#i just needed fucking. two things from target
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Ghoap god type au part 3!
part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3
Their first official meeting face to… well, almost face. Soap’s doing his best.
[Disclaimer: I have been fiddling with this for ages, and just like everything else i’ve written, i’m not quite happy with it but i’m done looking at it. sorry if it’s awful lmao. also it’s around 5 goddamn thousand words]
Another battle won, another victory to add to the general’s reputation, and another fight that left Ghost feeling empty.
Part of him hated that he had become a disciple for the god of death. It was hard not to notice the changes that started after he first left an offering for the god. The way he felt a little less alone, the way enemy arrows would occasionally miss their target, the way the aches of battle faded much sooner, the way the world seemed a bit brighter. The way it gave him hope.
Hope was a dangerous thing. It tricked him into thinking he was meant for more than just dying on the battlefield. Made him believe that he could have a happy ending.
In reality however, Ghost would live and die a prisoner, having forgotten the taste of freedom. The world was not bright. It was cruel. If there were any good in the world, the other side would have won. Would have slaughtered them like pigs.
Instead, they lived to fight another day. Once the wounded were stable, they moved on. Found a spot to camp on a riverbank. As always, Ghost ran off. Let himself indulge in the falsity of hope.
By now, everyone in the camp was used to his routine. The only one brave enough to confront him was the general and so long as he returned to be his rabid dog whenever he needed, he learned not to care.
So, he left. Continued his search for more temples that once housed devout believers of the god of death. He appreciated the distraction from the real world, a short respite found in half-mindless wandering through abandoned cities or overgrown forests.
Ghost still knew very little about the god. While he knew the story of why the god had been forgotten, he still knew next to nothing about who the god was. They didn’t seem too bad at least; Ghost was still alive and has yet to be punished to an eternity of suffering.
He knew if he tried asking the god, (if he received an answer at all) it would all be what he wanted to hear and not the truth. So, he searched.
Most temples were too dilapidated to glean any information, but the little he had gathered seemed to point in a mostly positive direction. But he still needed to know more. He didn’t even know the god’s name for fuck’s sake.
Wandering through the forest, he wasn’t too worried about getting lost. It wasn’t so dense that shadows swallowed it whole and he could always follow the river to find his way back out.
Over the months spent on this routine, he’d learned a lot about how to find the temples, especially in forests like this one. It was rather simple: find a trail of slightly younger trees and follow them.
The much bigger, much older trees would outline a path that had long been lost to time. While hundreds upon hundreds of years have passed since the god was praised, the evidence was still dug into the earth.
Sure enough, after an hour or two of following a line of newer trees, he found a temple. It was the most intact one he’d found yet, all four walls still up, even if they looked ready to cave in at any moment. The only structural integrity was likely from the amount of vines slithering in through the cracks, acting as rope to hold together a building that wanted nothing more than to collapse.
The inside was surprisingly well lit. The holes in the roof that had been filled with various plants let in a soft green light. In the middle, extending from the back wall was a pedestal atop which sat crumbled rocks. As he guessed, taking a closer look proved it to have once been a statue that had either fallen prey to the passage of time or the anger of the locals.
Turning his attention to the walls, on his right was another doorway that would have led to a balcony overlooking the surroundings. Now, however, it was a simple curtain of vines leading to a pile of rubble falling down the hill. On his left was a wall of vines that was so thick, he wasn’t even sure if the wall was still there. But just peeking out towards the bottom looked to be the bottom edge of something that had been carved into the rock.
Curiosity piqued, he walked over and tugged at the ivy. Most didn’t even budge, but he was able to move enough to see that it was likely a mural of some sort. He hoped it was, at least. He was desperate for any information on who or what he’s been helping.
Pulling at the vines only resulted in his hands becoming covered in ants that had been hiding and he had a vague thought about setting fire to it, but there’s no way it would catch and if by some miracle it did, it would likely cause a forest fire. No other option readily available, he sighed and drew his knife, beginning the long and arduous process of hacking through each individual branch.
There was no easy way to do it. They clung to the wall so tightly that to try and slash them would just scrape the edge of his knife on the stone and ruin the edge. The brambles on them made him very grateful for his gloves saving him from turning his fingers into mincemeat. He worked carefully, pulling far enough to get his knife under the stems and cutting through them one by one.
It took hours of meticulous removal and a smarter man would have stopped a long time ago. But Ghost was determined now, he started the process and he couldn’t leave until it was finished.
He didn’t pay too much attention to the actual mural as he worked his way through them, waiting until he could see the full thing. At some point, he had to stop to light a small torch. Darkness having begun to set in, he didn’t notice he had cleared most of it until he took a step back.
As he suspected, it was a mural of the god, depicting some of his godly deeds. The original carving was already rather simplistic and the aging didn't help in deciphering what story it was telling. He was worried that in brushing off the dirt, the carvings would come with it, so instead he brought his torch closer and tried to figure out what he was looking at.
It seemed to be a set of stories, all of which featured the god as kind, helping people who were suffering. The first carving was of an old man on his deathbed, the god putting his hand over his eyes. The next was of parents watching as the god kissed their newborn on the forehead. The third grabbed his attention.
It was a soldier with a knife in his chest, the god holding his hand.
Months ago, Ghost had been in that exact situation. Dying was certain, and yet instead of doing whatever it is the god of death does when someone is dying, the god saved him. Healed a fatal wound with a golden scar. (And put a flower behind his ear, but he often elected not to think about that when remembering the event.)
All of the carvings were different tellings of the same story. For months he had been asking the same question with no answer: Why was Ghost’s story different?
Ghost shook his head. As always when trying to think about the why of it all, he concluded to not think about it. To just push it aside and ignore it. Whatever snake was hiding in the grass waiting to strike was too hidden for Ghost to see. Until the day comes that he gets bit, he will forget about it.
Pulling himself away from the third image, he turned back to the statue. The mural didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know and hoped the collapsed statue would hold some answers.
Sure enough, it was still just as collapsed as before. There were marks in the rocks that proved it wasn’t the passage of time that felled it, but the anger of a mob.
Now looking at the pedestal with the torch, he saw the shadow of inscriptions on a plaque near the bottom. Kneeling down to get a better visual, he saw that it was four words written in an ancient language.
ᓭ𝙹ᔑ!¡, ˧𝙹⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ⟍̅ᒷᔑℸ ̣⍑.
He remembered little of the translation, recognizing the third word was “of,” and after scraping through his memory, he was pretty sure the second word was “god.” Either that or fish. His memory is not that great.
____, GOD OF _____.
Well, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what the rest of it said. While he was iffy on the translations, he knew the phonetics well. Excited to possibly have the god's name in front of him, Ghost made a mistake.
Which, he would like to clarify, he knows that he’s an idiot. Stupid, dumb, anything and everything between. Obviously, common sense dictates that when you find strange writing anywhere, but especially in an ancient temple, you DO NOT READ IT OUT LOUD.
However, as previously stated, stupid dumb idiot and all that. In his defense, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. It had been a while since reading the dead language and the old carving made it hard to decipher the glyphs.
So, not thinking, he sounded them out. Out loud. Reading a random sentence in an abandoned temple of the god of death, who was abandoned after claims of being a monster. It was not Ghost’s proudest moment.
But, he did manage to read it, saying to an empty temple, “Sau— No… Soap, God of… Death?”
He didn’t know if he read it properly. When he had learned the script, it had been taught with handwritten letters. How they looked on a pen and paper was very different to how they looked carved into stone. He decided to risk delicately brushing away some of the dirt, following the indentation of the letters.
He was still trying to read the plaque when he became aware of someone behind him.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he carefully maintained his position, not giving away that he had noticed the person. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see their shadow behind him and to the right.
Forcefully maintaining his casualness, he dropped his hand from the plaque and rested it on the ground as if he were just balancing himself. The other went to nonchalantly rest on the buttcap of his sword, holding it like it was happenstance for that to be the more comfortable position. He waited.
They did nothing. They did not move, didn’t take advantage of his weakness, he couldn’t even hear them breathing.
He had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was behind him. And if he was right, his sword would not save him.
