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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written.

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

#michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn michael gavey #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fan fic #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn fan fic

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traumxrei-archive · 1 year

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Suddenly getting emotional thinking about Jamil and how his life was chosen for him when he was born. If he would take the chance to leave his position if he could- if he'd feel lost with his newfound freedom or resentment at all his skills that, while he's great at them, were gained because he served Kalim.

I wonder how it is that others can't notice Jamil, how others can see him as just Kalim's shadow, how anyone can say, "Just have Jamil do it." And then there's you, who will look past Kalim to look for Jamil. You, who can ignore Kalim unintentionally because your staring at and daydreaming about Jamil. When you ask something of Jamil, you're not asking because it's his duty as a servant or tossing him some task while not caring if he can do it or not- we ask specifically for him because we know he can do it.

And trying to imagine how Jamil would be able to see the difference. How he'd be used to not really being seen- the name Jamil is not an individual, just the name for a faceless, identity-less thing in the background who's supposed to live for others. How he is confused when you show up at the dorm and brush off Kalim's friendly advances because you came specifically for Jamil. How you invite him to be on the other social side that he's always served- "Jamil, you haven't eaten yet, come join us!", "Jamil, you keep doing homework, I can go get that for Kalim", "Leave it for someone else to clean up, we weren't the ones responsible in the first place."

How those sitting with Kalim don't even register that he's in the room, but when it's you, your whole face lights up when you spot him. How you can't look away from his face until you've given him a smile that's brimming with your love for him. And how foreign this feels to Jamil, but maybe he doesn't hate it.

(Aka how I hadn't fully understood how Jamil felt because I acknowledged him as an individual from the start and didn't think properly about how he's typically seen as just an object in the Al-Asim household)

anon.............anon you should open a writing blog. like. i am at a loss. because you put into words the inexplicable sadness that i feel about jamil... this is so perfect that i don't think i'll be able to add much onto it, but i'll try anyway. maybe we'll take jamil's perspective, since you wrote so in depth about the prefect's perspective....

of course, your existence kind of greatly irritated jamil—at first. especially after you ruined his perfect plan to take over scarabia....but that doesn't matter now. now, he's perplexed.

he thought that you would avoid him like the plague, especially after all that he subjected you to during winter break. but instead, he started noticing you. it did help that you had a literal flaming cat next to you at all times, but he started seeing you a whole lot more.

and he felt like you were seeing him.

usually, he would wait on the side in busy hallways as kalim chattered happily with his classmates, waiting to deliver him to his next class. but he found that he was the one being sought out by you. which was weird, everyone had always wanted to talk to kalim, not him. but there you were, asking him mundane questions like how did he make that potion so easily? (practice, he answered.) what did he have for lunch? (kalim's favorite shawarmas. no, he didn't have extras.)

and he wouldn't be lying if he wasn't waiting for a certain question. one where you would ask him for a favor of some sort, and where he would have to don a mask and agree to whatever they wanted but... that question never came. he heard grim hollering for you, and just like that you were gone. huh. now that was new.

jamil noticed it happening more and more as time went by, especially as your visits to the scarabia dorm increased. at first he thought you visited solely for the food. which would mean more work for him. but he found that you weren't with kalim most of the time. rather you were rejecting kalim's proposals for holding feasts quite effectively.

instead you came to him, sometimes for a quick chat, sometimes you'd ask if he needed help. (he would always say no, the response trained into him for years upon years) but you would insist anyway, and he always found a small smile on his face whenever he was faced with your antics. (of course, he tried hard to make sure to hide those smiles behind a carefully placed hand)

jamil didn't really know when "resenting you" became "tolerating you" and he was even more clueless on how that feeling had evolved into "being fond of you".

maybe it was the time where you pushed him right past a messy-looking scarabia lounge, claiming that it wasn't his mess to clean up. or maybe it was one of the times where he was about to bunk basketball practice because kalim had called, and you said you could could meet kalim on his behalf. or maybe the time you pulled him into the school kitchens to show off lopsided-looking vada pavs that you made from one of the cookbooks he lent you.

maybe it was all the little things.

but around you, he didn't feel like "jamil viper, firstborn of the viper family" or "jamil viper, attendant to kalim al asim". no, he felt like "just jamil viper".

and maybe that's why jamil doesn't stop it when he felt that fondness turning into something brighter and more explosive. maybe that was why he started going to you— sitting next to you in your shared classes, bringing you snacks he made during lunch, or even visiting ramshackle. he found that he couldn't get enough of spending time with you. and jamil found that he didn't hate that.

(though jamil never said it outloud, you could see it in the way his eyes sparkled when he was with you, as cliche as it sounded. though his expressions remained schooled, there was something there that told you that jamil viper really, truly cared about you.)

n e ways, that's it for me. i hope you enjoyed reading my addition anon,,,,even though idk if you'll even see this since it's been so long. but i thoroughly enjoyed that sudden jamil brainrot ^^

#/trau replies #/anonnie #anon you sent me a masterpiece #i'm literally sobbing #jamil viper #ueuueueueueeee #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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cult-of-the-eye · 7 months

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If you had to kill one archivas assistant, who would you pick?

Oh my god this is the worst question in the entire fucking world wow!!! I love all of them!!!!

But I'm gonna answer it from a potential for Angst kinda way and which one I'd find the most interesting.

Sasha

Well first things first she did die but we're ignoring that for the sake of this question

If everyone realised she died directly after the Jane Prentiss Attack i think it would eliminate the added layer of guilt of not noticing her being taken by the Not Them and maybe allow them each to grieve a bit more? I think if they were smacked in the face with Sasha's death, then they could communally grieve before Tim got massively resentful and maybe Jon would be distracted by the grief to fall into his paranoia as intensely and actually try to support Tim instead. I guess it's a sad world where we're choosing between one type of death for Sasha and another but here we are.

Tim:

I know that hes gonna die but I haven't gotten there yet so I'm gonna imagine what would happen if he died in the Jane Prentiss Attack instead of Sasha. Sasha wouldn't have the same resentment and fury that Tim has, I feel like she'd would be determined to avenge Tim, I think she'd be a better protagonist than Jon, which would cause him extra Jon Guilt cause he'd be like why am I the leader of this whole thing Sasha would've been so much better than meeee and Sasha would eventually be like yeah bitch get out of my way. Sasha being alive would actually solve so many problems like actually. RIP Tim though, everyone would mourn his bisexual ass. Jon and Martin would grieve him normally and Sasha might make them go to therapy/talk to someone about it.

Martin:

If he died during the Prentiss Attack, he'd come back as a ghost. There's no other option, that's just what has to happen. Maybe it would be a chance for slight humour, cause Jon resolutely believed he's hallucinating for an embarrassingly long time before Martin's like nah bro...im a ghost. And he keeps Martin's reappearance to himself cause he wants something good for himself that no one can take away and they get closer and fall in love and everything but there's the added angst that he's a literal fucking ghost. The whole Peter Lukas arc is him slowly fading away as a ghost and Jon nearly kills himself to bring him back. In the end he does stab himself but he feels Martin push the knife in when he dies and he dies knowing that he'll join him.

Or alternatively, he's just gone. Jon would spiral with guilt and anxiety knowing that his last conversation with him doesn't excuse his poor treatment of him and that he died getting cut off from the others in the tunnels, he died scared and alone and worse, he died with the little bit of hope that things might get better. Tim and Sasha would both be devastated, they'd stare out at his empty desk and lash out with anger and fear and cry but in the end at least have each other to lean on. But Jon would be alone in his office with no one to give him tea. His physical health spirals and everyone's worried about him, the way Sasha and Tim have stuck together makes him even more paranoid that they somehow killed Gertrude together and no matter how soft with him they are, he still barrells towards the end with an even stronger need to martyr himself. It's bleak guys. My man is not ok.

So I guess if I could kill one of them off, I'd probably go for Tim's death cause Sasha being a better horror protagonist than Jon is actually so funny to me I think that would be so interesting but Ghost!Martin as a close second cause that would actually add so much depth.

Thank you for your ask!! I really enjoyed answering it!!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin k blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #tim stoker #sasha james #archival assistants #tma au #asks #answered asks #tma headcanons

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georgiapeach30513 · 4 months

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Peach, you're the best! Thank you for posting that amazing pasta art! (And thank you to the lovely artist who made it =)) - Mrs Pasta.

That being said...I have a few things to say. No words of wisdom, just some thoughts. Some people will disagree with my takes but if you're here reading it, read it carefully and really consider what I said before you disregard.

Every time something happens that gets a certain portion of fans excited that "it's coming to an end," it is nearly always (99.9) followed by something that completely disputes that hope and gets everyone angry, upset, and riled up. It's time to pick up on the patterns, guys!

Ramen and Soba attended the GG afterparty for Soba's agency but didn't show up for the red carpet or awards show. It's got some people thinking Ramen fell off on the HW hierarchy food chain but people. Please. Let's be honest with ourselves here. Did they not attend because he couldn't get an invite since he's "so irrelevant" now or did they not attend because them trying to act like they know each other in real time, for the camera, would be a feat harder than climbing Mt. Everest? Why else do y'all think Soba attended the GQ event with Cup of Noodles instead? You know, the one where she actually did pose for photos and walk the red carpet? And flash her loaned jewelry and "wedding ring" but refused to speak to reporters because she had nothing to promote? It's giving "a...weird face wife that will never do an interview" XD

Every time something happens that gives another portion of fans the chance to "gloat," something else happens to throw a wrench into the mix. You don't question why only one "director" got a random picture of soba and ramen in the same bowl but nobody else saw them? And they can only be mentioned in a throwaway line by a Condé Nast publication (Vogue, Vanity Fair, GQ) and neither Ramen nor Soba could spring for a stylist this time? Looks like somebody doesn't want to make that red carpet debut...but why not? Aren't y'all married for the 50th time in a year and also expecting for the 20th time in the past two years?

Lastly. Just because Ramen has had a few pitfalls this past year does not mean that suddenly he's dropped to C-D list and that he's completely irrelevant in the industry now. I understand having critical flops can hurt your career. Of course it can. And in fact, I'm sure these pitfalls have hurt him. But remember that just because someone is doing well now doesn't mean they'll always do well, and just because someone is having a rough few years doesn't mean they'll never get a comeback.

I'd also like to close with a reminder to those gloating on about how RDJ is doing better and Ramen is failing in life...RDJ was once a drug addict and ended up in jail. My parents still mention this about him every time they see him on TV....people do remember when the biggest news of his career was him getting arrested. Also, after Endgame? Does anyone remember Doolittle? 15% on rotten tomatoes had people thinking RDJ fell off. And then covid hit and he was just doing his own thing for a few years. Now look at him. Looks like that awards campaigning worked! Because no disrespect, Robert, but your Oppenheimer performance was lukewarm at best. IMO, You deserved it more for Tropic Thunder and I say that as someone who genuinely admires you.

I hope I didn't ruffle any feathers. It's just tiring to see people ignore certain things for the sake of running with a narrative.

Love ya, Peach!

Mrs. Pasta, thank you for gracing us with your presence twice today. I honestly, have nothing to add to this great observation. I was just talking about a lot of these points earlier with some mutual about a certain even with a super shiny watch 🤭 I honestly never thought about equating Katt’s words about weird faced wife that will never give an interview to this 😵‍💫 but your’e on to something there!

Looks like someone reached into the depths of their closet to try and scrounge up a look last week, but what do I know?

Mrs. Pasta, I always look forward to your takes and observations.

@inshelliesworld created some cute little Mrs. Pasta art 😊

#Mrs. Pasta

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ladyrijus · 6 months

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According to Breath of the Wild's canonical storyline, before the Yiga Clan were the Yiga Clan, they were descendants of a "militant faction" of the Sheikah clansmen who branched off from the tribe during their time of exile. Knowing that those people were the brains behind the Divine Beasts, the Shrines, and the pillars that held the Guardians within, it's clear that the reason for why they fought against Hyrule kingdom was to preserve not only their lives, but their life's work.

