren't afraid to show their love through intimate touches. hence, these two are probably the best kissers, i mean with the amount of practice they had i wouldn't doubt the premise. just... at night, keep it low for the neighbors.

✦ KOKONOI & HAKKAI - gift giving

ㅡthere are two types of gift givers (based on my expert opinion /sar) one that goes to the mall, picks an item that you like or would best suit you, purchasing it, then having it wrapped in the gifts section. on the other hand, the other type of giver would rather create a gift from scratch. the former is koko and the latter is hakkai. although, there is no "better giver" it's just that the style of giving depends on the person. i hc koko as the type of giver that when he sees an object and instantly reminds you if it, he will purchase it and gives it to you to show that he remembered you. whereas, hakkai, to me, is the type to create something from nothing. he's the type to mess around art materials, crafting a gift while thinking about you.

✦ MIKEY & IZANA - quality time

ㅡthey don't mind killing time looking at a sunsent and sitting next to you, or listen to you talk about a shitty movie you saw the other day, or sit through a rant about your neighbor who refuses to segregate their trash. every second and minute spent with you is precious. they find happiness and comfort in the most mundane moments; as long as the person they are with means so much to them every second is would mean a lot. they probably have one rule when going out tho, they don't want your phones stuck to your face. if they're spending time with you they want your full attention to them because in return they are entirely yours.

missed writing hcs so here ya go. hope ya enjoy it :) also, correct me if i'm wrong cos my memory is a bit hazy. izana has only appeared in the manga and not yet in the anime, right? so if you have not read the manga i suggest you not to search him to avoid spoilers. thanks.

m.list | tr.list

[gar-trek]

please share what you have to say about food cubes!!

I was feeling a little apprehensive about releasing the TOS Food Document™ because it is so damn long…. But since you asked anon

DISCLAIMER:

This is focused solely on food as it appears in the original series. Whatever explanation of food synthesizer/replicator that may come in later series does to apply here. I am also not a Star Trek expert. I’m sure there is some super fan out there who knows everything there is to know about food in TOS, but that person is not me. This is just my thoughts as I’ve observed instances where food is shown or mentioned in TOS. If my thought process is flawed, or I make some claims that don’t really make sense, I am sorry. The food canon is very complicated and vague, so this is me just trying my best to make sense of it. I’d also like to mention I did not explicitly cover the meal scene in What Are Little Girls Made Of? Or the ice cream scene from And The Children Shall Lead, but I do make reference to them. I’m sure there are other food scenes I didn’t get to cover here, so if I’m missing a few pieces, I’m sorry.

Anyway… let’s get into it!

The original series, food, and other things that keep me up at night

I don’t care about continuity or plot holes in Star Trek: The Original Series, and if I did, I think the show would become rather unwatchable. It’s not about what happens to get us from plot point A to B, but more important that we do get there (ie, who cares how or why Spock’s brain has been removed from his body, it’s more important that we do get it back inside).

This being said, there is one aspect to TOS that baffles me to no end, and its something I just cannot overlook: the food. Food, the entire concept of it as it appears in TOS haunts me. Each time they show or mention food it makes less and less sense. It’s a never-ending nightmare and I spend every day trying to understand what goes on in the Enterprise Cafeteria. Today I would like to explore a couple food instances on TOS, and hopefully make a little sense of what is happening.

The first chilling incident: The Man Trap (S1E2) - Rand is a thief

In this episode, we see Yeoman Rand on her way to deliver Sulu his meal. She is carrying a tray of colored food cubes (which is what I will be referring to them as here, because there is no official name) and what we can assume to be some kind of alien variant of celery (earth celery with some red crap stuck on top). While waiting for the turbo lift, Rand eats one of the celery sticks intended for Sulu. My question is why. Like literally why does this happen. Sulu never mentions it (maybe he doesn’t notice). She never mentions it to him, which means we can assume she doesn’t want him to know. So why is Rand stealing food? Does she not get enough to eat? Is the limits for how much you get to eat on the Enterprise that strict you need to turn to thievery to get a proper meal? and if that the case, she’s shorting Sulu on his allotted food. In this same scene, we see Ensign Green (who is really a salt-sucking monster) make a grab for the tray as if he too is going to steal Sulu’d food. However, Rand slaps his hand away and asks “who do you think you are?”, a hypocritical statement considering Rand is also in the act of stealing food. So Rand, I must pose the same question to you. This scene has no resolution, so any interpretation is up to the viewer. Whether you think Rand's actions make her a girlboss or a thief, is up to you, however, one thing is undeniably true: Rand eats food off other people's plates.

Other food-related things of note in this episode is that Sulu sprinkles salt on the celery sticks. This means they are either bland or that's just his personal taste. Also, when Rand gives him his tray, he says “may the great bird of the galaxy bless your planet” and this has nothing really to do with food, I just thought it was kind of badass.

(Sulu’s food tray with 3 celery instead of 4 because Rand ate one)  

Incident two: Charlie X (S1E3) - synthetic meatloaf

In Charlie X, we see Captain Kirk make this comment in passing:

“Today on earth it is Thanksgiving, if the crew has to eat synthetic meatloaf I want it to look like turkey.”

This statement leaves us with a couple undeniable truths:

1. Meatloaf is a meal option on the Enterprise.

2. It is synthetic, meaning the meatloaf may not contain any meat at all.

3. It is not shaped like turkey, but it is possible to do so.

if the meatloaf served on the Enterprise is synthetic, then it very well could be made out of the same stuff the colored food cubes are made out of. Also, (and this is pure speculation so take it with a grain of salt) since we never hear anyone refer to the colored food cubes by name, they could literally be the “synthetic meatloaf” that Kirk is referring to here. In this case, the term synthetic meatloaf would not mean a synthetic version of the popular American dish meatloaf but instead loafs of synthetic meat. Since we do not know exactly what synthetic meat looks like, it very well could be brightly colored cubes.

In either case, Kirk is asking them to turn synthetic food from one shape to another. We understand this is possible through the food synthesizer, however, if all the food they eat on the Enterprise is synthetic anyway, then why did Kirk specifically mention synthetic meatloaf in the shape of turkey? would the turkey not instead be made out of synthetic turkey? why must the synthetic turkey be made specifically out of meatloaf? isn’t every single food that comes out of the food synthesizer made out of the same thing? It would have made more sense for Kirk to say “it's thanksgiving so can you made the food synthesizers produce turnkey?”. However, Kirk is like, a really cool guy, so it is possible that the meatloaf comment is just a fun joke. Either way, we know that synthetic meatloaf is a standard menu item on the enterprise, yet we have never seen anyone consume it.

Incident 3: The Corbomite Maneuver (S1E11) - Green leaves

In this episode, Kirk goes in for a physical, and Doctor McCoy reports that the captain is 2 pounds overweight. In response to this, the Doctor changes the captain's dietary card to help him lose a little wight (🙄). We later see the captain served a “dietary salad” in place of his usual meals. The existence of dietary salad is interesting for many reasons. Most importantly, we understand that dietary salad is somehow better for you than what is usually served on the Enterprise. It most likely has a lower caloric intake than say, colored food cubes. However, as discussed before, most if not all the food on the Enterprise is synthetic. If the food is created, and not naturally made, then one can assume its caloric value can be controlled. Would it not be possible to make a lower-calorie version of colored food cubes? one would assume that the cubes are made to have the perfect amount of nutrients to satisfy yet keep humans a healthy weight if they are in fact a form of synthetic man-made food. How would the captain overeat, if portions are pre-determined by dietary cards? Is Kirk somehow going rouge and consuming food that is not created by the food synthesizer (the captain's secret cookie stockpile??).