Steeling himself, he stood and turned, drawing his sword. At first glance, they were not a soldier, thief, or mercenary. They drew no weapon and barely even reacted to his sudden advance.
It wasn’t human either. It… It “smiled” at him. Every fiber of Ghost’s being was telling him to run, run far away from this thing before it mauled him.
He stood still. No one can outrun Death.
His vision blurred but only when trying to look directly at the god. He was almost… translucent. When he risked a glance to the door, his image began to vibrate, like he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore.
Later, trying to recall any specific features would draw a blank. Eyes, hair, height — anything. He would question if the god had any physical form at all or if he just imagined it.
He needed to get out of there.
It seemed the god was examining him just as closely. Ghost tried to slowly back away, to inch closer to the door, but was stopped by the god circling him. Not having a secure exit made his skin crawl and he was sure to keep the being in his sights the entire time.
In the same way his eyes were warring over whether the god was there or not, he didn’t know how nervous he needed to be. The months spent offering whatever he had in exchange for company and help on the battlefield made him want to relax, to talk to him like he was an old friend.
The lifetime he spent being betrayed and getting used made him want to attack first. The back of his neck prickled at the reminder that he still owed the thing his life. He was not an old friend. He was a deity, the god of death, and would be able to kill him with ease. Ghost kept his sword level with the god despite being all too familiar with its futility.
The god, Soap, stopped his circling and stood in front of him, far too close for comfort. When Ghost backed away, he watched like he was observing a bug he found interesting.
The comparison was far more apt than Ghost wanted to think about.
“Your fellow soldiers call you Ghost, yes?”
It was the first time actually hearing the god speak and it was just as unsettling as he thought it would be. The voice reflected his flickering form, oddly deep and reverberating like it wasn’t meant for this plane.
Subconsciously, his sword slowly drifted down, no longer threatening an attack.
“…Yeah. How do you know that?” He didn’t bother trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.
“I’ve been watching.”
Ghost didn’t like this. Not at all. Everything in his bones was screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. He readjusted his grip on the sword but forgot to raise it. He needs to get out. Now.
The god laughed.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re the first follower I have had in an age. What else was I supposed to do?”
Part of what made his voice sound off finally hit Ghost.
“The god of death is Scottish?” The incredulous tone probably wasn’t doing his life expectancy any favors.
“Aye. And you’re British.”
The god turned and began inspecting the rest of the temple. Ghost didn’t feel the true weight of the god’s stare until it was gone, now taking in several deep breaths as the pressure went away.
“Thanks, I didn’t notice.”
“I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”
The god smiled at him like it was a simple joke. But the annoyance was there. Even if the god was laughing now, that doesn’t mean he would still find Ghost’s disrespect funny in a few minutes. He needs to watch himself and be careful.
“Why do you look all… weird and shit?” Good job, Ghost. Real good about being careful and making sure to overthink his wording. Fucking hell, his own idiocy is going to kill him.
The god pouted his lip. Looking at Ghost with deceptively sad eyes, he asked, “Aw, are you calling me ugly?”
The god returned to examining the ruined temple. Even though he wasn’t looking, Ghost shook his head and raised his hand in a pause gesture. Gods have wiped out entire villages over less. He forced his breathing to remain normal, having to manually count it so as to not panic. Before he could backtrack and likely dig himself in a deeper hole, the god spoke.
“I am still weak. This is the first time I’ve managed to hold onto a tangible form.” Tangible was certainly one way to put it. When he ran his fingers over the ledges on the wall, the dirt and debris didn’t move. Brushing his hands through the vines led to them swaying slightly as if there were a breeze.
Ghost reminded him, “I tried giving you food. You didn’t accept it.”
The god laughed, “I know. The starving man giving the god food.” Ghost wasn’t sure if his tone was meant to be insulting or annoyed.
“Yeah?”
Soap sent him a look he couldn’t decipher, explaining, “Gods don’t eat. Not the way you do. Keep your food.” He made pointed eye contact with Ghost and winked as he said, “I prefer flowers and trinkets anyways.” He turned his attention back to the ruined mural. His eyes were wrong.
Ghost fucking hates gods. What the fuck does that mean?
He pointed out, “If you’re weak, don’t you need everything?”
“I am not that weak. Saving you hurt.”
Ghost prickled further at the reminder, taking a step back. Gripping the handle of his sword tighter, he defensively stated, “I don’t need your help.”
The god scoffed and walked towards him. Ghost tried to back up but the god was faster. The divine being put his hand on his ribs, right where the golden scar sat. With a furrowed brow he angrily stated, “This says otherwise.”
Ghost instinctively jerked away from the touch. It was staticky and cold. Wrong. It was somehow worse than human touch. He was tense, looking to see the gods reaction.
This was worse than dealing with an impatient, angry god. Those were predictable. This one has yet to give him any indication of his limits. Ghost didn’t know what would be the tipping point and could only hope that when it hit, the god would be kind enough to kill him quickly.
To his surprise, the god looked sad. His flash of anger gone and now quieter, he continued, “I was barely in time to save you.” If Ghost didn’t know any better, he’d say the god actually gave a damn about him.
But Ghost did know better. He stared at the third image on the mural. He asked the question that had been plaguing him since waking up from a deadly sleep, “You’re the god of death. Why… Why would you have run out of time? Why save me?”
He sighed, “Healing an otherwise healthy person is easy. Resurrection? Not so much. I do not control death the way people seem to think I do,” the god paused and sadly looked to the broken statue, “…or did. I can help people on their path but not change their course.”
The god was slowly walking closer. Ghost didn’t have much more space to back up, almost cornering himself, he had to angle himself more towards the door, following the wall. It allowed the god to get closer, much closer than Ghost would’ve liked, but it also allowed him to have a realistic escape plan.
Not that he’d be able to run from any god for long. The hope of success was a fickle thing.
Unaware or uncaring of his internal plight, the god happily continued explaining, “You were still on the same path, just veering to the left. Bringing someone back is possible, but not always worth it.”
Not yet learning his lesson about letting sleeping dogs lie, he poked back, “What? ‘They come back different?’”
The god gave a slight nod, “Sometimes, if their soul has been rotted or corrupted. But I meant the cost. Saving you was easy to do with all that you had given. To bring someone back from the dead… Well, there are some fates crueler than death.”
Ghost's eyes hardened, “I’m aware.” The god looked all sad again but he continued before he could interrupt, “But why did you save me?”
The god paused for a moment before simply stating, “You’re kind.”
Ghost scoffed and incredulously repeated, “I’m kind.” He nodded. Ghost continued, “So, you betrayed your own kingdom, domain, whatever to make sure I didn’t die because ‘I’m kind.’”
Soap smiled and for the first time since trying to touch his scar, reached out to him. “Exactly. I like you. You are kinder than someone in your shoes should be. That’s why I saved you.”
His hand hovered next to Ghost’s left. He was waiting for something. The god was still smiling softly at him.
He wants me to close the distance.
He’d rather the god have just grabbed him. Why was he waiting? Why was a god waiting on a mortal? Gods do not ask. They take. Why was this one any different?
When he was a kid, he’d run around trying to pet any and every dog that would let him. He would approach them slowly, holding out his hand for them to sniff. Some would approach immediately, but most took some time. They were half feral and scared of people, hesitant to even approach him.
At that moment, Ghost felt like a scared feral dog. He felt doomed, like there was no way out alive. He didn’t know if the deity was offering safety and comfort, or a quicker and less painful end. Soap’s hand was still extended, still smiling softly.
When a god asks, if you do not give, they will take. And will take more than they would have if you had handed it over to begin with. It’s best to give in before the consequences become worse.
He moved his hand into the god’s hold. It grinned. He tried not to shake.
The god rubbed his thumb along his hand, fingers trailing after an older wound that was on its way to scarring. The touch became slightly more bearable as he grew more accustomed to the peculiarities of the sensation.
After a pause, Ghost shakily contested, “I am not kind. I have more blood on my hands than everyone in the military camp combined.”
Soap, unperturbed, continued messing with his hand, watching the way his fingers bent and twitched. Not looking up, “I said kind, not a pacifist.”