And sure we can talk about the ethics behind building mechanical beasts that can kick up sandstorms, flood villages, cause volcanoes to erupt, and take to the skies to raze down civilians, and how it was necessary to bury these devices... but that's a conversation for later.

My point is, I feel like it would have been really interesting if the Yiga prided themselves on their past technological innovations and had seen the prophecy of a second Calamity as a chance for redemption. It would add more depth to them if we knew that they wanted to extend an olive branch to the royal family of Hyrule at one point. Despite having to fight for their lives, they are still willing to look past that, still willing to share their knowledge and secrets of this mysterious technology. All they ask in exchange is for protection and acceptance, as well as recognition for their past and present contributions to the kingdom through their divine technology.

But instead of taking that offer, the Royal Family revokes it. More specifically, Zelda's mother revokes it. After all, the royal line is matriarchal, so the political power rests with her.

It would make sense as to why she died so early.

Imagine, you have a tribe of people descended from the servant of the Goddess with whom you share blood. Your ancestor, though not of your blood, exiled them to make clear that they may not ever think themselves to be equal to the divine ancestry that you and your family possess. And so now you have a tribe, though smaller, that is exceedingly subservient to you. Why take this olive branch, from people who have defied your family before? They could defy you again. No, that simply won't do. Your little band of spies and handmaidens are enough for the time being.

Using mellifluous words and pretty smiles, you cast their offer aside and order them to hand over whatever remnants of the mysterious technology they have to you. You are so used to getting things your way. But these people have known your family long enough to see through your gentle facade and refuse you. They argue that you cannot demand something from a people that you do not recognize as yours. Very well. You leave gracefully.

Except you aren't Her Grace. Far from it. You are a chess player, and you move your Sheikah pawns forward to take whatever you can from the Yiga. Everything if need be, from information of the whereabouts of so-called "Divine Beasts" and "shrines" to material things, like a certain curious egg shaped device that your daughter lovingly calls Terrako.

But that pride spells out your downfall.

I know, I know, as if Breath of the Wild wasn't tragic enough. But we know nothing about the Queen's death, except that she died when Zelda was six. She was in the prime of her life. And you mean to tell me, that it was due to, what, an accident? A disease?

No, I say it was an assassination.

Maybe it was not necessarily intentional. The Queen could have been an unfortunate witness to the clansmens' failed attempt to recover Terrako and their other stolen possessions. If they left her alive, she would send her forces after them. Their numbers are not many to begin with.

Or maybe it was, a retaliation for thousands of years of exile. A silent jump through the window, a flick of the knife. Perhaps her involvement in coordinating the pillaging of the exiled people's homes was the straw that broke Vah Naboris's back.

It doesn't matter though. The Queen is dead, their divine technology remains in the wrong hands, and the kingdom still regards them as a blight upon the world. The olive branch that they extended now burns furiously blue, and it's only then do the clansmen realize that no matter what they do, Hylia has turned her back on them.

And well, if their destiny is fixed, if their role in this grand theater of life is to be an enemy of the state, why not practice the part? Why not revel in it? If you were told all your life that you could only ever be one thing, and walk no other path of life, if you were punished repeatedly for trying to struggle otherwise, wouldn't you fall in line?

#YIGA BRAINROT #tl;dr i headcanon that the yiga were forced into their roles just as much as link and zelda were #and i blame it on zelda's mom #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #yiga #yiga clan #sheikah

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groovy-crossing · 3 months

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ACTUALLY!!! While I'm thinking about it, here's some stuff I would greatly appreciate in the next animal crossing

- Overlapping rugs (just think it'd be cute tbh)

- Villager gossiping (about me, about each other, about anything)

- Celeste museum exhibit

- More diverse dialogue, if we can't have villager stories or more in-depth personalities.

- I want Harv to live in my little town so bad PLEASE!!!!! I NEED HIM!!!!!!!!

- Special characters that weren't in New Horizons! I didn't get the chance to play any older games unfortunately, so there's a lot that I missed that I wish I had access to. Like the pelican trio!

- Mini games!! Solo mini games! Group mini games! Play with villager mini games! Play with amiibo mini games!

- I'm fine with tools breaking, and I love crafting, but it's a bit silly to me that golden tools break, so if we could take that one part away that'd be fantastic.

- Perfect fruit! More fruit! Tropical fruit!

- I heard that Tortimers island was a lot of fun! It'd be cool to experience that.

- More game references instead of just Mario. (please add waluigi to the Mario stuff too... please)

- This one needs a bit of explaining, but customizable warp pipes. If two pieces of the same color link together, then you could have a set of green pipes, yellow pipes, red pipes and so on for more options to explore the town or island or whatever it is.

- What if we appeared in an abandoned town and we had to restore it? That could be fun!!

- Caves. The children yearn for the mines.

- Please keep crafting, I really like it

- I think in pocket camp there's a thing to change the color of your camper or something. If we could have something like that for what is the equivalent to the airport, that'd be awesome.

- It would be SOOOOOOO fun to customize resident services or the shops or the museum to fit whatever vibe people are going with for the islands.

- I feel bad that Mr Nook is getting bugged all the time while Isabelle is getting super ignored.. What if she were in charge of bridges and inclines and stuff while Mr Nook just had housing stuff. That way their responsibilities were more evened out. I never talk to Isabelle anymore..

- I'm gonna be honest, I like the slow terraforming because it gives me time to think. But everyone else wants the fast easy terraforming and decorating of HHP, so if we could have a mode for that, that'd be sick.

- Oh!!! For some reason, I REALLY want a 360 camera option. I want to see the town how the villagers do. Live there how my character does. Explore it like everyone does. That'd be awesome if there was a first person 360 cam. Pleeeeeeease

- I know this is gonna funk with gameplay, but. I want the museum and resident services to be able to close. My poor Blathers, Dodo brothers, Mr Nook, and Isabelle are horribly overworked. Give them a break! (This is fully just a me thing, I've been pretending it closes and just not going in at certain hours of the day. Yes, it makes my life harder, but it makes my imagination happy.)

- For the tool ring tools to LIVE on the tool ring, rather than my inventory. A whole row of my inventory does not need to be filled with this nonsense if a tool ring actively exists. It doesn't make sense to me.

- I want to be able to choose what rooms to add. I want my back and left side room and a basement. That is it. I do not want anything else. I want my house to look like the villager houses. It makes me sad when it doesn't look like them. And I want to be able to upgrade my storage without tacking on a new room.

- If a villager asks to go, and you say no. The next time they ask to go, they're telling you they're moving out instead. I like that they can't move out without the bubble consultation though.

- Can I have more clutter or smaller sizes for objects so I can put multiple in one square? And can I put objects on my bed? Can I post up pictures I take in my house? Can I give villagers my photo when they give me theirs? Can I give my friends my photo?

- More sizes for custom designs. Like two block tall designs for example.

- Can I decorate trees myself? I want to participate..

- Can the holidays be bigger? I heard that Toy Day in New Leaf was a lot of fun..

- Can I get a cuter title than "Resident Representative"? I don't think I want to be a mayor, but I don't want something that big and bulky.

- Can I change my character name later in the game? I had to reset my island for the first time because of my transition. I'm sorry Punchy.. You were such a good friend.. I'll get you back..

- Can we use wheelchairs and bikes to move around? They're already in the game. And what about other disability inclusive things. I want canes and hearing aids and walkers and such.

- Can I display backpacks without the mannequin thing? I don't like it. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't have arms. How is it staying up. Just let me put them on the floor!

- .... pride flags? perhaps?? maybe just a little??

- Can villagers actually do stuff? Like shake trees, catch bugs and fish, talk to Isabelle, post on the board, Anything! I want them to be able to live their little lives while I'm living mine..

- I feel like I already said this or something similar, but more villager drama.

- If I could have a way to make my island a certain season all year round, after I already experienced all of them, that would make me so very happy.

- More Harv. Just more Harv. He's my favorite please I need more Harv.

- Can I actually have a Harv figure amiibo? maybe with a little yellow bird or something?? Please..

- More wildlife! Like little real birds. Real squirrels. I don't know..

- There was someone on Tumblr who had a list of actually beneficial things for the museum and general game with proper examples. That too. That whole post. All the posts that I like but don't fully remember the ideas and / or don't want to blatantly steal those ideas. Look at them!

- Let me work for the special characters. Let me do errands for my villagers. Give me a job at the shop. At the cafe. At the museum. At resident services. At the airport or train station or post office or whatever. Let me do tasks for Harv. (Give. Me. More. Harv.) Let me complete little chores for villagers!

- I heard that you could get little tiny model dinosaurs through Reese or Cyrus, can I have that? Oh! And clothes customization!

- An in game catalog that shows you how far you've gotten or what you're missing.

- For the little photo idea for the walls I had earlier, if we could run them to Harv and have him print them out for us!! Maybe??? And can Harv come to the town or whatever for ceremonies and take a picture and give you the print afterwards? Can he have a general photo service as well as photopia? He's my favorite little man..

- More villager types! Like bats! They're a pretty popular request. Or more personality types? Oh! Or if villagers could actually form connections and friends with each other? (Although that might mess with a few headcanons people have for their animal friends..)

- More convenient friend finding, instead of having to return home in between people you meet. And an easier way to invite people to your town or travel to their town.

- Special character houses. Give Mr Nook a house. Give Blathers a house or a little museum apartment. Give Isabelle a house. It isn't fair that Blathers has to sleep in his museum!

- Can I please place things on partition walls? Or set more than one accent wall?

- Better animal tanks. Some of them just aren't healthy or realistic. I get that it's mainly to just hold until you get to Blathers, but what if I want a little Betta Fish pet? That tank is not sufficient! It does not have the proper enrichment a betta fish needs!

- More flower types! I want to put sunflowers by Goldie's house.

- What if I could change the placement of doors and windows inside my house? Just.. think of the possibilities. It's great.

- Please let me build a conversation pit in my house.. And please let me craft bridges.. and please let me make a little deck with tiny steps..

- Can we add sounds to custom designs? What if we could make them have the same sounds as the in game pathing? That way my deck path sounds like the wood or my tile path sounds like the brick or stone.

- Can.. can I put custom designs on my tool belt? Like a funky umbrella my friend made, can I put that in my little ring?

- More furniture throughout the decades. I want a cute little 70s, diner style fridge.

- Can I see people's passports in their dream address? Please..

I'm gonna stop here before I go on another ramble about Harv. I know most of this won't happen, but I just wanted to get my thoughts out there. PLEASE tell me your ideas or what you agree / disagree with. I'd love to hear.

#animal crossing #animal crossing new horizons #acnh community #acnh #long post #animal crossing wishlist #i hope thats coherent im really tired..#groovy posting

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usaonetwothree · 2 years

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Making a separate ask for this...

I think it's puzzling how after 20 years of marriage, Amanda and Daniel know very little about each other.

Season 4: In 20+ years of marriage, Daniel doesn’t know anything about Amanda's criminal record or her vandalizing her teacher's car in response to her parents' extramarital affairs...until the writers needed to come up with a justification for Amanda to be sympathizing with Tory instead of her own daughter in season 4. (I think a lot of people are hesitant to admit that that while Amanda’s backstory itself is fine, it’s not there to add depth to Amanda’s character, it's solely there to justify her role in Tory’s storyline.)

Season 5: While Daniel has the leeway in that what Silver did to him isn't something he's going to bring up on his first date with Amanda, it's odd that in 20+ years of marriage, Amanda wouldn't know anything about Silver, especially when her cousin is the one who set her up with Daniel.

One of my biggest issues with the show is that we only get backstory for Carmen and Amanda when the plot requires it. This season was the first time in the entire series that we've seen Carmen and Amanda want things (strange things to be sure, but unique wants nonetheless). I really wish we'd get to see more of them as individuals and not just love interests.

I'm not sure I would say they know so little about each other. Daniel's clearly talked to Amanda about Johnny. It's clearly just Silver (and transitively probably Barnes) he's keeping to himself. I know this was done for plot purposes, but if the winter of '85 and Amanda's vandalism are the darkest moments in their respective lives, I can see why they'd keep them to themselves, especially since it's highly unlikely they'd ever come up again (clearly Amanda hasn't gone back to Ohio in a while, and what were the chances of Daniel seeing Silver again?) It's not exactly information you feel good sharing, you know?