The existence of this salad also begs another question: is it synthetic as well, or are they growing fresh salad on the Enterprise? We do know that they are able to grow things on the ship, however, there has never been any discussion of growing crops specifically for consumption. If this is the case though, it may explain why we often see crew members eating celery sticks. Perhaps things like celery sticks and dietary salads are grown on the Enterprise, but all other food is synthetically created. In which case, who’s job is it to harvest food and prepare it for meals? Did Rand have to put that dietary salad together all on her own?

One more interesting point about the Salad: When Kirk first receives it, he asks

“what in the devil is this? Green leaves?”

which prompts Rand to explain that it’s a salad. It is very possible that Kirk genuinely has no idea what a salad is. He may have never had one, nor heard of the food in his entire life. Later we see him eat the salad with his hands, which further proves the point that captain kirk doesn't know what salad is. Why captain Kirk would somehow have no knowledge of salad is up to speculation.

Incident 4: The conscience of the king (S1E14) - Cry over spilled milk 

In this episode, Lieutenant Riley is served colored food cubes and a glass of what appears to be milk. There isn’t much of significance here, other than the fact we know it is possible to get a glass of milk with your meal on the Enterprise. Unlike Sulu, Riley doesn’t have any celery sticks but seems to have a larger serving of colored food cubes as compensation. We also learn that milk is served in a large glass, something that seems very impractical on a starship.

Riley proves my point moments later when he spills milk on a control panel and shatters the glass. This begs the question, who is going to clean that up?

Incident 5: Tomorrow is Yesterday (S1E20) - Chicken noodle soup

In this episode, the Enterprise accidentally beams a 60′s army man abroad their ship (for the second time). This random chad ensign asks the man if he’s hungry because he’s a troll I guess and he wanted to flex their cool future food machine. The army captain guy is like sure, I could go for some chicken soup right now (a very natural response to being beamed onto a spaceship for the first time). Chad ensign has like three cards in front of him, and I guess one of them just happens to be chicken soup because he puts it in the machine and the soup appears. Grant it, we never actually get to see the soup with out own eyes, but the army captain does seem to be pretty convinced that it is chicken soup just by the smell. This opens up a couple possibilities:

-The food synthesizer can make almost anything you want, and the card is maybe like a very broad category, like a dinner card, and when you put it in you can pick any dinner food you’d like.

or

-The food synthesizer can only make what is specific to each card, and the ensign just got extremely lucky and happened to have a card that was the exact food the army captain wanted.

More evidence, which we will go over later, points more towards the theory that one card is equal to one specific type of food. In this case, it is unclear how the synthesizer food cards are distributed, or how you get your pick of what food you would like. It is also more likely that options would be limited. This does make sense, however, it makes this scene very confusing, as, as I’ve pointed out, the ensign had a very limited number of cards, but exactly what the captain had asked for. Pure luck? what mind game was that Chad ensign trying to play with the poor man who was abducted from earth... we will never know.

One more very interesting thing is established here: The transporter room has a food synthesizer. Why this is is purely up to speculation. In my mind, having a food synthesizer in the transporter room would be like having a full kitchen where you park your car. Seems pretty useless, but maybe the guys in the transporter room requested easy access to snacks? Why the transporter room would get this special privilege is again, up to speculation.

Incident 6: Space Seed (S1E23) - Dinner with Khan

In Space Seed a special dinner is put together to welcome Khan onto the Enterprise. We see that they are being served colored food cubes and celery sticks. Doctor McCoy walks into the dining room and comments about how the display is “very impressive”. However, this seems like a very unusual comment considering we are shown the only food we have ever seen consumed on the Enterprise. What exactly makes this food “impressive” as compared to other celery sticks and colored food cubes? Is there some way to tell this particular food is better that we don’t know about, but is obvious to everyone on the Enterprise?

There is also a chance that Doctor McCoy is just very easily impressed with food, and upon seeing any food spread he is likely to comment in wonder. Note the way Scotty is looking at McCoy. His face is a mixture of confusion, judgment, and pity. Perhaps Scotty is thinking to himself “bruh, it’s literally just colored food cubes chill out man,”. There is no explanation as to why Scotty is giving McCoy such a look, so this very well could be the case. Even though it is a silly explanation, I don’t think it should be ruled out that one of McCoy’s personality traits is being overly excited about food of any kind.  

Incident 7: Journey to Babel (S2E10) Party food

Much like in Space Seed, in this episode, we get to see a meal put together for a special occasion. All the diplomates are getting down at a mixer where a spread of food has been provided. These snacks seem very similar to colored food cubes, however I do think they differ. They may be the same type of food, but different in some way. In which case colored food cubes is an overarching category of food, and here we see two different types. The smaller more brightly colored cubes can be put in drinks, though if this is what you are supposed to do with them, or just the preference of that one alien species I do not know. Though I must point out, we have seen colored food cubes served in brown sauce in What are Little Girls Made Of? (S1E8) so it is not completely unheard of to have your colored food cubes served soggy.

The other type of colored food cubes we see are a lot larger and more pair shaped (in reality, they probably were just skinned pairs dipped in food coloring, but for this essay, it’s important that we completely ignore the fact there is another life outside of Star Trek). Now to me, these are very interesting, because the dull color and apparent texture are a lit more similar to standard colored food cubes we have seen thus far. I would even go o far to say that this is the same exact food, just sans the cubed shape. So really, standard colored food cubes are just the cubed version of whatever this food is. This, again, is just speculation, but it does point us to the fact that colored food cubes are not naturally cubed (I’m going somewhere with this is promise)

Incident 8: The Trouble With Tribbles (S2E15) The trouble with Chicken sandwichs

Here we see Kirk attempting to order a chicken sandwich and coffee. What he gets instead is a plate full of tribbles,  hilarity ensues. I think this scene is interesting because we can add to our list of food items that are on the menu at the enterprise cafeteria: chicken sandwich. However, this is another food item we do not see. There is no way of knowing if the Enterprise's version of a chicken sandwich is what we would imagine a chicken sandwich to be. Much like the meatloaf and the soup, because we do not see it, there is no way of knowing if the food exists in the way that we as 21st-century people understand it. The events of TOS take place more than 200 years in our future, so to speculate that food could change a lot during that time isn’t a stretch. I don’t know, just some food for thought (lol)

Incident 9: By Any Other Name (S2E22) Living deliciously

In this episode, an alien taking the form of a human enjoys some colored food cubes. He makes a comment about how they are good they are while enthusiastically eating his food. This is a very important moment because it tells us that colored food cubes do taste good. In fact, they taste really good. Just before he eats, the alien comments on how humans could just take pills that give them all their nutrient needs and give up food completely (think the Jetsons cartoon). On the Enterprise, they do not eat just to live, but because they enjoy their food as well. This tells us that colored food cubes are at the very least, worth eating, and at the best, very delicious.

One more interesting thing: Spock is eating some kind of soup while everyone else enjoys colored food cubes. This could be a Vulcan preference, however, we know that Spock is vegetarian. This could be alluding to the fact that Colored Food Cubes are made out of meat.