Ghost tried to speak up. The god interrupted. The touch graduated into practically feeling each individual muscle in his arm, like he was trying to remember how a human body is supposed to look.
“However, if you want a more tangible reason, I did, and somewhat still do, owe you.”
Ghost didn't buy it for a second. "What? A god owing a mortal?"
Soap made eye contact once more. Ghost didn’t realize how close he had gotten. The god looked more human, but more wispy as well. His eyes didn’t make Ghost want to turn away before he turned to flame, but he could also see more of the temple through him. Perhaps their meeting would not last much longer.
“I’m sure you are aware that gods can die. the only reason I was still alive was because people would pass the ruins of my temples and remember me.”
He shifted to Ghost’s right and reached for his other arm. Doing the same hovering hesitation, Ghost simply nodded in approval. The god turned his focus to his right hand now, letting go of the left. He did the same examination as before, feeling over his knuckles and trailing what veins he could see up his arm.
…When had Ghost sheathed his sword?
His left arm tingled. He had to tell himself that he did not miss the touch.
“But no one believed in me. I was waiting for another thousand years when I’d be forgotten and could finally die. You not only saved me, but you gave me hope as well.” He accentuated the word by squeezing his arm, or trying to at least. He seemed to be fading fast.
With something in his eyes more earnest than Ghost was used to seeing on even a mortal, the god said, “So yes, I still very much owe you.”
The earnestness was gone and in its place, a joking tone as he continued, “Though, if it’s you I am indebted to, I don’t think that’s too bad of a fate.”
Ghost asked, “So… I don’t owe you a debt?”
Soap looked genuinely confused, “Why would you owe me?” With the way he tilted his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy.
Ghost was at a loss, having no idea how to answer that. The idea that gods just wanted to fuck over everyone they could for their own amusement was so ingrained that to try and put it into words felt impossible.
When he didn’t answer, Soap spoke again, “I like you alive.” His hands moved, one going to feel the pulse point on his wrist and the other sitting over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart. Like he was making sure he was still alive.
The confused furrow did not leave Ghost’s brow at the explanation and he was sure Soap could feel the way his breathing and heart rate kicked up at the touch. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to lean into it and beg him to never let go or skin himself to be rid of the feeling.
“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”
Ghost ripped himself away, finally in the doorway of the ruined temple. The orange light indicated that dawn was well on its way. He could not hear any birds chirping nor any leaves rustling. It was still smiling from the edge of the shadows.
The god spoke, “I hope we can meet like this again. I had fun.” With that, the divine being stepped forward into the light and fully faded at last.
Ghost took in several deep lungfuls of air. He stood frozen, watching as if waiting to make sure the god did not return. In truth, he was frozen. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, he thought he had trained himself out of the latter two options.
But he stood there, terrified to move. He didn’t even shift his weight. It felt like to move was to acknowledge what had just happened, and to acknowledge it was to cement it as reality.
A childish part of him hoped he would wake up to find it was all a dream. Forcing himself to turn his back to the door, he ignored the way his back burned at being exposed and unprotected.
He absentmindedly made the long trek down the hill and to the river. He detached his scabbard and kneeled, splashing his face with water, the coolness of it shocking his system.
He turned to the left and vomited. He was shaking so much he almost collapsed. Locking his elbow, he was barely able to balance just to wipe his mouth.
He turned back to the water. Took in a deep breath and submerged his face. He stayed there, pushing the limit of how long he could stay under. His heart was racing, demanding air. He could feel it rattling against his lungs.
Just as the dizziness and weakness began to take hold, he ripped himself up. Taking long, heavy deep breaths, he looked up. Watched as the last of the stars faded into an orange and blue sky.
Stories and warnings from priests came crawling back to him. About what the presence of The Old Gods could do to a mortal. If he was shaking, vomiting, and scared stiff from seeing him while he was still weak…
Good gods, how powerful can this stupid motherfucker get?
He hasn’t felt so… so… so much in a long time. His brain was warring with itself over how he should feel about the interaction. Part of him felt hopeful, thinking that perhaps he might now have someone who actually cares about him and not what he can do for them. Part of him felt so hopeless that he didn’t see the point in getting up, in doing anything other than trying to die before he could cement his fate as a god’s new favorite human plaything.
He blinked and forced his mind to stop. The birds had returned, singing once more. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword and using it to help him up. It sank slightly in the mud.
Day officially broke. In the forest, shadows turned and ran to hide behind the trees. Animals were just starting to wake, some heading to the river to drink.
Ghost stepped into the water, following it downstream and letting the rush of water cover his tracks. The rapids threatened to sweep him away with every step, rocks underfoot falling prey to the force.
By mid morning, the river led him back to the camp.
The other soldiers stopped and stared upon noticing him but did not say a word. In fact, they fell completely silent seeing him wading through water that would drown a lesser man, muddy sheath in hand, soaked to the bone.
He stepped onto the shore, walking at the same slow speed he had in the water. The general, having noticed the sudden silence stepped out of his tent, demanding to know what the problem was. Seeing Ghost, he hesitated before demanding his attention.
Ghost was already on the path towards him. Face to face, the general hesitated, mouth moving but no words spilling forth. Ghost informed him that he was going to go to sleep. The general had yet to find his voice.
Ghost walked to his tent. Dropped his sword. Lied on his cot. He stared at the canvas above him, forgetting to remove his armor and gear.
When he got like this, feeling disconnected from not just his body but his soul as well, he tried to take stock of himself. Mentally document every ache and pain, how his clothes felt, even what the weather was like.
Instead he became aware of one sensation in particular, one clinging to both of his arms, his chest, and a small part of his lower ribs.
Everywhere the god had touched him felt electric.
How long has it been since someone touched me without hurting me?
He wondered why his skin still tingled. Why he missed the feeling.
#soap is kicking his feet twirling his hair and ghost is scared for his life#soaps doing his best alright#old gods this old gods that. simon pretty much went into sensory overload because someone was nice to him#and two things:#yes the mural was inspired by the painting of the grim reaper in white#and this will be the last update to this but just for a bit cause i want to try to do something for mermay#emphasis on try#words have not been wording#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghoap#queue#forgotten death au#me try not to over tag and over explain everything challenge (impossible)#once more posting this right before i sleep#if you’re reading these tags goodnight drink water and i hope sleep comes easily to you when you lie down
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In defense of Summer (CW: Nazis, TribeTwelve)
Okay, so. I keep seeing people in the SV community shitting on @summertrynnacope for their art and certain sensitive subject material.
I'm making this post cause y'all need to chill. Just. A little. Maybe?
HEAR ME OUT.
I do not support Nazism. The targeted genocide of six million Jewish individuals is wrong, eugenics is wrong, Aryanism is wrong. The Nazi Party was an extremely fucked up and morally wrong group of individuals.
Having said that, I feel like people are overreacting to Summer's art just a wee bit.
Summer has stated that they DO NOT support Nazis/Nazism. When asked to put content warnings on their art, they gladly did so AND also apologized.
I understand the whole Nazi thing is sensitive subject matter, especially in the Slenderverse community. HOWEVER, it is also part of the LORE of at least two web series (TribeTwelve and EverymanHYBRID). Yes, it was retconned from EMH, but the thing is, it was part of the lore for long enough that many people still consider it canon (and many people don't KNOW it was retconned).
Summer didn't do this maliciously. They didn't do this with the intent to offend or hurt anyone. They just did it because it WAS, at least at one point, part of the lore (and they were not aware of the fact it was removed). Yes, they should have initially put warnings on their art, and they admitted they should have. They also shouldn't have put the symbols they did in their Brandit (or whatever the Firebrand x HABIT ship name is) fanart. But again, don't assume something's born out of malice when it could easily be born out of ignorance, ya know?
Proof that Summer regrets their actions:
Tl;dr: 18 year old TT and EMH fan makes Nazi HABIT art, people act like this means OP is a Nazi (WITHOUT ANYONE EVEN TALKING TO THEM ABOUT IT, BY THE WAY), and they add CWs and apologize after I tell them what they did wasn't okay.