That being said, it's hard to me to see a couple who built a very successful business from the ground up on their own, let alone doing it while married, struggle with basic communication. A business partnership on its own requires a great deal of discussion and problem solving just to keep the lights on, let alone the traits needed to be the loving (but somewhat absent) parents they're depicted to be. So for them to be struggling in season two with Daniel just dropping off the face of the earth to teach karate instead of going out of his way to make sure Amanda had the coverage she needed in his absence, or her reciprocating with those ultimatums instead of sitting down and talking it out, is at odds with the skills they'd need to build their auto empire. And that disparity continues through the rest of the seasons. It seems like they're great communicators until the plot requires them not to be, which is sad. It's like the writers don't understand how much time and effort and communication it takes to run a business, let alone a series of dealerships. There's no way Danny and Mandy made it that far without the ability to handle little problems as they come up before they can snowball into something larger.

#asks #answered asks #breckstonevailskier

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meditationsbyalma · 1 year

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phenomenon that don’t make any sense to me.

If you read any of my blogs, know me on a personal level, or I even had the chance to meet you in the past, you would know that I like to take pride in the fact that I am high in awareness, whether that is self-awareness or situational awareness. I cannot resist trying to make sense of events around me or the state that I find things in. If I met someone who was extra vulgar, extra insecure, or extra in any given way, my tendency to sympathise with them and rationalise the state that I found them in would always beat my natural instinct to judge them for who they are. I would even come up with stories in my mind and imagine the events that drove them to manifest themselves in that manner into the world.

Sometimes my mind fails to understand some phenomenon (plural of phenomena) that I have encountered in my life to the point that I wonder if I am the only one who feels this way or if it is something that some people would notice from time to time as well. Here are a couple of them:

1- The fade of a personality in the middle of groups:

To sit in the presence of someone and have them express their being through verbal, authentic words is a joy that I could never get enough of. To create a space in which the other part could be vulnerable is a sensitive process, but it would not be possible if you were willing to be vulnerable yourself. Sometimes you even have to be willing to take the initiative to be vulnerable first in order for them to follow your steps. I personally have been so lucky to be on the receiving end on many occasions in my life.

A good, deep conversation could radically change your perspective on a person. It separates them from the crowd of people that you cross paths with in your life. It gives them depth and sometimes serves to remind you of how different a person is from you by getting to see things through their own eyes. Suddenly, you feel that you have an accurate sense of their identity and a clear impression of their personality.

Now, look back in the past and ask yourself if you ever had a deep conversation with a group of people (3 or more) that brought all the members closer or, more importantly, allowed everyone to be vulnerable and open to sharing voluntarily.

For some reason, in the presence of groups, personalities tend to fade, the print that the individual holds is flattened, and the space for creating closeness and tightness vanishes. Somehow, our guards go up. and our sense of self is magnified. We might feel comfortable being ourselves around the group, but we would never be as vulnerable as we would have been if we were talking to a single person instead of an entire group. At least that’s what I have noticed in my own experience.

Why does that happen? I have no idea.

2. We fail to realise that we talk at each other and not with each other.

My sense of situational awareness is exaggerated after limiting my interactions with people for a couple of weeks or more. Usually, when I decide to involve myself again in more socialisation, I tend to be silent and just observe in the background of the group, at least for the first half hour of the meeting. What shocks me most of the time is to realise that most of us talk at each other and not with each other.

Most of us take the conversation to our territory of comfort. The topics that we are comfortable talking about and the opinions that we all agree on, the ones that would not create any conflict or disruption in the setting. Most of the time, you can notice that the ego takes over the conversation and the person goes on a rant to talk about a personal story or express their opinion. Somehow that triggers the other egos in the group, and everyone suddenly wants to express themselves, whether to add on what the previous person said or to project the conversation onto themselves.

Listening, which is a very valuable skill, is really scarce among people. We approach conversations and debates as a way to express ourselves and prove our being, whereas sometimes that’s not what the group is all about. We twist it and oblige it to be how we want it to be: a stand for our ego to take over us and those around us.

Am I the only one feeling that?

(I feel like this blog was meant for me to share what I have been noticing around me, none of the ideas are articulated properly because I myself fail the understand their nature or how relatable they are.)

Yassine Said.

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caribouv · 1 year

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Been malding over how bad console-based 3d rpgs for like two decades now, how they're ruining video games. This Harry Potter game is as good as any reason for me to vent, lash out, and write it all up.

To get the obvious out of the way: JK Rowling is a violent transphobe. She targets trans women knowing her followers will ping off her and harass them. Buying this new game puts money in her pocket which she sees as support for this violence. Buying this games supports violence against transwoman. Also, learn to fucking pirate bay if you really want to play it. And yet, for all the reasons below, trust me you don’t.

Console-based 3d rpgs are shit. They are shit because a console controller is shit. A console controller takes your 10 fingers and cuts 6 of them off. This leaves you with 4. This creates a huge load of problems. I love n64. I grew up on n64. And yet, when console tried to push 3d rpgs they were shit. All the problems with modern based 3d rpgs can be traced back to the horrendous 3d rpgs of the n64. All the problems outlined below existed then and they do now.

4 fingers is not not enough to control a character in 3d. You need both thumbs to move and look around. This leaves you with nothing to hit abilities with. So you have to flick your right thumb back and fourth, back and fourth. It's clunky and slow and not fluid.

Consoles tried to get around this by introducing things such as sticky combat or sticky cover. This dumbed the fuck out of games because they're not freeform anymore. You stick to something, can't look around, control gets limited, and now it's clunky as hell. Take someone like Counter Strike or Quake and compare it to Gears of War. One is fluid and smooth while the other is almost turn based with how clunky and you're a dumbass glue boy that sticks to everything.

Proof: look at every speed run world record for any Dark Souls game. They are all set by mouse/keyboard peripheries. Look at any FPS tournament: the esports players are using mouse/keyboard. Hell, whenever I see a console loser in DBD or Sea Thieves I cackle like a swamp hag on meth because it means easy meat.

The other problem with only having 4 fingers is that all systems get dumbed down. You want crafting? Cool, it's going to get dumbed down because of how hard it is to navigate menus, find objects, combine ingredients, add enchantments, etc. You cannot have complicated systems with only four fingers. Skill webs or skill trees? Sorry you get a one-dimensional skill line. Play Divinity Sin 2 on PC v. console to see what I mean. Console based 3d rpgs will make the game and system for ease on a console, then port to PC later, which means everything will be dumbed down and simple.

The abilities are also limited with only 4 fingers. ABXY is it. Maybe hold a bumper or trigger as a modifier. Compare to a 110 keyboard with CTRL+SHIFT+Alt modifiers, rebinding keybinds, etc. You begin to see how a console will dumb everything down to fit into the narrow ABXY concept v. it's master-race 110 God.

To further elaborate this point, console players are getting pissed and seeing how even console games are getting dumbed down by mobile games. Take the 4 fingers of consoles with its limitations in systems, and dumb them down even more to cater to mobile gamers.

So then because the above means console based 3d rpgs are shit, they focus instead on graphics. Beef the ever loving shit out of graphics to make a catchy 2 minute gameplay video or sample at whatever gamescon. Hide all relevant gameplay video or sincere analysis of systems. It's just a Marvel movie now with no depth or substance. And then ignorant consumer whore masses will buy because they are too stupid to realize other.

Graphics are, quite frankly, the bane of all video games. An entire budget goes into this while story and systems are left out. This makes games incredibly bad. To illustrate: what's one's favorite game and why? Chances are it's an "older" game with outdated graphics and it's a favotie game because of gameplay/story content, not because of visuals.

Do not get me wrong: graphics serve a purpose. There's a spectrum to what we will enjoy and what we will not. It should serve a utility to the game to enhance the systems or story, not the other way around. This is why games like Ultima Online, Warcraft3, WOW, Pokemon, FF7, and Minecraft are widley considered the greatest games ever made. The graphics are stylzed and last into perpetuity as they serve to give something generally nice to look at within the incredibly content based gameplay and systems. Games like COD or whatever the top selling shit on PS5 is right now will be forgotten in five-month like whatever dumb number of apple brick is on the shelf right now.

Consoles do one thing right: and that's basically every game ever made for the SNES or GBA. 2d games. PC cannot generally not compete with 2d games. Side-scrollers, 2d isometic, 2d fighting, etc. I think the one exception would be racing games. Because of the simplicity of driving, it's the one 3d game that consoles do very, very well. Consoles need to stay in their fucking lane.

So given this, and looking at the new Harry Potter game, this shit isn't even worth pirating. It's a typical console-based 3d rpg and it is going to be fucking trash. You can tell because it's so incredibly hard to find actual gameplay footage of anything. All the videos they allowed to be released are just prepacked eye candy nonsense. AKA shit ass Marvel movie trailers.

I was actually able to find 1 (one, just one) gameplay video and everything I said above is so spot on. It's built for console with PC as afterthought which means everything is shit. Basic crafting system (if you can even call it that) with no depth. Sticky combat that is clunky as hell. Clunky movement that's almost like moving an oil tanker around instead of a person. Terrible 3d controls. No customization of interface or interaction with the map. One dimensional dialogue with no choices. One way to solve everything. Basic combat damage computations. No skill line or character customization. Narrow ass story (which is the story of a working class uprising told form the perspective of a bootlicking cop / bourgeoisie) where you walk in a straight line and that's it. Oh but I guess the graphics are so good!

So yah, this shit isn't even worth pirating. Fuck console based 3d rpgs.

#vidyagames

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theveryworstthing · 4 years

Photo

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class. I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace. I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway. This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

#long post #the addams family #Character Design #au #design challenge #i am incapable of doing a design challenge like a normal person #oh god i forgot the cut lol

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delicrieux · 3 years

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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tamaki-kisses · 3 years

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notes: nervous virgin! tamaki , accidental boner , established relationship, embarrassment , blow job , fem! reader has tits & pussy

“tamaki?”

your voice comes out casual and unceremonious, a significant contrast to how the flutters dancing and flickering in your chest are making you feel. they’re accompanied by the heavy pounding of your heart. it’s impossible to disregard tamaki’s pulsating hardness pressing up against you, it’s what put the idea into your head, after all.

“hm?”

he’s securely clutching you from behind, like a koala bear hanging from a branch. his unsteady breath faintly tickles the back of your neck and the fine hairs coating it. you shiver involuntarily, agonizing over how you’re going to possibly word this. he’s obviously not going to bring attention to his little ‘issue’ and your own tingling heat between your legs makes it difficult to ignore. if anyone’s going to address it… it’s you.

you’re apprehensive and contemplating against his stiff radiating warmth before finally forcing the proposition out into the shared air between you both.

“you know, if you want…” the fluttering takes steep whoosh into your stomach. tamaki’s slender fingers continue to tap on your midsection with a false sense of composure. “i could give you a blowjob.”

a panicked gasp reaches your ear immediately and you’re not at all surprised when the hotness of his erection is pulled away from you. that inital reaction gets a wince out of you as you sit up on your side just in time to see tamaki scramble across your bed to lean against the wall. he soon covers his lap with a spare blanket and refuses to even glance in your direction. his long ears droop, a cherry redness reaching the tips.

“you don’t have to do that… i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for that to happen… it’s just sometimes- i don’t know… having you so close to me is a lot- oh no, i sound like a pervert, i swear i’m not a pervert…”

his frantic rambling eventually trails off on its own and you give a chance to somewhat recover before responding. “it’s okay. really, i swear. it’s fine, i don’t think you’re a pervert. and i actually want to, you know, suck you off…”

that last part makes your face flush, your cheeks igniting fiercely, but you manage to keep your relaxed demeanor up for his sake.