Conclusion:

Yes, I asked a lot more questions than I answered. There are some things that make absolutely no sense to me, primarily, the food synthesizer and diet cards. Some evidence points to the fact that the food synthesizer can make practically anything (see Tomorrow is Yesterday, And the Children Shall Lead). However, one dietary card is equal to one specific food, which would mean they would have to produce a lot of these dietary cards if there is many meal options. How these cards are distributed, and what their limitations are, we do not know. And although we do not know the limits of what the food synthesizer can create, we do know these food have been served on the enterprise at least at one point:

-colored food cubes (variety)

-celery

-synthetic meatloaf

-synthetic turkey (Thanksgiving Special)

-Dietary Salad

-Milk

-Chicken Soup

-Chicken Sandwich

-Mystery Soup

-Ice cream (variety of flavors)

All of this food (except for maybe the dietary salad and celery) are synoptically created, so what they are actually made up of, I cannot say.

And finally, I would like to make a point about the colored food cubes. I think upon first inspection one would assume colored food cubes is a dish created specifically for space travel (think the food created for modern-day astronauts to consume in space). However, we learned that there is possibly a variety of colored food cube dishes. Since there is such a wide variety of food on the Enterprise, why would they also need to create a food specifically for space travel? I think that colored food cubes are actually a common dish, not intended specifically for space travel. Perhaps it was an alien food that got popular on earth, maybe it was a dish developed later in Earth's history by humans. I can only speculate, but I do think it is more than just boring space food. Everyone seems to have a preference for it, so I think it’s a dish you can eat over and over again and not get sick of. What colored food cubes taste like is completely up to speculation, but I would assume they are a savory food, considering we often see people enjoying them for their main meal.

I still have more to say, but for the sake of everyone, I’ll end it there. This was a lot of thought dumping, so if some of the things I said made no sense at all, I’m sorry. I’d love to hear some of your thoughts on TOS food! please share with me what you think colored food cubes would taste like :)

[littlemisspascal]

The Infinity Cube Part 9

Main Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Chapter Pairing: Veracruz x Female Reader

Word Count: 1400+

Series Summary:  When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Warnings for the chapter: Language, Violence, Guns, Blood, Spanish in italics, Possessiveness 

Author Note: Thank you everybody for your kind support of this fic! I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog 💝 Say what you want about the movie itself, but I think we can all agree that Veracruz is gorgeous. 

PART 1 / PART 8 / PART 10

You’re in a tent. 

That’s the first thing you notice about your new reality, taking in the dark green canvas walls surrounding you. You’re sitting on a cot, a pillow to your left and a neatly folded blanket to your right. In front of you is a desk with a pistol lying deceivingly innocently next to the Infinity Cube and a flashlight. The three items are acting as paperweights holding down a massive map. Tilting your head for a better look, you try to recall your high school geography class as you study the names of cities, rivers, and mountains, but it isn’t until you spot Bogotá circled in red that you realize you’re looking at a map of Colombia.

You’re in a tent in Colombia for reasons currently unknown. And there’s a gun within reach. Nothing weird about that at all. No potential red flags to be worried about. Nope. Maybe you’re just here camping and the pistol is to scare off bears? 

You exhale slowly, gaze lifting from the map to the cube. The sunlight slipping in through the tent’s front opening makes the golden metal appear unnaturally shiny. Of all the locations in the world, it’s strange it has brought you to almost the exact same place twice. You subconsciously rub at your chest, feeling a distant aching pang at the thought of Javier.

Before picking up the cube, you hadn’t been much of a world traveler. You were more of a homebody, content to explore the restaurants and sites of your own little neighborhood than those overseas. And the few times you did travel, it was strictly for FBI business connecting with other foreign government agencies investigating art thefts. You always followed a strict schedule outlining what was expected of you for every hour of your trip. 

Now...there is no plan for you to follow step by step.

Sure, you’re supposed to solve the cube and return the thief’s heart but there’s no specific instructions. No guidelines telling you who to talk to or what to expect next. 

Or, most frustratingly, what the damn hearts engraved on the cube mean. They were too distinctive not to mean anything important. Six hearts. Six different designs. Six potential meanings. 

Then again, the thief hadn’t even made one reference to them. Maybe he forgot, or maybe the curse prevents him from mentioning them, or maybe…

Maybe this is one mystery you’re not destined to solve.

You’re on the verge of pulling your hair out when shouting from outside the tent hooks your attention. The voices are arguing in Spanish, each one raising their voice to be louder than their verbal sparring opponent, sounding seconds away from tearing into each other.

“Veracruz,” you whisper under your breath, concern for his well-being overruling every instinct telling you to stay put. 

Stepping outside the tent, you raise a hand to block the piercing sunlight. You’re here camping, you realize, spotting a cluster of matching dark green tents blending in amongst the surrounding jungle landscape, but definitely not the recreational kind. There are men wearing military fatigues everywhere you look, armed with no less than three weapons each. This is a militia camp, suspiciously remote and well-fortified, the kind you’ve seen in blockbuster action-thriller movies full of explosions and epic one-liners. 

You spare a quick glance at your own clothes, thinking your black t-shirt and camouflage-patterned cargo pants aren’t even a fraction as intimidating as their attire. God, you wish this were actually a movie set, if only so you could ask the wardrobe department for an upgrade. 

A group is gathered by the pavilion in the center of camp, and as they notice your approach one by one the soldiers shift and avert their gazes to the ground, moving away from you like you’ve got some contagious disease they’re scared of contracting. You find their behavior weird, to say the least.

The argument reaches it’s furious peak at the same time the last soldier steps aside, allowing you a clear view of two men standing so close they’re practically spitting on each other with every venomous word exchanged. Veracruz’ back is facing you, but even without the view of his face you’d know it was your lover based on his broad frame alone. 

Your arrival catches the other man’s attention, his beady, rodent-like eyes flicking towards you before his lips curl into the sleaziest smirk you’ve ever seen. 

“Aquí está,” he says, and you catch the immediate tensing of the Veracruz’ shoulders beneath his tactical vest. “Tu perra metiendo la nariz donde no pertenece.”

A bitch, a quiet and remote part of your brain translates, pulling apart the words only to be hurt by the end result. Not even just that, but a nosy bitch. 

A hush falls over the entire camp. The kind of foreboding silence promising nothing good will follow after it. You’re not the only one upset by the asshole’s cruel remark.

Either oblivious to the tension or feeling recklessly empowered by being the center of attention, he foolishly adds, “Tal vez si estuvieras dispuesto a compartir…”

A gunshot rips through the air, a resounding blast that has you instinctively covering your mouth with both hands to stifle your cry of shock. The asshole’s legs give out, blood spurting out of his mouth, and he collapses into a dead heap upon the grass with a bullet wound in the middle of his chest.

“I never share what’s mine,” Veracruz growls, possessive and blunt and with absolutely no room for argument from any of his men. 

He holsters his gun and as he turns around, brown eyes connect with yours. For a brief moment, neither of you say anything, merely watching each other—one stunned, one calculating—before he marches forward.

“I told you to stay in the tent, dulzura,” Veracruz says lowly, guiding you back there with a firm hand on your lower back. “The jungle has a strange effect on men, makes them think with their cocks rather than their brains. It’s safer for you to remain out of their sight.”

You struggle to adapt to his personality shift from coldblooded murderer to protective lover. This man is so vastly different from your Marcus: tough, severe, short-tempered. Veracruz commands his men using fear and the threat of violence, while Marcus leads his team of agents with genuine camaraderie. 