Is this good? Are we good? Drama resolved?
#cw: nazi mention#tw nazis#tw tribetwelve#cw tribetwelve#tribetwelve#everymanhybrid#slenderverse#habit emh#firebrand tribetwelve#summertrynnacope#ignorance is not malice#in defense of OP#fuck adam rosner#for my mutuals#art#digital artist#probably going to get canceled but idc#going to get canceled#don't care tho
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Well, hello again.
It's been a very busy month, and I have roughly nothing left in my head, but it's Wednesday okay, and that's finally aligning with a day I ended up driving home thinking I want to do a wip post okay. So first, thank you to everyone still commenting on Musical Chairs, and I'm sorry to anyone who's been hoping I can get the last chapter out in a timely manner. I can't, obviously, but as a sad offering in that chapter's stead, I have here An Ode to How Soundly Musical Chairs Is Kicking My Ass.
This is a multimedia presentation. In this essay I will-
I don't have a posting goal anymore. As soon as possible is a moving target. But I do have two deleted scenes, and here's one.
“Stupidity has no bearing on whether or not I hate something,” Baz said.
“No? The two’ve always struck me as pretty intertwined,” Niamh said, picking up her drink. And then, like it was a completely separate observation, “I’ve noticed you seem to hate a lot of things.”
I also have 44 pages at the top of my Miscellany document that contain nothing but snippets for musical chairs, and scenes cut from musical chairs, and scenes rewritten for musical chairs, and checklists made for musical chairs, and all caps yelling for musical chairs, and-
Featuring such goodies as:
And:
So in theory. And I hate this because I’D HAVE TO REWRITE AGAIN but in theory.
And:
[HEY MAYBE JUST FULLY FUCKING SWITCH TRAJECTORY AND GO] “[Redacted].”
Baz raised an eyebrow. “[Also redacted].”
[FUCK BUT ACTUALLY. IT’S WEIRD AT THIS POINT. AFTER HE’S ALREADY PUSHED THIS MUCH. FUCK. YES OKAY MOVE IT UP TO COULD HAVE HAD SOME FUN. SIMON JUST PIVOTS FROM COMMITTING TO THAT/MAKING BAZ MAKE HIM COMMIT TO THAT BY SAYING HE DOES ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT. AND THE SCENE WILL DEFINITELY AND FOR SURE WORK THIS TIME AMEN.]
It's possible these latest two yellings are leading me in the right direction, but I don't know yet, because I made those notes and then dusted off my hands and ran walked away for a month. We'll see. I've at least started thinking about it again. (The trick is apparently pacing small circles around your enclosure while you're on hold with customer support for an hour.)
Here's that other deleted scene, as a treat. It was a treat for me, anyway, because I don't remember writing it.
“Despite our best efforts,” Agatha muttered, and everyone looked at her. She raised her eyebrows. “She started it. I was out for a week because of her.”
“You gave Agatha a concussion?” Baz smirked as Simon said, “You’ve had a concussion?”
“Yes,” Niamh answered, and Simon added, “That explains it.”
Agatha turned from whatever she’d been about to say, replacing it with, “Explains what?”
Simon gave a sad little hum and nudged her chin. “Why you don’t even know what it explains.”
By the way, the actual final chapter is 45 pages at present. One (1) page deeper than the burial ground for its failures. Though the burial ground has a lot of gaps between graves. That probably adds a few pages.
Anyhow, I do sincerely hope y'all will be able to read it before another 7 months have passed. I'll do my best. In the meantime, thank you to everyone who's still tagging me in things, and I'm sorry I disappear a lot and don't shower y'all with the love you deserve for it <3
Here's an incomplete mess of tags, because I do need to go do many other less fun things now.
@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @cutestkilla @whogaveyoupermission @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @facewithoutheart @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @run-for-chamo-miles @rimeswithpurple @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @monbons
#wip wednesday#my writing#musical chairs#there are a lot more deleted scenes where that came from#but most are spoilers at this point#may it all someday see the light#ok it won't actually tag half of y'all#I really do have to go do other things so OH WELL I tried
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level 90 at last!
so! about black mage
i've been thinking how to describe playing black mage, and i think the simile i used this morning in chat works well enough:
black mage feels like trying to run with a pot full of boiling water in my hands. with other jobs i feel light and agile, but black mage plays like how seeing emet selch as solus run would feel. look at that guy go. i didn't know spines could do that! you can hear his knees crunch, also
mechanically, it's really not nearly as bad as i feared it to be, even though i don't think i'd managed to figure out a decent rotation myself on the first or even third try so, thank you internet people for the guides!
anyway, the boiling pot wheezing trot sensation is not unique to it, though it is the most noticeable of all the casting classes i've played. i'd say rdm>summoner>whm>>blm in increasing awkwardness
so, while i acknowledge that blm is an optimizer's paradise to get the Biggest Booms, probably, playing it feels like it's almost fighting against the game instead of flowing with it and due to that it's just not very enjoyable, for me. it's got the same inflexible rotation that makes dragoon my least played class despite it being very canon for mitr'a
and from a physical perspective my fingers are not very precise on the keyboard, so i tend to fuck up the routine by accident quite often and then i have to correct it or start over and eeeehhhhhh. and my can't-remember-to-click-despair situation. dunno what the problem is with that one, to be quite honest. brain said no i guess :( that one's on me
woops this got longer than i thought so have a readmore
the good:
aforementioned big damages, when i manage to keep the rotation on track. sadly not as much of a plus for me, personally, but it's relevant still
against one enemy, getting immersed in the rotation can be pretty fun, until the 5 aoes come, the boss leaves the arena, and i sigh deeply while creakily running around, not casting
lasso spell goes brrr. it's got a very funny sound effect, in my heart
the 'return to leylines' spell is also great. i've used it mostly to instantly dodge when there's more than 2 sequential aoes. you can play around with these two spells
shoutout to the simplified job gauge for letting you actually understand anything about it. sure it's 3.5 things to keep track of, but for 2 of them you get informed about their readiness with convenient sounds and flashing borders so whatever
big staff to hit people with
cone hat funny
big lb meteorites. very good very cackling
the bad:
moving feels heavy, even when using the instant cast abilities. i keep lagging behind the group even in normal content, and sometimes clicking the right person to yeet to can be a bit hard in alliances or wall to walls. this class needs to do some cardio
clicking fire IV 3 times, then 1 fire I then fire IV 3 more times is. very boring. sorry. rotation 40 years long and rigid like the brutalism. the funnest parts are the thunder procs and the ice phase before going back to fire and the occasional instant cast. oh you sneezed and misclicked and dropped your fire badge thingies on the floor? sorry idiot you get to start over from the top, but sadder this time
this one i only noticed here at the end, but i feel it's very important, maybe more than the rotation: the best and biggest animations it has are the ones for the ice spells, which you use the least. xenoglossy, foul and flare are also good. amplifier, manafont and triple cast feel nice and dramatic to use. paradox i just got but it's also nice with the color mix. the rest i don't even remember, had to go cast them on a dummy. it's fireballs and fire columns it's all fireballs! the blm animations have a lot of boom but they need more heft, if that makes sense? more flying shit going from you to the target, shit shrapneling from the target, rings of fire, fiery eldritch runes, anything. if rdm can shoot 50 explosive roses at a guy for some reason and drk can summon shields of runes, blm can do something fancy also. casting a finisher skill called 'despair' should look like i'm sucking their souls out through a straw
also more casting positions. summoner has a lot and they're pretty different! they got floating symbols and shit. blm has 'slightly crouched' and 'staff held high' in variation 1 and 2, and that's about it from what i can tell besides the selfbuff ones. add some evil runes at least. the paradox wide armed one (i think you float a little?) is a good addition though
anyway, final verdict: it's a good class, but it's very rigid and inflexible to get Big Damages, which is not an exciting exchange, for me. i prefer to be nimble and do less damage but have a more varied and forgiving rng based rotation. also more utility skills! i miss peloton or having a group shield or heal, or even rdm's rez; makes me feel actually useful instead of being just a giant cone hat that produces flamethrower on command. i don't think i'll play it too often, i'm afraid, even though it's a perfectly alright class, and i'm sure i'll get better with time
HOWEVER. if dawntrail allows blm to throw meteorites outside of lbs i might reconsider. they can be small! even magical molotov cocktails if we must. but i want physical flamming objects to hit my enemies and i want to see the animations do that with some flair. just ole fire and spite booms and a couple icicles is not enough. i want to flatten them
#if you think this was me being overly harsh i assure you i liked blm a lot more than i thought i would!#i'll play it exclusively a couple more days still#get a proper feel of the 90 rotation and all#still. this stands i think#a good class that's just not quite for *me*#play: mitr’a#now what i really have to do is think how mitr'a will include blm stuff into HIS multiclass rotation#he doesn't usually stand still much so it'll be a challenge. maybe add it to drk? that could work. tanks move less#drk has the cool evil rune animations blm lacks as well#also i need to read a bit about steppe shamanism to take my clues from that#i must say despair as a skill is particularly interesting after ew. flexing our dynamis muscles. that one might go to bard some way#not like bard is using that mp for anything#xenoglossy with it's echo implications would go to rdm? i guess? it does require charge...