“you want to.” tamaki repeats, slowly. his dark eyes dart back and forth like he’s watching an intense tennis match before his stare finally lands back on the bed. you can almost see the gears turning in his head. “i just don’t want to take advantage of you…”

the whisper honestly breaks your heart, a bit of sadness creeping in knowing that he worries about that. shaking your head gently, you crawl over to him and rub your thumb over his edged jawline. he jolts under your touch and continues to shift restlessly. you bring your other hand to his warm cheek. a deep sigh, maybe relief, leaves him, but his pretty eyes still refuse to meet yours.

“tamaki. look at me.” you smile lovingly, realizing that you could truly watch him for a lifetime. it’s like gazing at the night sky when he finally does look at you and gives you a view of his eyes up close. “i want to. i promise.”

a peaceful quiet falls over the two of you before he gently moves your hands away and leaves an affectionate kiss on your temple. your skin jumps at the captivating sensation of his tufts of hair brushing against you. “o-okay.”

you’re surprised as you watch him gradually remove the blanket that was once obscuring his crotch. he looks adorably shy, pink face scrunching up in a sulk when you can’t help but stare down at the large bulge straining against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. your clit pulses with excitement, but you shake yourself out of it and try to figure out how this is going to work.

“come over here,”

you laugh softly and slide down to the floor before patting the edge of the bed. tamaki awkwardly scooches across the comforter until he’s perched on the spot you directed. now that he’s close enough, you lift his shirt teasingly and trace your fingers over his firm stomach muscles with one hand and pinch under his knee with the other. he jostles from the purposeful tickling and says your name in the midst of a protesting chuckle. that’s something you’re confident with, but you take the leap and fiddle with the waistband of his pants.

tamaki gulps audibly and nods at you to continue, slightly lifting himself up. you’re able to pull them off swiftly, but your nerves only increase at the sight of his boxers. they’re the only barrier between you and his hard on and it’s a daunting thought. you leave a playful kiss on the softer part of his stomach, but know there’s really no use in stalling this any longer.

you finish stripping his lower half.

from above you, tamaki lets a low mewling whimper go and your already wobbly breath catches in your throat.

he’s big.

sure, you had expected that much from the clothed peeks you’d already gotten, but actually having his cock a few inches away from your face is a totally different story. you can’t tear your accidental stare away; he’s definitely not lacking in any aspects and there’s a single prominent vein running down the side. the head is brightly roseate and already leaking a generous amount of precum.

he doesn’t take your shameless gawking very well, whining your name again as he hides his pouting face in his palms. “d-don’t look at it like that…”

you giggle at how endearing that display is, a nice contrast to his admittedly intimidating cock. it’s when you lean up to leave a feathery kiss on his cheek that an idea to make him feel a little better pops into your head.

tamaki’s still hiding behind his hand as you easily shrug off your oversized pajama shirt and toss it aside. your breasts hang from your chest freely out in the open, nipples perky and interested. you try not to think too much about it as you crane upwards again to attack his ears this time.

he emits a stuttering gasp when your tongue begins to trace the pointed shell of one. you travel down and suckle at the lobe for a moment before whispering his name.

the results are as expected.

his hand falls away and his mouth goes almost slack, when he sees you, hungry eyes going over every inch of your halfway undressed figure. a single restrained squeak, something that makes your insides squeeze with adoration, leaves him.

“oh my god…” tamaki starts to squirm involuntarily, nearly reaching for his exposed cock before catching himself.

you grin sheepishly and almost ask him if he wants to touch them, but decide you don’t want him passed out on your bedroom floor. it’s a real shame though. you can feel your panties grow more damp at just the thought of him nervously toying with your tits with those pretty hands of his.

with anticipation reaching an almost painful boiling point, you move forward to take him in your hand. it’s clear you might’ve done so with too much vigor, or maybe just enough, when tamaki’s hips twist sharply and a loud treble moan makes itself known.

“ahhh-“ his eyes squeeze shut and a hand slaps over his mouth, muffling the light airy moans that soon follow the first.

you continue, head spinning as you have his hard cock in your grasp, and lean in to lick at the head. it’s an incredibly foreign taste and salty to a horrible degree, but you happily lap your tongue over his entire length. tamaki responds with more barely controlled thrusts and wispy groans.

jt’s aggressively overwhelming when you first slip your lips over his cock. the thick heat of it chokes you as you try to get used to the fullness. your jaw is quick to ache after just a few moments of opening your mouth as wide as possible in an attempt not to add teeth to the equation.

you’re not going to be able to fit all of him, but your hand, the one still at the base brushing up against his inky hair, isn’t out of the picture. tamaki keens so sweetly when you start to jerk him off in addition to slurping and sucking his soaking cock.

you’ve only just established some kind of rhythm when his hip movements become more erratic and gasps become shakier.

“m, close-” tamaki sputters out from between his fingers to your surprise. already? you take it as a sort of compliment and trek on.

the noise that’s created from you practically inhaling the tip of his cock makes your head spin with electrifying excitement. your bare thighs stick together with both sweat and slick and you allow your free hand to sneak over and grope at your clothed pussy.

you feel tamaki tense, another squeak pulled from the depths of his throat. “-move!”

even though the idea of swallowing entices you, his warning doesn’t go ignored and you slip off him with a resounding pop.

at just the right moment.

you look up to see tamaki reach his climax and are instead caught off guard as spurts of thick cum splash onto your flushed cheeks. a gasp leaves you while some of it splatters onto your bare chest. you still manage to catch him riding out the last of his orgasm; eyes pinched shut, pointed ears twitching along with his cock, and hand still acting as barrier against all of his lovely groans and cries.

in the second before tamaki gathers himself and inevitably panics at the sight of you, you’re still wishing you would’ve swallowed…

#kisses4tamaki #tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki smut #tamaki smut #bnha smut

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yoongsisbae · 3 years

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Caught! House of Cards - Chapter 2

WHOA I am amazed by all the love this story has received so far, chapter one has become my most liked post, huh?! I'm in shock, thank you! My thirst for muster Joon fueled this to be released earlier than anticipated, so enjoy! ;)

OT7 yandere!BTS x reader, Yoongi x reader & Taehyung x reader & Namjoon x reader focused this chapter

Warnings: 18+ dark themes, voyeur, masturbation A LOT of it, gaslighting & reader manipulation, shibari, intoxication, dubcon, choking, public nudity, sexual touching in public, dom!Namjoon & sub!reader

Word count: 5.3k

---

You press record and the red light on your webcam lights up. Your heartbeat races as you navigate the House of Cards website. You already have viewers and you’ve only just spent your time staring at the chat. You wish you had picked something sexier as you sit cross legged in an oversized shirt and sleep shorts. You wear a red eye mask to conceal your identity, part of an old superhero Halloween costume you pulled out from the depths of your closet. You felt like a dumbass. ‘Super Girl wouldn’t have to do this kind of shit.’

“Sorry, i-it’s my first time...m-maybe I could take suggestions?” You watch the chat move as you hold your breath. You wanted to sound sexy but you can’t stop stuttering out your words.

You’ve never been more anxious in your life, the ends of your fingers feel numb and you can hear your own pulse thumping in your ears. You’re openly inviting strangers to get off on your body, you’re about to expose yourself in ways you’ve never done before. This isn’t like sending a sexy photo to a boyfriend when you’re feeling needy, this is so much more reckless.

Just when you’re starting to regret doing this, just when you’re about to end the feed and hide in humiliation, a notification ding pulls you away from your thoughts.

Suga: take off your shirt

Your on-screen balance goes from zero to a hundred dollars. You gulp and your eyes go wide at the amount. A hundred dollars just to take your shirt off? That seems too good to be true.

‘Okay, this is what you signed up for, y/n. It's now or never!’ You mentally hype yourself up. You keep your mission in mind, make enough money to keep a roof over your head for this month.

Your shaky fingers find the hem of your shirt “F-for you-” you squint reading the username again, “For you, Suga.” You lift the shirt slowly off your body, exposing the curves of your breasts, revealing your red lace bra to your viewers.

The collar of your shirt gets stuck around your head. You feel like an idiot as you try to wrestle the shirt off your body without pulling off your mask.

---

Yoongi snorts at his screen, his lips curving up into a half smile. He sits behind two computer monitors. He watches as you stutter out apologies to your audience, entertained by your clumsiness.

He peers over his shoulder, to where his friends are playing a game of billiards. “Hey, we have a new one!”

“Oh yeah? It’s been awhile since someone joined.” Namjoon puts his pool stick down and walks over to Yoongi to get a closer look. He laughs, “What is she doing? Is this her first time?”

“It is,” Yoongi hums.

“Ah, well now I’m intrigued.” Namjoon pulls out his cell, quickly pulling up the website on his phone.

Yoongi licks his lips, “I think she’s cute.” He watches another hundred dollars add to your total as someone asks for you to remove your shorts. He notices the username and sends a glare to the man standing over his shoulder.

“What? Just trying to move the show along.” Namjoon gives Yoongi’s shoulder a shake. “You never did like sharing.”

“And you never knew how to properly take care of my toys.”

Namjoon laughs. He studies your figure and the way you move back and forth awkwardly on the bed. You’re trying to find the best pose for your request until you finally decide to lie on your back and lift up your hips, pulling your shorts down and off your legs so you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. He leans over Yoongi’s shoulder, eyes level with his monitor to get a better look at you. “She is very cute. I could have a lot of fun with her.”

Yoongi grunts. He watches you press the cups of your bra together to show your cleavage off for him. The chatroom viewer count jumps into 3 digits. You’re so eager to please your audience, he thinks, jumping at the chance to perform the simplest of requests. And he is eager to learn just how far he can push you.

Yoongi types a reply quickly and hits the donate button. He hears his friend let out a low whistle next to him.

---

A thousand dollars?! Someone just donated a thousand dollars. What the hell?

Suga: spread your legs for me. touch yourself.

Your breath hitches. You watch as another wave of viewers are added to the chat, another trickle of donations following. You feel high from their attention, and the money just keeps on rolling in! You've been so worried and stressed since lockdown happened and now you're almost guaranteed to accomplish your goal, finally something is going right, your heart jumps in excitement. It’s starting to feel...fun. You had discarded your embarrassment along with your clothes, thrown somewhere in a heap on the floor. You lean back on your palms and bring your knees together. You can feel the damp cloth of your underwear rub against your core. You’re ashamed to admit how turned on you are. The higher the viewer count goes the wetter you become. You slowly spread your legs to the camera, reveling in the game you're playing with your faceless admirers. Your eyes read over the chat, taking in all their praises of your body. Flattering compliments intermingled with salacious requests pass by the second, it’s overwhelming, and only serves to fuel your arousal.

---

Your sweet voice plays through Yoongi’s speakers, “Thank you Suga.”

“Oh fuck, she’s so wet.” Hoseok pulls up a chair next to Yoongi and Namjoon. They all stare at the screen, at the center of your light pink panties. There is a noticeable dark spot that propels the chatroom into a frenzy.

“Take a look at that view count, it’s one of our highest this month, right?” Namjoon asks Yoongi. He hums in acknowledgement. “They really have nothing better to do now that we’re all stuck in our homes,” Namjoon jeers.

The three men watch silently as your breathing escalates, taking note of how you shake and moan. Hoseok uses the camera on his phone to zoom in on your face scrunched up in pleasure and takes a snapshot.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at his friend. “I’m just showing Jin! She’s his type.” Namjoon laughs. Hoseok cocks his head to the side in confusion while Yoongi scoffs.

Of course you're Jin's type, Yoongi thinks. You're so beautiful and Jin loves to treasure beauty. Jin loves to admire his treasures, taking pleasure in finding the cracks within perfection to break them wider. He's going to have to watch out for Jin.

Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s phones ding with a notification. “Did you have to do that?” Yoongi questions Namjoon, starting to feel annoyed. He pasted a link to your stream to the group chat.

“They are probably already watching. Look,” he points to your view count, soaring into the thousands. The man on his side gives him a dirty look.