But the way he holds you when you step inside the tent, callused hands gentle and expression soft with concern—it’s surprising how you think of his closeness as comforting rather than upsetting. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, wondering how a man with so many rough edges has the capacity to be soft around you.

“You don’t need to worry,” he says, mistaking the way you bite your lip as a sign of anxiousness. “I’m never going to let anyone else lay even one finger on you.”

“Good,” you murmur, pulled forward by some invisible string. You loop a hand around the back of his neck, toying with the soft hair along the nape. “I love it when you're selfish, Brown Eyes.”

His gaze turns heated, but a call from outside interrupts him before he can speak.

“¡Comandante, señor, el estadounidense ha sido visto!”

Like putting on a mask, any trace of warmth and affection is wiped from Veracruz’s face. He untangles your fingers from his hair and drops your hand as if you’d burned him. You swallow thickly, a wave of nausea rolling over you.

Veracruz points a firm finger at you. “Stay.”

You watch him leave the tent, arms wrapped around your stomach. A quiet voice in the back of your mind wonders if maybe you are his bitch after all. The way he’d just spoken to you...It was like he turned off his emotions and stopped seeing you as someone he loved, let alone as someone human. 

Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders, shaking off the tension clinging to them. This place is only temporary, you tell yourself. A bad pit stop soon to be forgotten.

Picking up the cube, you subconsciously press your thumb against one of the broken heart symbols. 

“You’re not going to break me,” you say aloud, grabbing the bottom layer of it. “So enough with the doom and gloom. Nothing is going to stop me from going home, you hear me?”

And maybe it’s just your imagination, but the cube almost seems to glow right before you twist it. Like it’s heard your challenge and stubbornly refuses to admit defeat. 

But that would be ridiculous. The cube is magical, not sentient. 

...Right?

Translations:

Aquí está, -- There she is -- Tu perra metiendo la nariz donde no pertenece -- Your bitch sticking her nose where she doesn't belong

Tal vez si estuvieras dispuesto a compartir… -- Maybe if you were willing to share

¡Comandante, señor, el estadounidense ha sido visto! -- Commander, sir, the American has been seen

Dulzura -- Sweetness

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[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader's feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: "I'd love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?" - @pulplorrd

A/N: Thank you all for the love regarding "Honey & Whiskey" - I loved writing that story, but I'm also super happy to finally be able to move onto something else! I very rarely write established Daryl x Reader stories, so this one was super fun to do!

This is part 1/2.

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Sunlight trickled in through the open window, a gentle breeze rousing you from an otherwise undisturbed sleep.

Cracking an eye open, you squinted against the sun rays streaming over your features as a soft sigh escaped past your lips. Burying your face into your pillow, you extended an arm out across the mattress, your brow furrowing when you felt an empty space beside you. Pushing up onto your elbow, you rubbed your eye with the heel of your palm before glancing over at the vacant spot.

“D?” you murmured softly, voice still thick with sleep. You cleared your throat, twisting onto your side as you surveyed the rest of the bedroom. “Daryl?” you called out once more, feeling a familiar pinprick of worry when no response followed.

You flipped onto your back with a huff, taking a moment to stretch out your tired muscles before untangling yourself from the sheets and climbing out of bed. Fighting back a yawn, you padded across the floor and out into the hallway, listening for movement. When you heard a sudden clatter, followed by a rasped cuss, the corner of your mouth quirked up.

You made your way towards the noise, feeling some of the tightness in your chest fade with each step you drew near.

The end of the hallway led to a small, yet quaint, kitchen. When you reached the entryway, you faltered, observing the scene before you — Daryl was crouched down, one hand wielding a frying pan, the other scooping up a small mound of partially cooked eggs from off the floor and tossing them back into the skillet.

You stifled back the laugh building up inside you. “Hi,” you remarked, making your arrival known.

The archer’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, a flash of what looked like embarrassment flitting over his features before he ducked his head back down, effectively concealing his face with his hair. “Mornin’,” he rumbled, quickly wiping up the rest of the egg residue with the sleeve of his shirt.

A small smile pulled at your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the doorway. “Whatcha doin’?” you singsonged playfully, eyebrows raised.

Daryl’s brow furrowed as he stood, staring down defeatedly at the frying pan in his grip. “Cookin’,” he finally sighed, shrugging a shoulder up.

“I see that,” you laughed softly, crossing the length of the kitchen as the archer placed the skillet back onto the stovetop. “Smells good,” you remarked, coming to stand at his side.

“Dropped the —” Daryl spat out another curse as he attempted to scrape the burnt egg bits off the bottom of the pan. “— the damn — the damn thing,” he growled exasperatedly, waving at the pan with the spatula he held.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “No one expects you to be Gordon Ramsey,” you teased, thoroughly amused.

But the reference seemed to go right over Daryl’s head as he turned to give you a confused look.

Your brow furrowed. “You know…Gordon Ramsey,” you reiterated pointedly.

“Huh?” the archer grunted, clearly at a loss.

“Oh, come on, you don’t — you’ve never heard of Gordon Ramsey?” you asked incredulously. “You know, Gordon Ramsey! The mean British chef!”

Daryl scrunched his nose up before shaking his head. “Ain’t never heard a’ that,” he rumbled, focusing back on the frying pan.

“Wow,” you murmured in disbelief. “That is so…so devastating,” you sighed, mockingly dramatic.

The archer snorted a laugh, the sound eliciting a rush of warmth through you. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, gently nudging you with his elbow.

You grinned cheekily, leaning over and resting your head against the curve of Daryl’s shoulder. He froze for a moment, old habits reappearing briefly before he relaxed beneath you and continued stirring the eggs.

An overwhelming sense of calm rushed over you, a feeling only the archer ever seemed to evoke. You closed your eyes, breathing in the comfort he so effortlessly exuded — and it wasn’t in anything he said or anything he did, it was just purely and wholeheartedly who he was. He was grounded, he was stable, he was here.

You’d missed this — you’d missed him.

The past month hadn’t been the easiest — Alexandria was still recovering from the destruction the dead had caused — but things were beginning to look up. The hundreds of slain walkers had finally been removed from within the community, Carl was recovering from his gunshot wound, and the wall that’d been destroyed was almost entirely rebuilt. There was a sense of hope, of purpose, in the air — your people had stared death in the face and prevailed.

But supplies were beginning to wear thin.

Most were hesitant to venture outside the walls, to leave the sanctuary that was Alexandria, and honestly, you didn’t blame them for that — especially after the attack brought on by the Wolves. You’d seen what other horrors existed outside those walls — hell, you’d lived through it. There was a big, bad, scary world just behind the scraps of steel and metal welded together surrounding the community — there was the dead, the undead, and the living.

The latter was most terrifying.

Still, there were mouths to feed, injuries to tend to, and somebody would have to leave eventually. It wasn’t much of a surprise when Daryl volunteered himself — that was just the kind of man he was. Aaron had decided to join him, determined to continue his search for any other lost souls seeking asylum.

But the supply run had taken longer than expected.

They’d only planned to be gone for three days — but after the fourth, fifth, sixth day that rolled by without any sign of return, you were nearly beside yourself with worry. It wasn’t that you thought they couldn’t handle themselves out there, you just wanted them home — you wanted him home. The tightness in your chest expanded with each day that passed, unease gnawing at your insides, fear settling like an anchor in the pit of your stomach.