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a little prompt, if you don’t mind
what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom
;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"
Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader
2.5k words
body horror
What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body.
Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.
i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3
as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!
Bang!
A clean kill.
The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.
Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.
You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.
By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.
"That was a lousy shot."
A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.
You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.
"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.
Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.
You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?
"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."
Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.
"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."
You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.
As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.
"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"
A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.
And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.
And then you bite down, hard.
It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.
"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."
This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."
There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"
The reply comes out faster than you expected.
"Fine."
For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.
It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.
His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.
Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.
"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.
"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."
"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."
"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"
"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"
"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"
"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.
It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.
No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.
You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.
And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.
That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.
Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.
He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.
"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.
It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.
Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …
"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.
And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.
Son of a bitch.
"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.
He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.
He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.
He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.
"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"
You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.
This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.
He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.
You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.
#reverse 1999#reverse: 1999#reverse 1999 pavia#reverse 1999 x reader#pavia#dreamy sigh. i love overly complex relationships that can be interpreted in 20 different ways#yeah you hate each other. yeah you love each other. yeah you cant stand each other. yeah you cant literally live without each other#yeah hes your best friend. yeah hes the bane of your existence. and yeah youre his only lifeline. yeah youre the only one he trusts#love having relationships with The Eldritch tm#if some of this sounds suggestive its bc i love romantizicing body possession and body sharing and symbiotes theyre my favorite thing ever
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I think I might be having a hard time yall lmao
#my bf’s car had a flat tire over a week ago. like almost 2 weeks ago#he kept hemming and hawing#neither of us could get the tire off but he wouldn’t get a tool that would. didn’t call anybody or google anything#i work remote so I don’t NEED my car but like. I’m trapped here. i don’t like it. i need my car.#finally someone came YESTERDAY MORNING#i said last night I needed to go to target. my bf didn’t say anything#i get out of bed so fucjing excited to have my car back and go to target#i look outside. no car. where the fuck is my car#i text him like ?????? hello???#but they’re working on a cell tower near his job so he has extremely spotty service#so I probably won’t hear back til it’s too late. and I’m afraid his car isn’t safe to drive bc why else wouldn’t he take it#just fully fucking. broke down into tears on my couch#i just needed fucking. two things from target#but I’ve been eagerly anticipating them. i don’t get off work til 8pm and then I’m usually too tired to go anywhere#this is such a stupid fucking thing to cry over but he didn’t tell me. he didn’t warn me when I said I wanted to go to target#and now the one thing I was looking forward to!!!! cannot be done today at all. and I don’t know why#this is not the first thing I’ve had a disproportionate reaction to#and I haven’t been able to do ANYTHING around the house. like incapable#so I almost have no laundry and my office is so messy it literally makes me nauseous to look at#so uh. I’m a little worried! lol!#p
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Your posts are in an AI model
and then Tumblr decided to sell them to AI models.
Now, don't get me wrong, tumblr selling out the users to AI companies is bad, yes, they shouldn't do that. It sucks.
but don't lets get this confused: your posts were already in there. Tumblr selling them is about tumblr making some money and about the AI models having more exhaustive post collections. It's not about your posts being in an AI model, vs not being in one. That battle has already been lost.
Can you find your post on google? Then it's almost certainly in an AI model already. Think about it: These AI sites showed up before all the sites were making deals to sell their users' content, right? How do you think they built them in the first place?
They scraped the posts. Just like google and bing and such do when they build their search indexes.
It's a fundamental part of how the open web works: you want your posts on tumblr to be visible to users, right? You want them to be readable?* Like, look how much stuff broke when twitter changed their whole read-while-not-logged-in policy, ruining a bunch of thread links/NSFW links. And if it's visible, it's scrapable. That's what the AI models were built on.
I've done website scraping before (not for AI models, of course. I was doing search engines and website archival), this is just how it works. You hire a few relatively smart CS graduates and tell them "build me a scraper that'll give us a bunch of tumblr posts" and they go off for a month or two and come back with a database of a few billion posts, and you stuff that into your AI model. That's how they got all the deviantart and flickr and twitter and pinterest and so on posts. They didn't pay for them: they just took them.
They only ever pay for this shit because either:
they fucked up in such a way that the site might be able to sue them for taking rather than paying
They can buy them cheaper than they can finish taking them. Maybe they'd need to pay the CS grads for an extra month? well, that might be more expensive than just throwing the site a couple hundred thousand bucks.
ANYWAY: my point is, don't treat this "oh no tumblr is selling our posts to AI" like it's a big thing that might happen and it would be bad to happen. Yes, it's bad, tumblr shouldn't do this, this'll let AI models get continual updates of content for far easier than just scraping them would be, tumblr betrayed user trust, and so on...
but realistically, this is not a black and white matter of "if only tumblr didn't do this, then we'd be safe from AI models!"
Nope. We already lost that battle. I'm sorry, and it does suck, but that's just how it is. The avalanche has already started, it's too late for the pebbles to vote.
* I'm assuming here that you don't run a private blog that's set to only followers or something. You'd be safer then, of course, but you're not really my target audience for this rant
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can I make a request for an Alastor x reader? Where y/n is Husk's sibling and Alastor won't stop flirting with y/n and Husk is just not having it? (And the rest of the HH crew are just in the background shipping Alastor and y/n)
*swipes up* Cat Demon Reader!!!! FUCK YEAH!
Hissy Kitty
Prologue
Alastor X Reader
Warnings⚠
⚠ cussing, protective older brother Husk, Alastor loves annoying your brother, italics = thoughts ⚠
Husk was very protective of you and made sure you were taken care of. In Living and afterlife, he kept you out of his "business" to keep you safe.
Of course you surprise him by showing up at the hotel.
"What the fuck are you doing here!?"
"Surprise!", you cheered and gave your older brother a hug.
He didn't want you anywhere near his work. It was too risky. You would have been made a target. He didn't want HIM to know about you.
"Answer the question.", he grumbled but hugged you back.
"I haven't seen you in a while and I just wanted to-", you began, pulling back a bit from the hug, taking a look around the hotel lobby that was behind him.
"Look, I'll call you and tell you all about it but you need to go before-", he tried to get you to leave quickly.
"Husker!"
Shit.
He was pissed that he was too late.
"What are you doing trying to chase a guest out?", the demon in red walked over and pulled you into the hotel. "We are trying to invite them in."
"This one ain't looking to stay in the hotel!", your brother hissed and tried to pull you away from the red dressed demon.
You were suddenly spun and dipped by the man in red. It shocked you so much that you held onto the red demon tightly.
"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! I am Alastor the facility manager.", Alastor grinned as he gazed down at you. "And who might you be?"
Such an adorable thing. He thought when seeing your ears pinned back and eyes having turned into slits, his grin widening when he noticed Husk getting angrier.
"Um..can you let me up now? This is a very weird way of greeting..", you squirmed, your tail flicking in annoyance.
After letting you go, Alastor took note of how bristled up the fur of his acquaintance was.