---

You place your hands inside your bra and panties, still not comfortable enough to bare it all just yet. You cup your breasts and roll your hips into your palm getting off on the friction. Your soaked panties pull on your hips, stretch against your knuckles, revealing parts of you every once in a while to the camera. How many men had their dicks out right now, how many were falling apart with you? The thought made you clenched down on nothing, covering your hand in your essence. You pull your hand away from your core and put your palm in front of the camera, showing off your wet fingers to your faceless admirers.

---

Taehyung groans. You wiggle your fingers to him, traces of your arousal drip in between, he imagines himself licking each digit clean. He imagines his own long fingers stuffing you instead, pulling sweet moans from your lips, you dripping all over him. Fuck he wants to taste you, he bets you taste so sweet, just divine.

His hands fists his hard erection, his tongue between his teeth as he watches you on his laptop. Each time you cry out in pleasure, he thrusts into his clenched fist, imagining your tight cunt wrapped around him instead. Taehyung almost loses it when you let out a needy whine, imagining all the ways he could make you cry and whimper at his hands. He wishes he had you here so he could taste and smell your body, god if you were here he would make you cum over and over again until you cry and beg him to stop.

---

Someone sends you five hundred dollars, the second largest donation of the night.

V: You’re so beautiful

No request, no lewdness, nothing other than the simple phrase that you didn’t realize how much you ached to hear. Your face goes hot. You let your hand speed up. You try to imagine the words spoken, whispered in your ear, focus on them besides the dings of your laptop and wet sounds coming from your soaking core.

You imagine a man on top of you whispering how beautiful he finds you. You throw your head back lost in pleasure, letting your fantasies overtake you until the heat inside you bursts. You gasp and shudder, forgetting about the camera on you, riding out your high for as long as you can. The fantasy man leaves your thoughts as you come back down to earth, alone again in your room. Finally, you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling of your room. The chatroom dings and dings.

Now that you’ve reached your high, the flames of your arousal abruptly extinguishes, an icy current of mortification at what you’ve done hits you in waves. You sit up shakily, wiping the sweat off your brow. Too scared to look at your reflection, you look down at your keyboard instead, trying to steady your breathing.

“Thank you for coming to my first broadcast. I’m going to log off now.”

Instead of shutting off the stream you hold down the power button of your laptop to turn your entire computer off. You lay back down as your phone vibrates with a notification. The total sum of what you made on your first live stream. You can’t believe it, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. You pull the mask off your face and throw the offending material across the room. As you steady your breathing you push down the regret that creeps over you, thoughts that ring in your ears like a lecture from your mother, feeling shame and disgust at what you allowed yourself to become. Whatever, you did what you had to do.

---

It’s an hour before you have to clock out on your last shift of the week. Your manager pulls you aside to speak with you. There’s concern in his voice and a frown etched on his face, “He is here again.”

“Oh,” you grimace, why is he so early?! “He’s, um, here to pick me up.”

Your manager’s eyes go wide. “You’re going to go somewhere with that psycho?”

“I-I can’t say.”

“If it’s money again I can see about getting you some more hours.” He grabs a clipboard off the back wall, flipping through the schedule.

You wince. “No, it’s just something I have to do and then this should all be over and done with. It will be fine.” Will it be fine? You hope so.

He gives you a skeptical look. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

You don’t know, but you nod your head regardless, “Yes.”

“Okay,” He sighs, still looking worried, “I’ll see you Monday?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “See you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

---

An hour later you clock out and Yoongi makes his way next to you. You were grateful he didn’t make another scene, he had sat in the corner sipping on coffee, hardly paying attention to you. He didn’t have to, not when he had your store's camera system connected to his phone.

You look him over, Yoongi looks as posh as ever. He wears all black, and tight pants that show off his, well anyways, why does he have to look so good? You huff, staring anywhere else, motioning your arm, “After you.”

The man gives you a wicked smile and offers you his arm. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but reach for his elbow. You felt silly in your dirty work clothes holding onto him. Why did you even bother waking up early today to put on a face full of makeup when you just ended up sweating it off?

"Your manager doesn't seem happy to see me," he teases.

"I wonder why..." you send him a glare.

Of course this motherfucker has a Rolls Royce. You grumble next to him. Yoongi opens the passenger’s door for you and you slide inside. When was the last time someone has done that for you? Tinder culture has really screwed you in more ways than one. You watch as he circles to the other side, he looks so powerful and sexy.

Stop, what's gotten into you?! You push down the butterflies fluttering around in the pit of your stomach. When he starts the car, he leans over to you, invading your space and making you flinch.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” His eyes travel down your body, “Unless you want me to.” His face is too close to yours, you can feel his breath on your skin as he smirks down at you.

He reaches for the strap of your seat belt, his body now entirely pressed up against yours and he pulls on the strap and buckles it for you. Your face grows hot, it felt like he was teasing you, his presence leaving you as quickly as it came. You swallow down the lump in your throat, wishing you had water for your suddenly dry mouth.

He had smelled good. Manly. It’s been so damn long since you’ve been on a date, under the excuse of social distancing, but really you’ve just stopped trying to go out on boring typical dates with normal boring men so you can have boring vanilla sex. It was a hassle, you had gotten used to the instant gratification from your viewers. But now you had neither. That's why you were so wound up, not because you wanted this smug asshole, no way.

As he reversed, you realize you have to give him your address. You bite your lower lip, thinking what to do. Maybe you can get him to drop you off somewhere close by, but Yoongi is already setting up the GPS with another location.

“Umm, I thought we were going to stop by my house first.”

“Why?”

“So I can change?”

“Not necessary, you can change on the boat. I have clothes for you since I noticed you never cashed my check.” His piercing eyes flash with anger, the accusation making you shift uncomfortably. Cashing Yoongi's check made what was happening feel like a transaction, and you weren't willing to give him that power over you.

“I-I did not agree to get on a boat with you,” you frown, red flags popping up in your head at the thought of being alone in the middle of nowhere, out at sea, with a stranger who says he’ll hurt you if you ask him to.

“You agreed to go to a party with me. That’s how we get to the party, sweetheart.”

Dammit.

---

When Yoongi said boat you didn’t realize he meant yacht. It’s huge. He leads you into the main cabin, there are clothes already laid out for you on the bed.

He shows you how to work the shower before leaving you alone. You know you were washing off the sweat and grime of the day to make yourself presentable for this party of his, but why did you feel like you were cleaning yourself up for Yoongi specifically. It made you feel uneasy. You tried to silence the alarm bells ringing in your head and focus on getting ready. It's just one night out and then you can say goodbye to Yoongi forever.

The dress was black and tight. It hugged your curves and showed off your cleavage. You can admit it was a hot dress and you felt hot in it. It’s exactly the style you like, as if Yoongi had pulled it right out from one of your favorite Pinterest boards. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror, the dress came with a set of lingerie that you almost didn’t put on, embarrassed by wearing underwear picked out by a man you knew nothing about. This wasn't like the times you let your viewers choose your outfits for broadcast, this was different...right?

You decide to go all out with makeup, realizing there is no doubt going to be many beautiful people at this party that look as attractive and expensive as Yoongi, so you might as well try to blend in. You put on the finishing touches, a dark red lip, when there’s a knock on the door.

Yoongi walks in, he’s changed too. He's wearing a black button down and black pants, it matches your outfit. Almost all of his fingers are adorned with silver rings. His hair styled in an unkept bedhead way that makes him look younger. You try not to stare or think about how ridiculously handsome he looks.

You look breathtaking, Yoongi thinks, ‘Only one thing missing.’ He pulls out a black choker with a gold pendant from his pocket. “For you, I think it completes the look.” He gives you a genuine smile.

“I-I...Thank you.” you don’t know what else to say. His fingertips graze your collarbones, lighting a trail of fire across your chest. Yoongi clasps the choker around your neck, the pull against your sensitive skin gives you goosebumps. His pointer finger finds its way under your jaw to lift your chin up. “Ready for some fun?” You leave with Yoongi before you have time to inspect his present, notice that on the gold heart pendant there are initials delicately scrawled in the middle. ‘MYG’

---

You enter the party mesmerized. An island. A mansion. A secret paradise. A place where the party never needed to end.

The hall is decorated from top to bottom in gold and crystal, intricate glass centerpieces and art at every corner, but what caught your eye and made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach was an entirely different kind of centerpiece. Around the main room, suspended from the ceiling, gold ropes dropped in a dozen different areas. The most beautiful women you’ve ever seen hung under spotlights, the rope tied in intricate patterns around their naked bodies, each placed in a different position. Saliva pooled inside your mouth as you watched in awe.

Party goers gravitated to them, watching the women as they ate finger food and drank. Yoongi’s breath tickled the back of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “You look like you want to join them,” His dark eyes narrowed on you.

“I’m just admiring the view,” you try to act unaffected by his words, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m hungry,” you whine, changing the subject, you let Yoongi pull you through the crowd.

---

Jungkook grips his wine glass so tight the stem breaks in half, the glass pieces cutting the palm of his hand. He is so full of rage he barely feels the sting, letting the blood drip on his expensive suit. That conniving little man Yoongi has his hands all over your body. How did he have you? Had this been his plan all along? Did Yoongi convince you to leave the site so he could have you all to himself? And you fell into his trap! Jungkook knows it’s not your fault for being manipulated, he knows how devious his business partner can be, but he wants to punish you just the same. He has to tell someone. Taehyung will know what to do! He searches for his friend, before he goes straight to Yoongi and kills him instead.

---

“Min, please introduce us to your date!” The crowd parts as two men advance towards Yoongi. You were just getting used to Yoongi’s cold reserved demeanor when his friends’ beaming playful attitude catch you off guard. The pair is full of energy, they commanded attention, and you could tell by their looks they most certainly were used to being in the center of it.

“You know who she is,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, his hand around your waist pulling you closer to him. What did he mean? Were they-

“But we haven’t formally met! I’m Hoseok, you can call me Hobi.” He winks at you and gives you a bright smile. “This is Jimin!”

‘Jimin.’ That name is familiar to you. No way, this beautiful man is not your Jimin. Not one of your top donators Jimin. No way in hell-

“I’m so happy to have finally met you in person, Dahlia.” Jimin holds your hand in his and brings your fingers to his lips, giving you a small wink. Oh my god he’s attractive. This is the same man who paid you for late night private chats, crying about how lonely he was, he is that Jimin. You’re so astonished you don’t even register the way Yoongi’s fingers dig into your hip in jealousy.

Hoseok and Jimin are fun. The three of you drink another round of sparkling champagne as the duo takes turns telling you wild stories, making you dissolve into a fit of giggles. Yoongi sips on his whisky while he watches the three of you roar with laughter. He doesn’t mind, he uses their charm to his advantage. As expected around the extroverted pair you start feeling more comfortable, you let your guard down around Yoongi, so Yoongi doesn’t mind. You're his date after all, you’re his.

“Looks like everyone made it!” Jimin waves at a trio of men headed towards your group.

“Almost everyone,” Yoongi corrects. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and you lean into him, your body swaying from the alcohol in your system. Yoongi delights in the way the men looked at you in his arms, the visible shock and anger on their faces. “Y/n, this is Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.”

You nod in their direction, barely regarding them, instead giggling at Jimin who is making a funny face at you trying to steal your attention.

“Namjoon says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, something came up.” Taehyung addresses Yoongi.

Yoongi frowns at the information, it’s not like Joon to change plans so suddenly.

“I need to use the restroom, excuse me.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” Yoongi begins to take you, but Taehyung’s hand grips Yoongi’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Let the lady go, it’s been so long since we’ve all seen you, Yoongi. I missed my friend. You can make your way, right baby?”

Six heads turn to look at you and you feel hot under their intense stares. “Um, yea-yes, I’ll be right back.” You leave before Yoongi can protest.

---

This place is huge. You can’t remember how you found the bathroom or how to get back to Yoongi, and the room felt like it was spinning. The party had become louder, more obnoxious as drugs and alcohol loosened everyone’s inhibitions.

You shouldn’t have drank so much, you didn’t realize how much alcohol Jimin and Hobi had been feeding you until it was too late, and now you could barely make out people’s faces. What are you going to do? Yoongi had your cell in his pocket, why did you give it to him? Jimin had grabbed it out of your hand to put his contact information in, and handed it back to Yoongi instead. You didn't even protest, you were too busy being mesmerized by Hoseok as he swayed his hips to the music playing, rolling his body to the beat.