Then just yesterday — day seven — right before sunset, Daryl and Aaron had come marching through the front gate. Apparently, their intended route had been cut off by a horde, which led to some rerouting, which resulted in an empty gas tank, which forced them to abandon their car, which meant walking the near-fifty miles back home.

“I was so worried,” you suddenly murmured, drawing yourself back to the present as you lifted your head off Daryl’s shoulder and glanced up at him.

The archer’s eyes flashed towards you for just a brief second before focusing downward, turning off the stovetop, and pulling the frying pan off the heat. “I came back,” he finally rasped after a long pause.

“Yeah,” you sounded, nodding your head absently, his words not making you feel all that better.

Daryl caught your gaze once more before he reached out and placed his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “C’mon, let’s eat,” he rumbled, pulling away a moment later.

You made a soft noise in protest, savoring the rare show of affection and earning an amused eye roll from the archer as he turned away — though you noticed the tips of his ears redden in the slightest.

When you’d first arrived at Alexandria, Deanna had provided two houses to be split amongst your entire group. As time went on and the safe haven had proven to be just that, slowly but surely, everyone began branching out and finding their own homes to settle into. Part of you had reservations about moving into one of the empty brownstone apartments, just you and Daryl, but things had been going well between you — really well, actually.

You settled atop one of the stools lining the small island in the middle of the kitchen, resting your elbows against the smooth marble countertop as you watched Daryl move about. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard, along with a fork from the utensil drawer before swinging around and sliding the items towards you. It was almost eerie how natural things felt in that moment — like a glimpse of what life might’ve looked like had the world not ended and the dead had stayed dead.

The archer grabbed the frying pan, turning towards you once more before using the spatula to dish out a hearty helping of eggs onto your plate. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the look of intense concentration masking his features — as though diffusing a bomb and not simply serving breakfast.

Daryl glanced up at you from beneath his hair, doing a quick double-take. “What?” he grunted defensively, appearing increasingly self-conscious all of the sudden.

“Nothing,” you quickly shook your head, letting out a soft laugh and picking up the utensil. “Thank you,” you grinned, gathering up a forkful of eggs.

“Mhm,” he grumbled in response, drumming his fingers against the counter as he carefully watched for your reaction, his nervousness evident — and incredibly endearing.

You took a big bite, humming a noise of satisfaction soon after. “Mmm,” you sounded around the mouthful of food before swallowing. “Chef Dixon,” you remarked cheekily.

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah right,” he rasped sarcastically, though you watched him visibly relax. He remained standing opposite of you, opting out from using a plate and eating the remaining eggs straight from the frying pan instead, scooping up a handful with his fingertips and shoveling them into his mouth.

A comfortable silence settled over the kitchen as the pair of you continued eating, sneaking glances at one another while the other wasn’t looking. You couldn’t help yourself — he was just so damn captivating. Even standing before you, devouring a panful of eggs with his bare hands like some kind of wild animal, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach flip-flop.

You’d never felt this way about anyone in your entire life — even before the end. But now…well, now you’d live this terrifying life a thousand times over if it meant finding him.

The sudden realization of what exactly you were feeling hit you hard, catching you off guard and causing you to choke on the mouthful of eggs you were chewing. Daryl’s head snapped up as you abruptly coughed, covering your mouth as your eyes began to water.

The archer was at your side a moment later. “Hey, ya alright?” he rumbled, gently patting his hand against your back.

You quickly nodded, attempting to wave him off as your cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “Yeah — yeah, no, I’m —” you coughed once more, the eggs finally dislodging from your throat. “I’m — I’m good,” you managed weakly, wiping at your eyes. “Jesus,” you wheezed as a sheepish laugh slipped past your lips, your coughs finally dying down.

“Ya sure?” Daryl pressed as he pulled his hand away from your back and rested it on top of your shoulder instead.

“No, no, yeah, no, I’m fine,” you quickly brushed him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” you lied, hoping your excuse sounded convincing enough as the feeling of vulnerability threatened to consume you.

If the archer was suspicious, he kept his expression neutral. He nodded once before softly squeezing your shoulder and pulling away — though he lingered nearby instead of moving back to where he’d originally stood.

“Anyways,” you pushed forward, clearing your throat, desperately wanting to ignore the revelation you’d had. “We, uh — we almost finished rebuilding the wall while you guys were gone. Rick’s got a crew working on dismantling the old one, too.”

Daryl watched your expression for a second longer than necessary, like he knew something was up but wasn’t exactly sure what. But after a moment, he relented. “Saw it on the way in las’ night,” he murmured, leaning down and resting his forearms against the edge of the counter. “Looks pretty solid.”

You nodded, huffing a breath. “Abraham’s leading the team — I’m pretty sure you couldn’t drive a tank through that wall.”

The archer scoffed. “Damn right,” he rasped before lowering his gaze, wringing his hands together atop the counter.

You studied his demeanor, feeling a pinprick of unease. “What is it?”

Daryl glanced up, flicking his hair away from his eyes with a quick jerk of the head. “M’, uh — m’ headin’ out again today,” he finally confessed, standing up straight.

You tried to keep your expression indifferent despite your stomach dropping. “Oh,” you voiced dishearteningly. “But — but you just got back,” you pointed out softly, hoping you didn’t sound as disappointed as you felt.

“I know,” he said, staring down at the counter, avoiding your gaze. “Jus’ a day trip, is all — Tara heard ‘bout a motel strip, maybe fifteen miles from here. Shouldn’t take more than a couple a’ hours. We’ll be in an’ out.”

You nodded slowly, pushing around the leftover eggs on your plate with your fork. “Alright,” you straightened up on your stool. “Well, I’ll come —”

Daryl started shaking his head before you could even finish your sentence, his eyes meeting yours. “Y/N —”

“Come on, Daryl,” you interjected, already figuring his response, swiveling in your seat to face him head-on. “I’m losing my mind here, okay? I’ve gotta get back out there and — and actually do something for this place.”

“Ya do enough already,” he shot back vehemently.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as you slid off the stool. “And besides, we’ll cover more ground faster if there’s three of us versus two,” you continued brusquely, gathering all the stray dishes on the counter.

“That ain’t the damn point,” Daryl growled, following you towards the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, and it's also not your decision," you finally snapped.

When the archer didn’t respond, stiffening beside you instead, a wave of guilt washed over you.

Exhaling a heavy breath, you gently set the dishes down in the sink before turning to face him. “Look, I get it,” you murmured softly. “I get it, D. But I can’t just hide out here for the rest of my life,” you explained. “Especially when you’re the one risking yours.”

Some of the fire in Daryl’s gaze diminished, replaced with a heaviness that wasn’t there before as his shoulders drooped.

You felt something tug at your heart as you stepped forward, reaching towards him and brushing away the hair that fell over his face. “I just got you back,” you whispered. “And I’m not ready to let go of that yet.”

When another long moment passed without a response, you were almost certain Daryl was going to object once more — but then, despite the tension in his features, his eyes softened.

“Alright,” he finally rumbled, the word seemingly caught in his throat — as though it physically pained him to say it.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Alright,” you reiterated with a resolute nod.

Daryl sighed, shaking his head as he nudged you forward. “Well, go on an’ get some shit together before I change my mind,” he grunted.