How interesting..
"Forgive me dear, I can get quite theatrical.", he laughed and fixed his bowtie. "And your name?"
"I'm-"
"Not staying.", Husk cut in. "They only came to see me, now back off."
"What the hell, can't I greet a demon?", you huffed.
Your brother pulls you away to speak in private.
"Not this one! This prick is someone I don't want you hanging around with.", he whispered growled, putting his hands on your shoulders. "Go home, put some wards or some shit for protection and don't come back here again!"
"Damn it Husk!", you slapped his hands away. "I came here to check up on you!"
Alastor stays where he is to enjoy the show. Glancing to the side when seeing Angel step into the lobby.
"Its been years! I haven't heard from you until two weeks ago about this place. Where have you been!? Do you know how worried I was!?"
"Psst! Smiles! Who the fuck is kitty whiskers?", the spider asks.
"Haven't the faintest idea but this argument is getting amusing.", he responds.
"I told you that I moved! That should be enough!", Husk gestured to the hotel.
"Yeah, its nice to know you're alive but you could have at least told me how you've been! Did you make any new friends? Did you drink until you blacked out again? Something else for fucks sake!", you yelled.
"I'm alive!", your brother yelled back. "I drank yesterday!", he pushed you towards the door. "I don't have friends!", he opened the door. "Now leave!"
"Tsk tsk!", Alastor tutted and used his shadows to pull you away from the door, moving you into his hold. "They are our guest, even if they are just visiting Husker~"
The Radio Demon's smile growing bigger when he saw the cat clench his fists.
"You are welcome to visit anytime to see this-", the red demon gestures to your brother. "-hissy kitty that you know."
"Ha!", you quickly covered your mouth to keep your laugh silent.
"A smile! Finally!", Alastor leaned closer to you. "I'd like to see it if you don't mind."
"Back off!", Husk pushed the red dressed demon away and took your hand. "Come on, I'll show you around."
"I can stay!?", you asked your brother.
"Only for a few hours!", he replied.
You stayed longer than a few hours.
Charlie had caught wind and was excited to meet you.
Husk drank from his bottle, watching as you talked to the Princess and Vaggie. The two were hooked on whatever story you were telling.
"So Husky~", Angel slid over.
"Don't you fucking call me that ever again.", the cat grumbled before continuing to drink.
"Who's the new cat strolling about?", the spider asked. "I've never seen you so pushy with someone before~ Are they an ex?"
"None of your business and ew. Fuck no.", Husk wiped his mouth after he finished the bottle. "Forget about them. They need to leave anyway.", he said before walking over to you.
.
"Hi Husk!", you waved as you entered the hotel.
"Fucking shit. What did you not understand about staying away!?"
You had a smug grin and pranced over to him.
"Can't really stay away from where I work~", you said and showed your employment papers.
"What.", your brother growled.
"While I was talking to the Princess during the tour, you stepped out for a bit and I told her I wanted to work here!", you beamed, cat tail swaying calmly. "So now I can't leave! Yay!"
"Are you fucking stupid!?", Husk yelled.
"Now Husker.", Alastor appeared from the shadows behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "That is no way to talk to your fellow coworker."
The Radio Demon smiled cheekily when seeing the cat demon's fur bristle in anger.
"Let's show you all of the staff rooms!", he said suddenly and turned you towards the stairs. "There are quite a few closets littered about for cleaning supplies! For now that is what you'll do with Niffty until the Princess can think of where to put you."
"Is there any cleaning supplies?", you asked a little suspicious.
"Haven't a clue! But let's find out!"
You were near Alastor most of the day.
Husk actually followed you both until the "tour" ended.
"And that is all of the cleaning closets so far!", the red man grinned.
All of you were now standing in one of the many hallways. The fourth floor if you remember.
"Thank you for pointing them out.", you removed his hand from your shoulder. "Little less of that if you don't mind."
"Oh! I didn't even notice.", Alastor held his hands behind his back. "Do remind me if I slip again."
Husk quickly took you away from the red demon and walked you towards the lobby.
"Look, I'm glad you're here. Really. But its not safe for you to be around that smiling asshole.", your brother hissed.
"Husk, I'm not as clueless as you think I am.", you sigh and shook his arm off. "I'll keep myself safe.", you finish and walk away.
The cat demon stayed behind, groaning as he slides his hand down his face, feeling on edge, tired, and annoyed all at once.
"I've never seen you around a demon like them~", Alastor appears from the shadows. "And you're so protective!", he walks in front of the cat demon. "What a good older brother you are.", he leans back and spins his head to look at the demon.
"Don't you fucking try anything!", Husk threatens.
The Radio Demon laughs and stands up straight. "We'll have to go over our deal again!", he says while fixing his coat. "I hope you added their protection in."
"You piece of shit-!", Husk extends his claws and opens his wings up.
"I must be off! Who knows what trouble the guests have gotten into already!", Alastor walks away from the angry cat.
The Radio Demon hummed as he walked down the hallway, a slight skip in his step as his smile grew wider.
Oh how entertaining~
I love cats💕 Also this is turning into a short story because Husk is gonna be hella pissed.
~Seline, the person.
Part 1
Taglist@
@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @gallantys @+?
ML for Alastor🎙 | ChL for HK😾
#cat demon#x gn reader#x reader#cat demon reader#older brother Husk#hazbin hotel husk#alastor x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor the radio demon#gn reader#the radio demon#fanfic#hazbin hotel#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin niffty#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin fanfic
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Light on - single mom/neighbor fic
Simon Riley/female reader
Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium
Simon’s phone is ringing.
Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.
His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen.
You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way.
“Hey, you-“
“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff.
It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train.
“He followed you from the platform?”
“Well, he could be walking this way too…”
“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?”
“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we.
The baby is with you.
His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her?
He feels sick.
“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.
“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“
“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?”
“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.
“Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.”
“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head.
It all comes screeching to a stop.
He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name.
“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.”
“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it.
“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train.
“Oh my god.”
“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear.
“Our hero.”
#peaches writes#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#this might be my favorite?#Simon threatens a man because he scared you and I find that very attractive#light on
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might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;
Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader
Price
Three words: full body massage
That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)
He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his
He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin
Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted
Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)
By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut
Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone
Ghost
We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in
…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is
Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)
You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work
He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home
He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name
I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses
Gaz
He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening
First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining
Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off
The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes
When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet
He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it
Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion
Soap
‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck
However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up
He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you
Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)
He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting
And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there
By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…
#wiw asks#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#john price#simon riley#kyle garrick#john mactavish#tf 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#cod x reader#cod mw2#call of duty#modern warfare 2
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"sure thing"
pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader
summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out?
content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare.
a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples
welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!
creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune
wc: 7.8k
“Who?!”
No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said.
“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.
“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind.
“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers.
You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.”
Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.”
You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path.
“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back.
“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket.
He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.”
Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?”
He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”
You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t.
Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s.
“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?”
Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you.
“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying.
“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong.
~
It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches.
You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment.
You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.
It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you.
You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike.
You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now.
You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.
You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him.
The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.
The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside.
You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.
You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it.
You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet.
You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face.
“Hey, Dean,” you call.
He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease.
“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo.
Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night.
“Yeah. Long day at work.”
A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?”
You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you.
“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there.
Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance.
You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.”
His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?”
You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”
There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.”
You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life.
You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight.
The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.
You’re shocked when it’s the other way around.
“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder.
Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines.
You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs.
You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.”
His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool.
“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone.
He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride.
You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention.
“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish?
You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman.
You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself.
“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive.
His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?”
His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.”
Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours.
There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps.
“You’re a sorcerer,” he says.
You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet.
You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.”
A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?”
You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?”
You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like.
He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then…
“So, what’s your technique”
You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual.
“Bet I could find out.”
That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.”
He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…”
You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.”
You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks.
“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job…
You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.”
His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?”
Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth.
“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing.
You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?”
Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal.
“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.
He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.”
The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to.
When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”
You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit.
Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now.
He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.
He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone.
You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid.
You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.
“That was Versace,” he whines.