You lean against an empty space of wall, between two couples obnoxiously making out. You’re all alone in a strange house with no way to call for help, the gravity of your situation hits you all at once and your head begins to throb.

Maybe if you can make it to the second floor you can spot Yoongi and the others in the crowd. You stumble your way to the stairs, hoping your plan works.

You see Yoongi. The bastard is still drinking his whisky while his friend’s banter amongst themselves. You exhale, finally calming down. The fresh air away from everyone helps to take away your dizziness. You watch the six men, they are all so good looking. They have to be the most attractive men at the party. You didn’t notice how intimidating the group looks, finding it funny how party goers instinctively keep their distance from them.

The three new men are tall and big, they could be models, or maybe athletes, you should have paid attention when Yoongi was introducing you to them. What were their names, Junhyung? Taejung? If Yoongi was a House member, and Jimin was a House member, could they all be...no.

You’re about to turn to leave when hands cover your mouth and grab at your waist. Your scream is completely muffled out behind the stranger’s large hand.

He holds you in a suffocating embrace, covering both your mouth and nose, you realize you really cannot breathe. You try to pry his hand off your face but it’s impossible, he’s too strong and too big, easily overpowering you. The air in your lungs is trapped inside of you as you try to scream. Is this how you die?

“Hey baby.”

‘RM.’ The last time you met him, you had your vision taken, so you could never forget the unmistakable deep rumble of his voice.

Your mind is reeling. You stop fighting against his hold and he finally removes his hand, placing it around your neck instead. You gasp and cough out, inhaling air quickly, afraid your breath will be taken away again.

You guess it made sense, first Jimin now RM, were all the party goers members too? The thought terrified you. You had no idea what your viewers looked like, yet they all knew what you looked like naked. Just how many knew who you were? It made you queasy, you shudder against RM. RM, a top donator, plastered against your back, it felt like a fever dream.

You remember all the times you flirted with him behind the protection of your computer screen, now there were no digital barriers to stop his advances. No house rules to lessen his stifling touches.

“I missed you, baby. I’m a little upset you stayed away for so long, but seeing you here dressed up so pretty, like a present I get to unwrap, I can forgive you.” The hand that held your waist down against him traveled up your stomach, between your breasts, until it settled around your neck as well. “I’m so so glad you came back to us.” His deep velvet voice rumbled in your ear, making your legs tremble.

His strong fingers begin to massage your neck. It feels so good, you bite back a moan. Namjoon rubs deep circles into your shoulder blades. You can’t help but melt into his relaxing massage, your nerves had been wound so tightly before, his expert fingers finding each knotted muscle in your back. You try to sneak a glance behind you, but every time you try, Namjoon’s hands find your jaw, keeping your attention forward.

“How is Yoongi treating you?” RM knows Yoongi? You felt so out of the loop, you tried to make sense of it all but you could only concentrate on the way his fingers pressed against your skin.

“He’s being a perfect gentleman.”

“A 'gentleman,'” Namjoon laughs, “Are we talking about the same man?” You roll your head as his fingers work the tense muscles of your neck. His thumb runs underneath your choker, ever so slightly tightening the fabric around your skin. “He was planning to keep you all to himself,” Namjoon tuts.

Anger erupts inside of him as he notices the piece of jewelry, and he pulls you into another crushing embrace, his hands underneath the curves of your breasts. “Now what would he do if he saw you in my arms, hmm?” He makes you walk back to the balcony, hands groping your chest and body pressing you forward into the banister. Truthfully, you’re scared of what Yoongi would do if he saw you, you had no idea what he was capable of, but the pleasure RM was giving you was hard to fight against.

“RM, please...” you don’t know what you’re begging him for, to let you go, to touch you more.

“Look at him.” His voice deepens, his authoritative tone makes you whimper in his arms.

His arms travel to your waist, his fingers pulling at the hem of your dress, lifting it tortuously slow. His fingertips ghost over your lace panties. “Look at how wet you are, dirty girl.” He pulls them down your thighs. If anyone were to look up, they’d see you completely bare. The thought makes you pulse.

Taehyung and Jungkook had come to Namjoon to tell him what Yoongi had done. Namjoon almost felt bad, Yoongi was like a brother to him, so Namjoon knew how much he cared about you. But why would he parade you around in front of the others, like a sweet treat on a platter? Yoongi surely knew them all well enough to know they'd want to take a bite.

“Now keep your eyes on Yoongi, what is he doing right now?”

You start to speak and Namjoon pushes two fingers inside you, all the way in to his knuckles. You let out a gasp, and he pinches the sensitive skin of breast through your dress. “Answer daddy, baby girl.”

You fight back tears, your mouth goes dry as you try to hold yourself together. “H-he’s talking to Hobi.” Namjoon inserts another finger into you at the nickname you use for his friend, the stretch is bordering on painful, making you cry out. You try to stifle your whimpers, it just turns Namjoon on even more. He grinds his erection into your ass. His smell, his dirty words, his roughness, you've forgotten how much you craved it.

“Hobi, is it? When did you and him become so friendly? Baby, you’re making me jealous. Is that what you want?” With three fingers inside you, he sets a punishing pace. It’s been awhile since you’ve felt so full. Perhaps the last time you truly felt like this was by RM himself. You pulse around his fingers at the memory. Your legs shake as his thumb finds your clit, pressing into your sensitive hood. “P-please…”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, Daddy.”

He groans in your ear. “Hmm no.” He pulls his fingers out of you, you hold onto the banister as your orgasm escapes you. Your body shakes with need.

“You’ll come find me later tonight, won’t you, baby girl?” His warmth leaves your body, when you turn around no one is there.

---

Oh my so many questions, not many answers. Will you see your manager on Monday? Lol thank you again for enjoying my story, let me know what you think! <3

709 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 years

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earned it [04]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. DARK CONTENT, graphic violence, mentions of blood, explicit murder, sexual violence, angst, tw dubcon, mentions of mass murder, death threats, cheating, implications of suicide, typical mafia business + very unedited (please PLEASE read at your own discretion! if you do not wish to proceed to read because of the aforementioned warnings but want to know what happened anyway, please drop into my asks and i’ll retell it in a much less graphic version!)

chapter song. never forget you (zara larsson, mnek)

series masterlist

Death.

The stench of it reeked everywhere. Blood pooled at the ends of your dress, the warm liquid dripping from your fingers. You couldn’t see what was in front of you, not when your vision had been obscured black, painted red with everyone’s lifeless eyes staring back emptily at you and carrying an ominous message behind words that never had the chance to be spoken.

Satoru was gone.

You ran through flights of stairs as you bunched your dress up, dried blood present on your cheek. The gray cemented walls of this unknown building began to close down on you, suffocating you, trapping you – and then there he was. Your lover, your world, your everything – he stood on top of a pile of bodies, his face as grim as the deaths he’s caused, but that wasn’t what stood out from the scene. It was the fact you couldn’t recognize him anymore; the man before you was nothing else but the devil incarnate himself. Then, just as you ran his way, fingers outstretched to grasp at his shirt, Satoru disappeared.

He was gone.

A scream ripped out your throat as you scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up in a haste to shield yourself. The images were now gone, but that fear kept drumming into you, gloops of blood making its way through your room’s white exterior.

It’s not real, it’s not real – Satoru’s arms snaked over to your side, his eyes droopy from being woken up. You would’ve apologized, knowing he never really got proper sleep, but you were already wrapping your arms around yourself, gaze repeatedly darting back to the walls – to check for bodies, for blood, for death, for him.

“Hey,” Satoru drew you close to him until your head fell on his chest. Out of instinct, you flattened your ear above where his heartbeat rested. Thump thump – he was real, he was safe, alive – he wouldn’t do that. Satoru wasn’t that kind of person. You clung to him like a koala and mumbled incoherently at the skin of his neck, clutching his shirt so tight it wrinkled horribly. Satoru merely littered kisses all over the crown of your head to soothe you, although he was not free to this fear you felt; he was just as nervous for an unknown reason. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

“You-you were leaving—”

“Shh, angel, I’m not, I’m here,” he wrapped you closer to his body, the sheets still warm and smelling like him as if to add reassurance to his words. “You’re alright. I’m here, angel, it’s okay.”

“I was going to die,” you quivered. It had only been a fleeting moment when you saw it, but you were there too. Dressed in white, arms covered in lace and a crown adorning your head; it seemed as if you were meant to be on top of the bodies, and Satoru sat upon it like a throne. It transitioned from being the witness to being the victim in a minute and your chest squeezed so hard you choked out, “I was dying, baby.”

“You’re not going to die. No one’s going to hurt you, you understand?” Satoru cupped your cheeks to force you to look him in the eye. “I’m going to keep you safe no matter what. Not leaving your side, angel, that’s a promise.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I would never do that,” he nodded before he raised your pinky. Satoru looped both your fingers and kissed the conjoined form, not once leaving your gaze the whole time. “I promise,” he whispered, foreheads touching and breaths mingling. Like one soul intertwined, you once mused, feeling yourself get lost in the depth of azure pools he harboured. “There’s nowhere to go without you anyway; you’re the greatest gift in my life. I’d do anything for you.”

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t, angel. I never will.”

And you believed that. Like the fool you were, you really believed that.

The bank loomed over you, its mere presence impending and bringing about a wave of discomfort to you. Awkwardly, you stepped inside, hiding your face in your hair to conceal the nausea threatening to urge you to throw up. You couldn’t help but survey the entire area out of instant wariness, holding tighter to your phone.

Seeing as there was no line, you sat on the nearest open window. “Hi, uhm…I recently got transferred this money from…an old friend, you could say,” you informed with furrowed brows, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you logged into your account. The whole time, your hands turned sweaty and the phone nearly slipped from your grasp out of anxiety. The woman assisting you flashed you a sympathetic smile, patient and kind enough to listen to your small voice through the glass. “I lost contact with them so I can’t return it. I was wondering if maybe you could help me rewind the transaction?”

“Oh, we can definitely do that Ma’am, may I see?” Nodding, you handed her your phone. In an instant, the polite smile fell from her lips, altering into a nervous one the next. “Oh…” she blinked back at the digits, clearly overwhelmed from the amount of zeroes. Dropping her voice, she leaned closer to you, “Do you…do you know the account owner personally?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “Well, I used to.”

“And they wired you all this?”

“About two weeks ago, yeah.”

The employee sat there for a full minute, possibly contemplating how to go about this. It didn’t set well with you – that mysterious, almost suspicious smile she had – that you debated whether just asking for your phone back. “Excuse me for a moment. I think I should take this to the higher-ups,” she announced while scanning the bank with narrowed eyes, leaving before you could have a say in it.

The next minutes that passed had never felt more gruelling.

You sat there with a frantic heart, your jeans damp from the countless times you’ve wiped your hand on it. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. People came in for their own agendas, the hushed ‘inside voice’ as faint as ever, then they left. Repeat. End of conversation.

It was just another normal, boring day for everyone else – but not for you.

“Miss?” a voice pulled you away from your thoughts. A half-bald man was now standing before you, the previous employee you’d been talking to right behind him, her head ducked down. Manager, his tag read, which made sense. He gestured for you to come inside the back parts of the bank, and you gripped your purse tighter as you followed them.

The inside wasn’t that special or different from the outside. There were lesser chairs but bigger, brighter white walls. His office was located right in the middle where the female employee closed the glass doors behind you, silent and timid as she prepared you tea. Meanwhile, you sat there with your hands wrung in your lap, stomach already falling from the grim expression he wore. “About the funds, I’m afraid we can’t do anything about this transaction. While it had been transferred you, neither us nor the bank has the authorization to do anything about this. Whoever sent it to you is the only one that can either take it back or liquidize it,” he pushed his glasses back to his face, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “I’m afraid we can’t help you with this, Miss, we’re really sorry—”

“No!” you slammed your palms on the desk, “No, I don’t want the money, wire it back to him!”