You quickly straightened, imitating a soldier’s stance. “Yes, Chef,” you saluted the archer, breaking the tension.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, shooting you an unamused look. “Shut it,” he rasped — though you noticed his lips twitch up a moment later as he turned on the kitchen sink, picking up one of the dirty dishes.

You stood up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss against the archer’s cheek, the skin where your lips touched tinging pink soon after. “Just give me two minutes,” you said, squeezing his arm as you brushed by him.

Daryl cleared his throat gruffly, caught off guard by the gesture. “M’ countin’!” he called after you.

“Yeah, yeah!” you shouted back, allowing the warmth that filled your chest to carry you the rest of the way down the hall.

Within the hour, you were on the road.

A cool rush of air swept through the passenger side window as you tilted your head back against the headrest and closed your eyes, basking in the sun's gentle rays. The wind danced amongst strands of your tousled hair before settling them back down against your features. Tucking away the freed wisps behind your ears, you opened your eyes, studying the scenery flashing by.

Rows and rows and towering trees lined either side of the long and winding road you found yourself on, a seemingly endless forest just behind it. The car hummed beneath you, passing by long-since abandoned vehicles and scattered debris, continuing to barrel down an otherwise empty highway.

It was strange — there was something somewhat comforting, something sort of nostalgic about being back on the road. Like a glimpse into another lifetime.

“— and I swear, this dude was like, six feet tall. He was one of those, you know, typical chauvinistic pricks, thinking every woman he meets at a bar wants to have sex with him,” Tara’s voice rang from the backseat, drawing you from your reverie. “But you should’ve seen the look on his face when I knocked him on his ass — priceless,” she jeered, an air of pride in her tone.

You shifted in the passenger seat, the corner of your mouth quirking up as you looked back at her. “So, is that when you realized you wanted to join the police academy?” you asked curiously.

“No,” Tara shook her head, a smirk toying at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back. “That’s when I realized I like women.”

A laugh bubbled out of you at her response, Tara’s smile simply widening as she shrugged unabashedly, picking up the map splayed out across her lap. As your laughter died down, you started turning to face forward — though you’d only made it halfway when Daryl caught your eye.

The archer sat in the driver’s seat, one hand resting casually on top of the steering wheel, the other propped up against the door. His window was rolled down, the breeze from outside stirring the hair that hung just above his eyes. But what grabbed your attention were his eyes, glinting ocean blue as he glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth faintly lifting.

God, the way he looked at you…

You fought back a smile as you faced forward, wondering what you could’ve possibly done in your life to deserve to be looked at like that. The feeling you’d shoved away earlier at breakfast came rushing back, setting your senses ablaze as you worked on controlling your thrumming pulse.

You loved him.

A heaviness grew in the pit of your stomach as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Fuck.

“Here’s the turn,” Tara’s voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

The motel came into view, set back behind a mass of trees, partially hidden from the main road. The car jostled side to side as Daryl drove it down the gravel driveway, leading to the complex. There was a handful of abandoned cars parked sporadically throughout the small parking lot, some trash and debris littering the area, and four lone walkers ambling aimlessly.

Daryl pulled the car off to the side, parking it near the trees and out of sight from the main road, the engine drawing the dead’s attention. “I got ‘em,” he rasped, unsheathing his hunting knife and sliding out of the car in one swift motion.

Your lip quirked up as you watched him dispose of the dead, as quickly and effortlessly as breathing — he’d been made for this world, you were sure of it.

“You coming?” Tara’s voice broke through your thoughts once more, the hint of a mischievous smile ghosting over her features — she’d clearly been watching you ogle at the archer.

You felt your cheeks flush at the scrutiny. “Mhm, yep,” you nodded quickly, shaking away the embarrassment and climbing out of the car.

Daryl crossed back towards you, wiping the walker blood from the blade of his knife onto his jeans and flicking the hair from his face.

“Show-off,” Tara smirked, adjusting the straps of her backpack as she passed him, heading towards the stretch of rooms just ahead.

The archer simply scoffed a breath, rolling his eyes, though you spotted the hint of amusement in his gaze as he waited for you to catch up.

“It’s so weird seeing you without your crossbow,” you remarked, nearing a moment later.

Daryl grunted a breath, swiveling around and falling in step beside you, neither of your momentum’s faltering. “Jus’ wait ’til I find that asshole,” he grumbled, recalling the man he’d met in the woods all those days ago.

“We’ll get you a new one someday,” you smiled, unsheathing your own knife as you approached the motel. “Or you could use the RPG and blow more shit up.”

Daryl snorted a laugh.

“So, how do we wanna do this?” Tara called from up ahead, pausing in front of the center of the strip.

“Room by room?” you suggested, stopping at her side. “One of us can stay on watch, maybe check these other cars for supplies?”

“I got it,” Daryl offered with a nod, re-holstering his gun. “I’ll see if I can get any a’ these guys up an’ runnin’, bring ‘em back home.”

“There’s also an empty gas canister in the trunk,” Tara motioned towards their car. “Salvage what you can,” she shrugged before turning on her heel and heading towards the first room.

You moved to follow, only stopping when Daryl reached out and grabbed your wrist. You turned, spotting the worry in his gaze he tried to hide. “Ya be careful, ya hear me?” he rasped, sliding his grip down and squeezing your hand softly.

“I will,” you nodded, squeezing back, feeling your heartbeat pick up a fraction.

God, you loved him.

The three of you moved quietly and efficiently — you and Tara swept through each room, working your way down the entire motel strip while Daryl picked through the parking lot. The building had been left practically untouched — and besides the supplies you’d managed to scavenge from the motel itself, you’d even found luggage and suitcases left behind by guests who’d apparently vacated in a hurry.

By the time you'd made it halfway down the strip, the packs you brought had been filled to the brim.

“Holy shit-balls, this place is a goldmine,” Tara huffed, tossing her backpack down beside yours in the trunk of your car.

You let out a laugh in disbelief. “I can’t believe it,” you shook your head before scanning the parking lot for Daryl — you spotted him hunched over the hood of a car, his hands buried in the engine, tinkering around. “We should use some of the suitcases we found for the rest of the stuff,” you continued, focusing back on Tara.

“Cool beans,” she shot you a thumbs-up before motioning towards the center of the strip. “Wanna check out the front office before we hit the other half?”

“Sure,” you nodded, slamming the truck shut and falling in step with her as the two of you headed back towards the motel.

When you felt someone watching, you glanced over your shoulder, catching Daryl’s eye — his furrowed brow softened, the corner of his mouth twitching as you sent him a wink and turned back around.

God damn it, you loved him.

Dividing either side of the motel strip was the front office, built just beyond a large swimming pool. There was a tarp draped across the pool, covering most of the swampy green water, though debris floated around the murky edges. Your nose scrunched up as you passed, a funky smell wafting from the mucky water.

“Gross,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself before you glanced over at Tara. “So, you and Denise, huh?” you asked curiously, waggling your eyebrows.

Tara huffed a breath, but you didn’t miss the blush creeping over her cheeks. “I could say the same about you and Dixon,” she shot back, fighting off a smirk.

You rolled your eyes despite the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Oh, come on —”

The rest of your sentence died away, falling from your lips when a sudden growl sounded, breaking the otherwise silent air. You stopped short, Tara halting just beside you. Your breath caught in your throat as you strained your ears, listening for where the noise had come from.

Sure enough, a moment later, a lone walker stumbled into view, coming out from behind the front office.