You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle.
“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end.
His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans.
He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever.
A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.
Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles.
You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to.
You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs.
Now. Now, while he’s not looking.
You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now.
You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please…
You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land.
Fuck.
He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework.
“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly.
This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight.
You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it.
You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better.
He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?”
You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over.
You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.”
He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls.
His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.”
You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see.
“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs.
Your lips part. “You knew?”
That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?”
Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him.
But you have one thing on him.
“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”
There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.”
You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.”
His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.”
You freeze. He notices.
He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?”
Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–”
He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation.
“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.”
Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo.
“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?”
Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced.
His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display.
“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin.
You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.
His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes.
“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?”
You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree.
“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…”
He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides.
“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone.
There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again.
“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.”
He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.”
You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes.
He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased.
He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.
Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.
His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.
“I think you like this, gorgeous.”
Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.”
He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”
He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue.
You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right.
Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you.
“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.
“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault.
“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.
God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes.
You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.
Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.
It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away.
He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?”
Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you
You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone.
“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.
A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.
“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick.
“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole.
He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out.
“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.”
He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages.
You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.
“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.”
You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut.
Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.”
You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.
A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”
His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you.
A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth.
“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him.
He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.”
His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same.
“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.
“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.
You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant.
You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs.
You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind.
“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”
You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”
His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be.
You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you.
“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death.
“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest.
He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?”
You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.”
He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?”
You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe.
You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”
You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.”
His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?”
You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.
There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been.
“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free.
“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position.
He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”
You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind.
“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you.
He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.”
There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?”
He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”
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#bree’s fics#jjk#jjk x reader smut#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk smut#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojou x reader#satoru gojo#gojou satoru x y/n#jjk gojou#gojou satoru x you#satoru gojou#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo smut#gojo saturo#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu satoru#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojou satoru#jujutsu kaisen#tw: organized crime#tw: attempted murder
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Text
| all webbed up
| colby brock x reader x sam golbach
summary: sam and colby’s annual halloween party commences. they decided to dress matching once again; spiderman and venom spiderman. and a certain girl has a thing for the spider boys.
warnings: mean!dom!colby, soft!dom!sam, degrading, praise, oral (m and f receiving), creampie,
authors note: this is not edited at all. i just wanted to get this out to you guys!! hope you enjoy!!
word count: 3.7k
the annual sam and colby halloween party was something you’d always look forward to. you’d been invited for the past five years, ever since your friendship began with the two boys.
but y/n couldn’t help herself. she secretly liked the boys. she had for a while now, however she never confessed her feelings. she didn’t even want to confront them to herself.
she knew they wouldn’t like her back. why would two of the biggest upcoming youtubers like her back.
y/n had begun editing the boys’ videos three years ago, once she finished off school. she’d studied media and film, giving her knowledge about everything. sam and colby had saw how well the girl did in her studies and her work and immediately asked her to help edit their videos as they were beginning to have tight schedules.
y/n of course agreed. this guaranteed more time with the boys. which it did. after a few months of working with them, they offered her a room at their house, which she also agreed to obviously.
as time progressed, y/n sometimes thought that the boys felt something for her, but she’d then convince herself she was being delusional. however, her bestfriend, lucia, would feed into the delusion and tell her that ‘they look at you as if they wanna fuck you’.
but that’s what bestfriends do. they won’t turn to you and tell you the truth if you really like someone so much. well lucia wouldn’t.
there was a knock at y/n’s bedroom door, she called out a small ‘come in’. colby walked into the room, his eyes immediately noticing her bare legs. y/n sporting an xplr hoodie, which was yet to be released, and which also belonged to sam.
colby shook his head and then looked at her face, “you hungry? sam said about getting take out,” colby asked.
“uhh, yeah. i just need to finish editing,” y/n spoke, quickly turning back to the laptop and pressing a few keys and the mouse.
colby moved towards her bed, coming to lay next to her. as he collapsed onto her bed, he let his head rest against y/n’s shoulder.
“this shit is freaky,” y/n looked to colby, “don’t get how you guys do it constantly,”
colby rolled his eyes playfully, “come on, you did that one video with us,” colby answered.
y/n smiled at the memory, but her face then contorted into embarrassment, “yeah and i literally cried, colby,”
he removed his head from y/n’s shoulder to look at her, “i don’t blame you! you got targeted the entire night. some of the things you faced had never happened to be and sam!” he comforted her, “what if we invited you again, somewhere that’s not as haunted or dangerous? you’d have me and sam, and i could invite a few others so it’s like a group video?”
y/n considered this for a moment, “maybe,” she said uncertainly, “i’ll see how i feel in the future,”
the blond boy then burst through the door, “what you guys up to?”
colby shook his head, “nothing. just tryna get y/n to get in a future video,”
“you should y/n! everyone loved you on the channel, and we loved having you in the video,” sam added.
“you’re distracting me! i’m trying to edit your video!” y/n smiled, pushing colby back.
sam came and sat next to her, on the other side to where colby was sat. the boys sat in silence, while y/n edited the video.
they’d never really understood how she did it. they understood little things and they could probably survive without her. but y/n understood it to another level. she understood what attracted viewers, what made the video look better and she knew secret little tips and tricks to make the video the best thing.
“i don’t know how you even remember all this,” sam spoke up, said boy standing up and walking to the door, “i’m gonna go order take out now. the usual?” he asked. colby nodded looking at sam, and y/n nodded without looking away from the laptop, sam disappears into the hallway.
colby watched for another minute, before speaking “right i’ll leave you to it,” colby pressed a kiss into the side of her head, “our smart girl,” he muttered, moving off the bed and out the door. y/n couldn’t hide or stop the redness that came to her face. ‘our’. colby had called her ‘our smart girl’. the praise had gotten to her. colby knew it would. he’d picked up on how she reacts to things not that long ago, he of course informed sam. and now they’d started using it to their advantages, just like now.
y/n had told the boys that she would head over to lucia’s to get ready for the halloween party. this was a yearly thing that happened. all because sam and colby liked to surprise y/n with their costume and vice versa.
the two girls had gone somewhat matching. cat woman and harley quinn. not matching exactly, but from the same company. lucia had gone with harley and y/n had chosen cat woman. and if she had to be honest, she felt sexy.
a tight black latex suit covered her body, high black stilettos on her feet, a black cat mask over her eyes and her hand held a whip. y/n’s lips were accentuated with red lipstick, standing out against the dark latex. eventually y/n gave up with holding the whip, she decided it was too much and she’d end up losing it anyways.
“come on, lucia,” y/n pleaded, “we’re gonna be late!”
lucia rolled her eyes, “there’s not even a certain time we have to be there. you just wanna go and see your boyfriends!”
y/n groaned at her words. “firstly, they’re not my boyfriends, they’re my bestfriends and my bosses. secondly i want to go now, because i fucking love halloween! plus, sam and colby throw the best parties ever!”
lucia stood up walking over to her closet to pick out her shoes, which she bought specially for this occasion. “fine, you go get in the car! i’ll be there in a second,” she replied, giving into y/n’s desperation to leave.
“thank you!” y/n grinned, kissing her bestfriends cheek and trying her best to run to the car with her heels on.
she jumped in the passenger seat of lucia’s car and waited. she thought about sam and colby immediately. she knew they’d look good tonight, no matter what they wore. her thoughts were interrupted with her phone ringing. she looked at the contact who called ‘sam🤍’. her phone read. she smiled at the name, admiring the picture of her and sam that came up. it was a photo from two years ago; a photo of sam kissing y/n’s cheek.
she then realised she still hadn’t answered the call, so she clicked on the green answer button and put the phone up to her ear. “hey sam!”
“hey y/n! uh- how long till you’re here?”
“i mean, im in the car waiting, but lucia’s is just getting her shoes on, then we’ll be over,”
“okay great. quite a lot of people have already arrived, but we’ll come look for you when you get here,”
there was some rustling on the other end of the phone. “hey y/n!” colby’s voice boomed through the phone.
“hey colbs,”
“how’s your costume?”