“Miss, we already told you, it’s out of control—”

You shook your head. This wasn’t real – Satoru had to be joking! He couldn’t just give you this and disappear into thin air! In fact, you never even cared for the money; you were just hoping that maybe you’d find a way back to him if nothing but digits was the only thing left to prove he even existed. Desperation clawed its way through your throat as you fell on your knees, helpless tears streaming down your face. “Please, you have to do something, I don’t want the money, I just want him back, please! I just need to talk to him once more and he’s your client, right? Let me talk to him, I know you have contact with him, Sir, please, I’m begging you—”

“Security!” the manager hollered. The sounds of doors slamming open made you stand up straight, eyes wide at the incoming pairs of guards ready to escort you out. “It’s best you schedule a personal appointment with the account owner, Miss. We also suggest you remain on the down-low instead of causing a ruckus like this. You don’t know who’s going to be grabbing at every opportunity to take what was given to you.”

“Everything’s been taken away from me!” you argued back, walking around the desk to clasp the manager’s hand. He pulled away for a moment before you squeezed his hands, the tearing of your heart too painful to bear. You just wanted to see him. “Come on, please, I don’t care about the money, I just—”

They didn’t let you finish. Just like Satoru, just like everybody else, they discarded you to the side, treated you like you were a nobody who didn’t deserve a second chance.

“Escort her out, please.”

And just like that, your fate had been decided. No...perhaps it had been determined the moment he left, and now you walked blearily along the narrowed gaps between buildings, unable to find your way back home.

Where was home anyway? Your penthouse with Satoru? Your cramped dorm back at the university? Your empty flat that had once been a happy home with your parents before they too, left you behind with nothing but a family portrait as a memory? It was pathetic. You meant nothing. Obviously, no one valued you enough, not even Satoru who’d just given you enough to let you live comfortably for the rest of your life. But no matter how much he provided, it wasn’t what you wanted. It wouldn’t bring back the one thing you wanted most, and you fell on the rough pavement, too tired to care about the stinging of your palms.

You clutched at your heart in a debilitated attempt to soothe way your chest squeezed uncomfortably. You were literally in the middle of the nowhere, trapped between the walls that hid you in the darkness and muffled your cries.

He’d left – he really left.

He didn’t keep his promise, and your nightmare had now become reality. You had to bite down your shirt to keep the agony to yourself, nails dug so deep into your jeans it left a mark above your skin. Hours passed, maybe minutes – who knew?

The sun had gone down and the streets grew busier than before, the honking and lively bustling of the night city like background noise to you.

Your key back to the penthouse weighed heavily at your back pocket. There was still the option of just going back home, but what good would that do? Everywhere you went, you were reminded of him. There was no escaping the beautiful memories he left you with, there was no exit from his miserable dream you were forced to wake up into.

Nothing mattered anymore. You felt so lost, the motivation to find your way back depleted just like your energy. You only had your bodily instincts to thank for when your stomach grumbled, demanding to be fed and nurtured even in such a hopeless situation. It made you want to laugh – that even as your heart and soul gave up on you – your body was doing its best to keep you alive and get through the day. You heaved yourself away from the wall and wiped the dirt away from your palms, the rhythm of your feet one heavy clump next to the other.

There was a nice Chinese restaurant at the end of the street that glowed brightly, invitingly. If you could just have dinner, maybe you’d feel better.

But you never got three steps across.

A cold blade had been pressed to your neck, sinister laughter echoing from the darkness of the night. “Scream and you die, sweetheart,” a gruff voice crooned in your ear, followed by a more high-pitched, maniacal chuckles. There was two of them. Fear lit your nerves up and you scrambled to run, but this man was too strong. He didn’t even have to try too much into increasing pressure to your neck, slicing the first layers of your skin that was enough to prick both blood and tears from you. “Ah, ah, ah! Resisting won’t get you anywhere. We just want to talk, okay? No foul play needed.”

You shut your eyes in submission, too afraid to even swallow the bile rising in case the movement would push the knife further. You could only let out a weak, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, what else?” said his accomplice, showing up in front of you with a creepy smile. He tipped his head side to the side, revealing the silver replacements of his teeth that glinted under the streetlights. “You got his hidden slush fund, didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to lie, we saw you leave that bank. Plus, everyone’s been talking about it!” cheered the guy behind you, pushing you forwards with his blade finally withdrawn. You stumbled on your feet as they pointed to the nearest ATM. For a moment, you contemplated making a run for it. The ATM was only a few kilometres away from the Chinese restaurant and you could be safe if you run fast enough, but you were too obvious, the deceit written all over your face. The first guy then pressed a gun against your head, a silent reminder that you were the weaker one here. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, “Now you’ll withdraw it little by little, okay? We just want a piece of it, a fraction of it is enough to last us a lifetime.”

Exhaling deeply, you raised your hands in surrender. “I can’t withdraw it.”

“The fuck did you say?”

“I said I can’t withdraw it! I don’t have access—”

“Bullshit, bitch, you’ve got so much of it, just give to us before we kill you,” he cocked his gun, his friend following suit and retrieving a pistol from his belt. Your lips quivered at the sight of two guns aimed at your way, but you remained firm in your spot, shaking your head at them. The man’s eyes darkened, displeased by your response. He narrowed his eyes at you before nodding to his friend.

“Fuck this man, she’s a selfish cunt. Take her phone and her belongings.”

“No, please, don’t—”

It was too late. They had pushed you on the ground, your bum throbbing from the fall. The second guy rummaged your pockets before pulling out your wallet, jaw dropping from the contents. “Fuck,” he exclaimed, flashing a Polaroid you had kept the whole time. “This you and Six Eyes?”

Your heart fell.

It was a photo of you and Satoru on your first anniversary where he’d whisked you off to a sky tower, arrogantly declaring that he’d make you experience the best date ever.

He wasn’t lying – his arrangement of fireworks and a romantic date in the sky really had been the best – and he’d snapped a picture of you then, sneakily landing a kiss on your cheek while you gasped at the display of fireworks before you.

Just seeing it felt like torture all over again, and the thief snickered at your tear stained face. “Oh, I see. You’re his whore, aren’t you? Everyone called it bullshit when word got around Six Eyes had a little angel hidden somewhere around here. I gotta say though, you are a pretty thing. Makes sense you got him pussy whipped.”

“Whoever Six eyes fucks – especially someone he liked enough to pay this much – that is fine meat, man,” the other muttered more to himself. His eyes then lit up with a thought, the smirk tugging at his lips screaming trouble. “It’d be a shame to not have a taste.”

You paled. Scrambling as much as you could with sore legs, you pushed their arms away from you. “Let go of me!” you cried out, kicking harder when they’ve discarded their guns and focused on carrying you instead. Everything muted that night except for the pounding of your heart as you struggled to get away from them, arms flailing the moment one of them yanked your shirt down to expose your bra. “Don’t fucking touch me, let go!”

It must be luck that your punch landed on his nose, a sickening crack resonating in the street. All of you remained still, with you flattening your back on the wall, arms protectively sheltering your chest and the pair staring at the other guy’s broken nose.

He winced at seeing blood on his fingers, “Oh, you’re just asking for it bitch,” he snarled, snapping his fingers to get his friend’s attention and pointing at you. “Grab her leg.”

Both of them made quick work. It all happened so fast you couldn’t tell which was who anymore. Your shirt had been ripped off; the straps of your bra tugged down to free a nipple while your arms had been knocked into the building behind you. One of them kept you immobile, their grips too strong and their bodies twice your size that you were easily overpowered. You never cried so hard in your life – not even when you realized Satoru had left – and your throat ached from how much you wept.

“Stop, no, let go of me!”

“Shut her the fuck up, bruh,” the man unzipping your jeans scowled, his fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. You sobbed and screamed, fought hard as much as you could, but you were too weak. Too vulnerable. Too pathetic.

Maybe it was just better to let go.

Maybe it was just better to stop.

Your shoulders fell as they shimmied your jeans down your hips, each and every inch of your body no longer yours. Was this how you would die? Was this how you would finish? If so, you would’ve appreciated at least one last dinner.

You were about to close your eyes the moment you heard the sounds of a man’s belt unbuckling, too lost in your own horror that you failed to hear the screeching of tires, and neither did they. And then, like a light at the end of the tunnel, like an angel dropping from the heavens – gunshots rang through the air. Blood splattered to your cheek. Heavy bodies crunched against the ground.

He’d come back.

Except it wasn’t Satoru leaning in front of a car when you opened your eyes. The man stood a few inches shorter, blond shaggy hair falling just above his eyebrows, the ends dyed black. His body was tilted to the side, half of his weight shifted on a cane upon closer look, but you were mostly captivated in his eyes. He showed no malice intent; hell, he didn’t even spare a glance at the corpses with holes between their eyes, silently blowing the smoke away from his barrel like this was a common thing for him.

He had his eyes on you, uncaring of the fact you were half-naked before him since his attention remained on your face.

“So it’s true,” he mused, “I didn’t believe at first when they said Six Eyes really gave the notes to his girl. A commoner, no less,” he limped towards you, feline-eyes slanted to inspect you. “But nothing about you is common, is there? To get the demon to soften up…you really must be something else,” his gloved hands ran a finger down to your jaw, and you shut your eyes tight, leaning away from his touch. The man clicked his tongue at your reactions but withdrew his hand anyway, stepping a few feet away from you to give you space. “Don’t be so scared. You and I are not that different. We’re both just poor victims of facing the consequences of his actions,” he tapped his cane at your shoes, his face devoid of expression. “Stand up. You won’t get anywhere by crying. You need to learn how to fight.”

You swung the door open, ready to finally get the shoes you’ve been gushing to Naoya about for days. But you were met with nothing but a tuft of white hair, blood smattered on his cheeks, and lips crashing down onto yours. Satoru pinned you against the wall in the same manner he held you on that day he left, his kisses harsh and longing while you moaned into his mouth, legs turning into jelly.

“Angel,” he rasped into your mouth, grinding his boner to the thin material of your night gown. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

Satoru forced his tongue past your lips and kept you close to him, his intoxicating scent tempting you to give in and enjoy it already. For a split second, you faltered, kissing him back with the love you once harboured for him, but then you blanked.

This was Satoru.

You were married to Naoya.

He’d began to leave kisses at your jawline when you pulled back, landing a sharp elbow right at his head. Satoru fell on the floor and you panted above him as you tried to make yourself decent. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch. You had to roll your shoulders back to get rid of the tension as you made the mental note to train in combat harder, pinching the bridge of your noise before you summoned the servants.

Satoru was knocked out for a solid hour. You found it funny that the infamous omnipotent Six Eyes was now sprawled all over your couch, soft snores emitting from his lips. He’d been pretty unresponsive to you so ice far, not even a budge as you iced the bruise you’d left on his face.

You sighed. His shirt was stained with blood, the pads of his knuckles matted with wounds and bruises. You couldn’t help yourself from brushing his hair away from his eyes, humming a little until his eyes cracked open. Satoru stared at the ceiling before his eyes landed on you hovering before him, your touch gentle in paradox to the heat of your gaze. “What are you doing here, Satoru?” you sighed, gesturing to the mess he had on his shirt. “Where have you been?”

“In a fight.”

“No shit,” you rolled your eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“I-I don’t know. I just…I lost it for a moment and—”

“Do I want to know why?”

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled to himself and faced the couch. Even after seven years, he was still very much the petty kid at heart. You could confidently bet he was pouting right now, and you crossed your leg over the other, hiding a small smile behind your palm. “I overheard one of my men making a sleazy comment that Naoya’s wife looked like a bitch who would jump at every alpha male,” Satoru grumbled, prying for your reaction by looking across his shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me after that.”

“Did you kill them?”

“Almost,” he scrunched his nose, “Then I pictured your face. Maybe you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

“So you care about what I want now?”