You let out the breath you’d been holding, feeling Tara do the same. “Hang on, I got it,” you motioned for her to stay put as you jogged ahead, pulling your knife from the holster around your waist. You braced your arm against the biter’s throat, plunging the blade of your knife into its skull in one, swift motion before it dropped at your feet.

But just before you turned to head back, you heard it again — snarling.

Except for this time, it wasn’t just one.

Your stomach dropped as a small herd, about a dozen dead ones, suddenly rounded the corner behind the office, their sights set on you.

“Oh fuck,” you swore, stumbling backward, vaguely aware of Tara yelling your name. But when you spun around, you realized that she too was no longer alone. “Look out!” you shouted, motioning to the two additional walkers quickly approaching from behind her.

As she turned away from you, fighting off the dead that’d snuck up on her, you took off into a sprint, putting some distance between you and the horde.

Tara stabbed her knife into the temple of the first, though the second was on her just as soon. It gripped its fingers around her forearm, pulling her flesh closer and closer towards its snapping jaw…

Just before it could sink its teeth into her skin, you managed to grab it, twisting a fistful of its hair around your fingers and yanking its head backward. You drove your blade through its decaying forehead, stilling it instantly.

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

A/N: EEEEEEK! Y'all know me and how much I love cliffhangers :)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[down-in-devildom]

MC being Used by Lesser Demons (Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor)

Second part of this prompt: Part 1

CW: Violence, Torture, Manipulation, Murder, Cannibalisms ...general demonic behavior

Asmodeus

Asmo is always surrounded by all kinds of demons vying for his attention and he thinks it is absolutely adorable! He is someone that is just so magnetizing and mesmerizing that it is almost unsettling when people can resist him. Enter MC. Someone both equal parts strange, wonderful, and scary; They worth every ounce of love they can get! So he isn’t all that surprised when MC starts to develop their own little entourage of Lesser Demon fans.

Asmo lives for the attention and is happy to share the experience with MC. They go on little shopping sprees together and always have plenty of demons willing to carry their bags or buy them some gifts. The amount of times that Asmo and MC got in trouble with Lucifer for bringing home way too many gifts and taking up all the hallway closet space was starting to get ridiculous. It didn’t phase Asmo though. He is just happy to be able to steal the MC away, even if they are never truly alone.

Now, Asmo was rather observant and was quick to pick up some of his dedicated fans started to join up with the MC’s little group. He wasn’t jealous, per say, but it is odd when these demons that followed him all around the Devildom for centuries were now more interested in a human. He didn’t want these ugly internal thoughts to turn him ugly externally, so Asmo shoved the matter to the side for now.

When a particular Lesser Demon that he used to remember following him around rather faithfully gave the MC a gift, he was more curious about what they gave them than why they were not giving him items anymore. Whatever the Lesser Demon had handed to the MC had them practically gushing about it for most of dinner that day at HoL. Apparently, it was some sort of beautiful silk scarf and it looked absolutely amazing on them. MC had invited this particular Lesser Demon out to grab the newest latte at the DevilPop Shop as a thank you.

MC was so excited for the café date that Asmo didn’t have the heart to tell them that he already tried the newest latte and it does not photograph very well nor was it worth the calories. The day of the venture into town, Asmo sent the MC off with a gorgeous outfit that incorporated the new scarf, and a kiss on the cheek. Asmo had a makeup live stream to host so he wasn’t able to join them.

Asmo was still in the middle of filming when he heard the door to his room open. He could have sworn he told his brothers not to bother him for the next four hours and was kind of miffed. He turned his head briefly away from his camera and lights set up only to see MC dash by and flop themselves onto his bed. They yanked the scarf that they were given off of their neck and buried themselves in his covers. Asmo was quick to excuse himself and apologize for cutting the stream off so quickly before.

When Asmo made his way to the bed, he could hear the MC groaning and see them appear almost restless under the sheets. He gently pulled the covers off and gasped when he saw the MC with swollen, patchy welts all over their face, neck, and the beginning of their chest. He was now starting to become frantic because the irritated areas looked so painful and the MC looked like they were desperately trying to both hide their face and not cry at the same time.

When the MC explained how the date was going so well until their neck started to burn and the Lesser Demon they were with started to showcase such a cruel smile. The scarf must have either been hexed or treated with a fast acting poison that causes the MC to have an adverse reaction. The Lesser Demon had taken pictures of their pain-stricken face and threatened to post it all over Devilgram if they kept getting in the Lesser Demon’s way and taking too much of Asmo’s attention. This kind of behavior isn’t all that unheard of for some of his fans, but Asmo is generally very quick to put any wayward bullies in line. Maybe the Lesser Demon thought they could get away with it because MC was simply a human.

Asmo first treats MC’s welts with some of his skin care and makes sure that most of the pain is gone before having them drink some sleepy time tea to relax. When the MC inevitably goes to sleep after their harrowing ordeal, Asmo sneaks off and tracks that particular Lesser Demon down. It wasn’t hard finding their location after he used his various social media accounts to ask for their whereabouts. When he finally did find the demon, Asmo decided it would only be fair to give the Lesser Demon their own personal facial seeing who they felt so starved for his attention. He then proceeds to scrap the Lesser Demon’s face all across the brick and concrete grounds in the vicinity, painting the sidewalks red and really improving the other demon’s image, what with them not having a face anymore and all. Asmo is as sugary sweet to the MC the next day and continues to coo over them and their injuries. He also is sure to breezily mention that the Lesser Demon decided to disconnect from the media and social trends, whatever that may mean, and wouldn’t be around for quite a while.

Beelzebub

Beel was widely admired. He was a strong athlete and super sweet to most demons unless food denial was in play. He was also known for going on rampages when he was hungry and it was a big deterrent for many demons outside of his Fangol team and the Hell’s Kitchen chef. He didn’t really mind though. He has his brothers and now MC. Between him always having to worry about where his next meal would come from and how to keep his family together, Beel already had to take into account his environment and the threats that they held. 

When more and more demons started to watch him during his Fangol practices, he was confused. Typically, only the MC would come to cheer him on or wait for him to finish before heading out to grab some cheeseburgers. It didn’t really matter though. He was still able to give his best on the field and no demon got in his way when he approached the MC to start leaving for the day. It was only when the MC paused in their tracks after talking about their day did Beel turn to look at them with some concern. He asks them what is wrong before they said that one of the Lesser Demons were a really big fan of his and wanted to hang out.

Now, Beel is a very laid back type of guy so he was more than ready to grab a bite to eat with more company. MC waved one of the demons in the distance down and soon enough, the three of them were on their way into town for some snacks to have before dinner. The market was full of all kinds of street vendors so it was the perfect place to try everything at once. The first stop was a crepe stall that was super generous with their fresh cream and strawberries. The Lesser Demon was kind enough to pay for the treat and handed it out to Beel and the MC.

Beel was content for the moment with his twenty-three assorted crepes and was munching away when the Lesser Demon went to hand the MC their crepe. Unfortunately, it looks like the Lesser Demon tripped and smeared the dessert all over the front of the MC’s RAD uniform. The Lesser Demon apologized and was saying how sorry they were that now the MC would have to go home to change, but MC said it wasn’t a problem and they don’t mind still hanging out even though they were wearing their food. The Lesser Demon was adamant that they would need to change but MC waved them off.