Satoru shut his eyes. Of course you’d never stop bringing that up – both to your demises – since you were both a sadist who didn’t mind receiving pain every now and then. Five years of marriage with Naoya taught you to be resilient to all types of pain, the experiences and horrors you’ve lived through practically making you immune to them now. Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be on the same boat as you. He sat up, his hips flushed next to your thighs, burying his hands on his head. “Angel, about everything... are we not going to talk about what happened before?”

“Is there anything to talk about?” you deadpanned, surprising the guy who widened his eyes at you. Surely, he must be expecting a different form of hatred coming from you, but you were indifferent – numb, empty. “The past is in the past, Satoru. You know better than anyone else it’s easier to just walk away.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” you faked a smile, placing your chin on your hands while blinking up at him under innocent eyes. Naoya once told you that your attitude of being unbothered bothered a lot more people, and it was a technique you’ve loved ever since. Seeing Satoru crumble before you...nothing felt more satisfying. “For barging in here or for kissing me? Maybe both?”

“For everything,” he answered brokenly, “For all the pain I’ve put you through.”

“Do you think apologies are going to suddenly eradicate that?”

“…No.”

“Then I don’t need it,” you taunted, patting his thigh as you stood up, tying the knots of your robe safer this time. You couldn’t be bothered to wear underwear beneath them; if Satoru tried laying his hands on you again, you wouldn’t hesitate to cut his fingers off, and the plain sight of a dagger now strapped in your thigh was enough of a reminder for him. He made sure to keep his distance.

“Come with me. I’ll show you what we’ve been working on,” Satoru’s footsteps were silent as you led him past the secret doors hidden behind Naoya’s study, the room leading into an even bigger part of the house that stored most of your possessions. Satoru let out an awed gasp behind you once the lights and slight whirs of the machine buzzed through the room, chemicals bubbling from one side and little pills being packaged on the other. Your face lit up in a smile from the sheer pride of your hard work, arms extended to the side to present everything. “This is mostly where we manufacture Xenet. All of this – it’s mine. My personal little laboratory, or as Naoya calls it, my playroom,” you grinned, “I feel at peace here.”

“Making drugs?”

“Being safe,” you corrected with a roll of your eyes, “Acting like I’m normal. That gives me peace.”

Satoru was hot on your heels all the way to the main laboratory, where you’d pestered him into wearing safety gloves before entering. You donned a white coat from the blast of AC that enraged goosebumps, leading him in front of a huge clear wall that formulated Xenet’s pure creation. Stacks of purple powder lined up on layers all kept inside a cooling room, and you stepped to the side, muttering to yourself while checking today’s inventory like it was totally normal to manufacture illegal drugs inside your home.

You would’ve looked domestic if Satoru wasn’t feeling the slightest bit dizzy from the drug-coated atmosphere; one that you’d gotten resistant from.

“What brought you here?” Satoru voiced out, shaking his head to himself. He looked terribly devastated, cheeks sunken and dark circles lining his eyes. “I never thought...”

“That I’d be like you?” you finished for him. Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you smiled at Satoru and pushed past him to list down your observations for today. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like Naoya; I’m not a mass murderer.”

“But you’re supporting him.”

“He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him,” you paused in your tracks, the spite evident in your tongue. “If you hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have to be like this. There are thousands of people after me because you named me after that account. Other than Naoya, there’s really no other reason I’m still alive and breathing,” Satoru was speechless from your confession, which was good, since you didn’t want him chatting too much in the first place. You ignored him as you continued typing notes on your monitor, acting unaffected, but the way you punched through the keys told a different story. “This is the least I could do for him. In exchange of protection, I’ll be sharing my intelligence and give him what he wants.”

“Doesn’t it sicken you that we’re like this? That we do all this – for money, power, control – without the slightest bit of conscience?” Satoru scoffed, “You’ve been married for him a long time. I know you’re not a stranger to the fact we even enjoy this.”

You stopped your task, turning to Satoru with flared nostrils. “You know, Satoru, painting yourself as a demon to look like a victim won’t make me sympathize,” you spat out, absolutely losing it. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing before you met me. I don’t care that you killed or hurt people. I’m not the slightest bit of the angel you claim me to be because if I was as pure as that, don’t you think I would’ve stopped loving you?”

Everything crumbled to dust.

Years of convincing yourself you didn’t care anymore, years of healing yourself, years of working hard to forget him – and all crumbled to dust.

“What are you—”

“I knew!” you cut him off, “I knew everything. I’m not dumb, Satoru. No matter how much you tried to hide it back then, I saw the blood stains. I could smell the alcohol. I know drugs when I see it,” Satoru took a step back in surprise, but you kept going. Now that you’ve started it, you might as well finish it, and your eyes pricked with tears before you could stop it. “But I never cared. I was selfish – blinded by love. Back then, I told myself I didn’t care who you were because I loved you unconditionally,” You were breathing hard from finally releasing that damn fucking weight off your shoulders, your resolve breaking as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand while Satoru remained frozen. “Every night, I cried myself to sleep. I always asked myself why did it have to be you? Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to be a monster? It broke me to no end, Satoru, but every time I tried to think of you as awful, you would hold me so close that it felt like everything was a lie,” your voice faltered, “I loved you in spite of everything you’ve done. I’m just selfish like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried, “Many times...I turned a blind eye to it. I didn’t want to force something out of you because I knew you weren’t ready, but I was always waiting, Satoru,” gesturing to the both of you, Satoru watched your frantic movements. “Did you think I didn’t mean it when I said I would love you no matter what – no matter who you might be? I meant every word of it. You didn’t have to leave me because I would’ve still left everything behind if you asked me to go with you. I don’t care anymore, I never did. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Angel...” he trailed off, debating whether to hold you or just stay put. Satoru chose the latter and ran his hands over his hair, breathing hard as he, too, wavered. “I was scared. Each time I see your face, I-I can’t help but think about losing you. It haunts me every fucking night that what if I’m not strong enough? What if I couldn’t protect you?” his voice broke, “You were the only good thing in my life. I couldn’t handle losing you just because you got too close.”

You shoved him hard. “That’s no fucking excuse! You told me – y-you told me that I made you feel strong, that I gave you hope, that I made you feel like nothing could stand in your way – so don’t stand there and fucking tell me you were scared!”

Satoru kept taking a step back from the force of your hits, and he took them all with a brave face, but it seemed that he too had reached his limit as you leered, “Don’t be a fucking coward!”

“It’s because I loved you!” Satoru gripped your wrists and tugged you to him, effectively taking the ability to speak away from you. “My whole life, I got everything I wanted and things were easy for me! I don’t know what it’s like to lose something because I had control of everything except you! I didn’t want you stuck and burdened with my sins all for the sake of something as greed!” he bellowed, his forehead connected with yours and the warmth of his body more than welcoming. “I am a greedy man, angel, I would take everything I want with no hesitation but I couldn’t do it with you. It was easier to let you go,” he mumbled, “Than to regret making you unhappy by revealing my true self. Because the way you looked at me – you loved me so much I don’t think I’m worthy of it,” Satoru trudged closer to you, almost rubbing his skin over your soft ones just to say, “I don’t deserve you.”

You pulled away from him.

You’d tore open every chance of reconciliation. And if you were to be honest? You didn’t regret it.

“You’re right,” you snickered sarcastically, “You really don’t deserve me. Here I thought maybe Naoya would be the weaker of the two of you, but he’s more of a man than you are, Satoru. Naoya never gave an excuse for anything – it didn’t matter whether he was capable of something or not – he always tried to the best of his ability. He’s not the type to give up before he’s even tried it,” You knew you were just pushing his buttons, this was much clear from how Satoru was holding himself back, but you couldn’t stop. You were unstoppable, harsh as you challenged your once lost lover who had now wound up before you once more.

“If you truly loved me and felt you didn’t deserve me, then don’t you think you should’ve tried harder?”

You wanted him to regret it. You wanted him to feel your pain a thousand times more. You wanted him to realize what he’d done wrong. But most of all, you wanted him to try harder, to redeem himself, to be worthy of a second chance.

But just like how he’d broken your heart before, Satoru did it again.

Because even after every fucking thing, the only thing he was capable of saying was: “I’m sorry, Angel.”

You’d grown too tired of apologies. But because it was him, because you loved him, then you’d fucking hear it all over again. Just try, you wanted to beg, try for me, Satoru.

“Your plans will continue to fail, Satoru,” you agonized, “You never protected me. The moment you left, my life turned to hell and I almost died way too many times for me to count. This time is no different. We’re all just pawns in the Zen’in’s game, so if you really want both of us to live, you should do your part,” Sighing, you turned away from him, just about ready to call it a night. You were too tired. “Give back the money to Naoya, and he’ll keep me safe until the end of it all. You can just go back to where you came from.”

“Naoya won’t stand a chance against Toji. It’s not his money anyway, he should give it back to his cousin—”

“And neither is it yours!”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, you see the flaw of his plans too!” Satoru gestured to your lab, to everything that you proudly claimed an effort of your hard work. “Even if I gave back everything to Naoya, it won’t stop Toji from anything! He might not kill you anymore, but he’ll definitely kill your husband and take over the mafia, or his kid, then where will you go?”

“Follow him into death like the good wife I am.”

Satoru was stunned by the lack of hesitance in your answer. “You’re serious about this,” he echoed, blinking back to process the gravity of your devotion to your husband. “Even if Toji somehow dies, it doesn’t change the fact Naoya will still proceed with plans to manipulate Japan to his will. He’s going to drug everyone until he’s at the top of the food chain. Your husband doesn’t want to be a businessman; he wants to be a god. Plus, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only using you!”

“Like I said,” you smiled weakly, “He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him. Once he gets everything he wants, it’s game over.”

“No...” Satoru gritted his teeth, “No, I won’t let it happen. You’re not going anywhere; you’re not going to die!”

“So then protect me!” you shouted at his face, “Do what it is you never got to do before and protect me! I’m disposable, don’t you see? No matter what I do, no matter where I go, no matter how loyal I am to him, I am nothing! Each step I take forwards is just a step closer to my prolonged death!” you spewed word for word with so much venom Satoru felt like he was choking, but it was nothing in comparison as you fell on the floor, weeping with your fists pressed against your eyes. “If you hadn’t left me...I wouldn’t have to live fearing for my life every second. So protect me, Satoru. If you really want me to forgive you, at least save me this once.”

“I will, angel,” he promised – and how many more promises had he made, only to break them? You couldn’t be blamed for not believing him, for finding wariness in his words, for flinching a little bit as he crouched before you, cupping your cheek the same way he did before. “I promise you that. I’m never leaving, never gonna leave your side ever again.”

“You better not,” you chuckled darkly, eventually giving in from his touch.

Yes, he’d left you...yes, he’d hurt you – but until now it felt like home, even if it also conflicted with the fact this was wrong.

“My only wish is that when I die, I want to die without hating you,” you muttered with your lips hovering his, your breaths tangling and his hands finding its way to your hair. “So don’t make me hate you anymore, Satoru. Grant me peace before I leave.”

“You’re not going to die,” he closed his eyes and took the first leap of faith by grazing his lips with yours, a faint glimmer of the sweetness he once had the pleasure of savouring with each waking moment of his life. But he was stupid back then – he’d be even more stupid to not learn his lesson this time around.

“I won’t let that happen, you understand?” Satoru breathed out, “You will be safe. You will live.”

He had said it so confidently, so surely, that for a moment, you believed it. You believed maybe you’d really win this round and come out unscathed, to live, to survive – even if the chances were slim to none to begin with. For now, you didn’t want to be a mafia leader’s wife, nor did you want to be another’s broken lover. You just wanted to be someone who didn’t want to die, to find comfort in the empty promises from the same man who kept breaking and breaking them, and maybe for now, that was enough.

Without another thought, not even the image of Naoya’s smile, you let it go.

You pulled Satoru close to you and kissed him hard and deep, swallowing his surprised moan with that exact same greediness, that desperation to live. You knew the moment Naoya came back or Toji found you, everything would be game over. So for now, this was enough.

A/N. SOOOOO? THOUGHTS? THEORIESSSSS? DO WE HAVE A TEAM NAOYA HERE OR IS IT JUST ME HAHAHAHAHA

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