Beel was just glad he still had some crepes to work through and offered up one of his to MC. There was a bite out of it but MC accepted it gratefully anyways. Beel noticed that the Lesser Demon had a strange look on their face and was looking at the shared crepe and the MC with a furrowed brow and a frown. Maybe the Lesser Demon wanted another crepe too? Either way, the trio still made their way over to Hell’s Kitchen and talked along the way. Or, rather, the Lesser Demon talked the whole time while Beel and MC just listened. The other demon sure appeared to be passionate about Fangol because that was all they wanted to talk about. That and about Beel being the star player that RAD desperately needed.

When the journey was finally over, they sat together at the bar in Hell’s Kitchen. The Lesser Demon wanted to sit between MC and him but he did not mind that much. Beel was quick to order just about two of everything on the menu. When the food finally arrived, Beel was making quick work of his order while the Lesser Demon continued to fill the space with more of their Fangol play formation theories. The MC was having a good time enjoying the meal and the conversation when they finished their singular portion of food and waved down the wait staff to order something else. 

MC looked so excited about the triple chocolate bat’s milk brownie sundae they ordered, Beel was almost inclined to order another helping of the dessert himself, they made it look so good. But before MC could scoop any into their mouth, their spoon was snatched from their hands. Beel and the MC looked at the Lesser Demon in shock and confusion on why they took away their utensil. The Lesser Demon then goes on to say that the MC already had enough to eat and it would go to better use to go to someone as active as Beel. The Lesser Demon then proceeds to take the plate from in front of the MC and add it to Beel’s dwindling food mountain.

Beel and the MC were frozen in place. Neither of them move but Beel could see past the Lesser Demon’s shoulder when the MC’s head hangs down briefly before they hurry to push away from the bar with an excuse that they have some business to take care of and leave the restaurant. The Lesser Demon looks...happy… that MC left and turns back to Beel and talks more about Fangol as if nothing happened. Beel felt in his gut the uncontrollable hunger that comes when he skips a meal take over him. The Lesser Demon is too busy yapping to see the shift in Beel’s eyes but they sure did stop talking when a growl from deep within Beel’s chest vibrated throughout his body and shook the ground itself.

Beel was famished and the only thing that satisfied his hunger was the demon that dared to deny his MC of something as important as food. Beel’s mouth opened impossibly wide as his jaw seemed to know no bounds and his fangs elongated. Before the Lesser Demon could get away, Beel’s mouth was at the other demon’s throat and the jugular was ripped clean out. The demon’s body fell to the floor in shock and Beel was quick to pounce and shred his meal apart, consuming the flesh and bones and leaving nothing left. Nobody in the restaurant stopped him. When Beel’s hunger subsided, he paid the bill and walked out to go find the MC. He just knows that they would love some macarons from Madam Scream just about now and he wasn’t about to deny them that.

Belphegor

Belphie typically struggled to find the motivation to do much of anything most days. Or rather, it isn’t much of a struggle if he had no intention of doing anything in the first place but the point remains. Today, he was actually able to summon the miniscule amount of energy required to go with the MC to the movies to see a documentary about human space exploration. Granted, he had almost every intent and purpose to just fall asleep the second the lights dimmed anyways, but he could at least be some form of company for MC during the show. 

Belphie was told to meet MC outside of the theater’s entrance about fifteen minutes before the flick. The only reason they were not able to walk from HoL to the theater together was because MC had some resource material they had forgotten to return to RAD and needed to run by there real quick before it was overdue. Bephie didn’t mind though. It meant he could sleep in a bit more before having to head out. When he did arrive at the meet up point, there was a Lesser Demon practically glued to MC’s side and Belpie would just feel his limited energy reserves drain.

When the MC spots him, they are quick to pull him aside and explain that they ran into the Lesser Demon at RAD and asked to hang out with them. When MC went to reject the offer and explain that they already made plans with Belphie, the demon was even more insistent about spending time with them. The Lesser Demon wanted to get to know more demons with an interest in astronomy and was a bit too shy to approach Belphie by themselves. Now that they had gathered the courage, they would not be persuaded to do anything else but tag along. The other demon appeared very keen on not letting MC and Belphie out of their sights and walked over to join the conversation after a moment.

Belphie was not exactly happy about some stranger ruining his movie experience, but figured that it wouldn’t matter too much rather the other demon was there or not. He was still “seeing” a film with MC. When they all walked inside to get their tickets, the Lesser Demon would not shut up about how excited they were to finally get to talk to more astronomy fans. MC did not appear to mind though and was being fairly polite. They would answer as many questions as possible but it was becoming apparent that the Lesser Demon wasn’t exactly listening to the replies and would turn around and ask Belphie the same questions. He ignored the other demon though because they were being annoying.

Once they walked to their seats, the Lesser Demon tried to sit between both Belphie and the MC. He wasn’t in the mood to humor the other demon so Belphie plopped down in one of the seats and pulled MC down into the one next to him. Because of the arrangement of the seats and some random demons seating on Belphie’s other side, the Lesser Demon was made to sit on the other side of the MC. Belphie could tell they did not appear all that happy about the arrangement judging by the deep frown that etches into their face. Well, too bad. This was originally his movie date with MC, not the Lesser Demon.

When the lights finally went out and the curtains pulled back completely from the screen, Belphie got comfortable in his seat and laid his head on MC’s shoulder. He was planning on getting on top of his well deserved nap as soon as possible, but something in his gut was keeping him just on this side of wakefulness. Although his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow, Belphie was on alert. He was naturally a demon with a lot of suspicions about other’s motives, so he was a bit weary of the frown on the Lesser Demon’s face a few moments ago.

Belphie heard the Lesser Demon start to whisper in MC’s other ear and had to focus a bit to hear the conversation over the film’s loud music score. The other demon appeared to be continuing their earlier barrage of questions. The MC whispers to the other demon that they would like to watch the movie and could answer everything later. The questions continue anyway and start becoming more and more morbid and strangely personal. What were human funeral customs like? Could humans sense when their life is in danger like prey can? Do human hearts taste better when they are still beating or shortly after being stilled?

That last question gave both the MC and Belphie pause. The Lesser Demon continues though, slowly moving their hand up the MC’s arm and across the chest until their hand rested lightly against MC’s neck. “I always wondered what it was about you that drove the Seven Avatars to becoming shadows of their former selves. Even Belphegor, with his intense hatred of humans, is over there sleeping on your shoulder like a newborn kit. Maybe the brothers just need a reminder of how weak and helpless humans are in order to snap out of their feeble minded states and become real demons.”

Belphie just lets out a snort of a laugh at the ridiculous monologue the Lesser Demon felt the need to recite before materializing his tail. The other demon seemed to realize their mistake too late and their neck was snapped all too quickly. Beplhie finally opens his eyes to peak up at the MC. They were looking at the Lesser Demon’s body and the way their head was twisted to an unnatural degree. Ah, well, there goes his movie nap. Belphie was about to get up to leave the theater, thinking that MC would probably not be in the mood to watch the film anymore and would prefer to not be next to both him and a corpse, when he was tugged down into the seat instead this time. The MC quirks a brow as if to say the movie wasn’t over and goes back to watching the screen. Good thing too because Belphie was past the point of simple sleepiness and wanted his movie nap, for demon’s sake.

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Thank you for reading part 2 of this request. Sorry I didn’t include the original question in the post but I am too lazy. I talk a lot so please excuse the run-on sentences -Leo