“yeah, pretty good actually. think it’ll beat yours this year,”
“is that so? well, your costume won’t be on for very long, anyways,”
what has he just said. y/n’s eyes widened and she bit her lip trying to hide her growing smile. lucia opened the drivers seat door, knocking y/n out of her thoughts of what colby had just said.
“alright, lucia’s just got in the car! i’ll see you guys soon!”
the boys said bye and y/n ended the call. “speaking to the boyfriends are we?” lucia smirked, pulling out of her driveway.
y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that came across her face, “they’re not my boyfriends, once again, lucia!” y/n thought about it for a moment, should she tell lucia what colby just said.
“what you thinking about?” lucia asked.
“i-uh, well, when they just rang me, i mean it was a pretty normal call. then, colby started speaking and he made like a really flirty forward comment, and it seemed like he meant it in that way…” y/n explained with a confused tone.
“what did he say?”
“he said ‘your costume won’t be on for long, anyways’. so i took that as we’ll be taking your costume off soon,” y/n replied.
lucia’s giggled at what her friend had told her, “someone is getting fucked tonight!” she cheered, “by the two guys she in love with!”
“shut up lucia, im not okay! they’re probably just messing around, you know them,” she denied.
the girls walked through the door of the house, which was now fully decorated and it looked amazing. y/n had done quite a bit of it, but sam and colby and insisted on doing the rest.
lucia grabbed onto y/n’s arm and led her to the kitchen where there was an array of alcoholic drinks on the island in the middle. lucia took two solo cups and filled it with things that y/n didn’t even pay attention to, due to the fact she was looking for the two boys. “here you go, miss y/l/n,” lucia said, handing over a cup, “wait- what would your last name be if you guys got married. would you be a y/n brock? or a y/n golbach? or would you go double and do y/n brock gol-”
sam and colby appear behind y/n, “what you saying about us there, lucia?” sam asked jokingly.
y/n swings around to face them, noticing them costumes. how convenient. cat woman and spiderman. two spiderman’s to be exact. neither of them were wearing a mask, but they had the full body suit on.
colby had gone with the black version of spiderman. the venom spiderman, obviously. black being his colour. and be looked good, but he knew that. the black bodysuit hugged his abdomen and chest tightly, showing off what was hidden underneath, which y/n craved to get her hands on.
and then sam. the classic spiderman, the costume was popular, but no one could pull it off better than sam. he looked incredible. just like colby, the bodysuit wrapped around him perfectly, accentuating his body.
sam and colby eyed y/n up and down when she turned to face them, smirks rushing to their faces. “she was saying, none of your business,” y/n smiled sarcastically.
“ouch,” sam replied, shaking his head with a smile.
without y/n knowing, lucia had ran off, leaving her with sam and colby, who gave her a nod, too which y/n didn’t even pick up on.
“so, spiderman and spiderman. i’m a little underwhelmed, was expecting something way better,” she shrugged, placing her hand onto colby’s chest to feel the costume.
“someone’s feeling a bit mean?” colby asked with a cocky smile.
“not mean, truthful,”
“mhmm. well, i could say the same about yours y/n. think i’ve seen another cat woman here already,” sam spoke.
“but it’s okay, you’re the only one with our attention,” colby finished. slapping his arm on sam’s back and walking away with him, leaving y/n there, with furrowed eyebrows.
y/n thought she was making it up, or she was thinking too much into it. being delusional, once again.
y/n poured herself another drink, not noticing the oncoming presence. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing on your own, huh?” a deep voice spoke behind her. she perked an eyebrow and turned, coming face to face with a man she didn’t recognise. “i’m daniel,” he informed.
y/n cringed. she already had her eyes on two boys in particular. and daniel seemed to be pretty drunk already so she knew he’d be pushy, so she was straightforward, “and i’m not interested,” she thinned her lips, downing her drink and then walking away.
she wanted to go find lucia, so she pushed through the crowd of people who had made their way onto the makeshift ‘dance floor’, but a hand grabbed onto her wrist pulling her back.
“who was that?” it was sam.
y/n furrowed her eyebrows. how did he even see her? him and colby had left, there’s no way we could have seen her and daniel. “i don’t know. he just started talking to me,” y/n spoke truthfully.
sam’s hands moved down to y/n’s hips, who looked down, screaming internally at the action. “did you tell him to leave you alone?” sam asked, leaning into her ear and speaking lowly, keeping his hands on the nervous girls hips. she nodded quickly, “good girl,” sam moved his right hand up to the back of y/n’s head, holding her. he brought his hips forwards against y/n’s hips, who couldn’t even believe what was going on.
after a minute or so, y/n could feel another pair of hands join her hips, just a little above sam’s. sam leant into y/n’s ear, “be good for colby while i’m gone,” he spoke. sam’s right hand left one tight squeeze on y/n’s hip before leaving her hip. she watched the blond boy disappear into the sea of people.
that’s when she felt colby pull on her hips to press her bum into his cock, which was already slightly hard. he pressed his head into the crook of her neck, then eventually leaving open wet kisses on her neck. y/n closing her eyes and relishing in the moment, was turned around by colby, who looked at her with a dark stare. y/n’s arm locked around colby’s neck.
before y/n could even think about it, colby’s lips were on hers. kissing roughly and messily. there was a clash of teeth and every so often colby would bite on her lip, cause her to whine, which resulted in colby doing it a few more times for a reaction. colby’s hands moved further down her back, reaching and grabbing at her ass.
colby pulled his lips away from y/n’s, “let’s go somewhere else,” he said quietly, y/n’s stomach doing flips.
colby led y/n up the stairs and into her room, seen as it was the closet one to the stairs. as colby opened the door, y/n saw sam sat on her bed. “took you long enough. thought you’d ditched,” sam began.
“no, i’d never. someone just couldn’t keep their hands off,” colby replied, shutting the door behind me.
y/n looked between the two boys, who now stood in front of her. “i’m so confused, guys. what’s going on?” y/n asked, her brows furrowed.
“oh come on y/n. you’re not that stupid. thought you were our smart girl,” responded sam.
“we’ve seen you looking at us. we know all about your dirty secret,” colby said lowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “but that’s okay y/n. we think the same about you. isn’t that right, sam?”
he nodded in response stepping forward towards y/n, who was now corned by the two boys. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all baby. can we do that?” sam asked.
y/n nodded shyly. sam immediately went in to kiss y/n, shocking her at first, but then melting into the kiss. his kiss was different to colby’s. colby was more needy, and rough when he kissed, he would bite on her lip as well. but sam’s kiss was gentler. he didn’t bite on her lip, or kiss her roughly. but they were both amazing either way.
y/n felt colby’s lips on her neck, sucking purple bruises into her skin. he moved her hair out of the way, gaining him more and more access.
sam pulled away from the kiss, “go get on the bed, okay?” y/n nodded, moving over to the bed and sitting on her knees, looking over to the boys who whispered to one another quietly.
the two boys finished speaking and walked over to stand in front of y/n. “you gonna be good for us? hm?” colby asked. y/n nodded, looking up at the two. after a few seconds, colby had removed the black suit, showing his boxers, which had a clear outline of his cock.
“go on, make yourself useful,” colby said. y/n reached for the waist band of his boxers, pulling them down. desperately, she reached her hand forward, gripping onto him in her hand, eliciting a groan from colby. y/n stroked him for a minute, before colby spoke harshly, “come on whore, suck my cock,”
y/n squeezed her thighs together, obeying what colby had said. she leant forward and wrapped her lips around his tip, causing his head to tilt back. y/n moved her head forward, letting his cock slide down her throat.
his hands found their way into her hair, gripping her roots tightly, using them to pull her down and back off his cock. he pulled her off, a string of saliva connecting from her lips to his cock. “be good to sam, yeah?”
“use your words, sweetheart,” sam soothed softly, placing his hand in her hair and gently brushing it out her face.
“wanna make you feel good sam,”
“such a good girl, aren’t you?” sam cooed.
sam pulled down his own boxers, letting y/n have a moment to catch her breath.
there was a clear difference in the way sam and colby acted in the bedroom. colby was assertive, mean, rough and straightforward. sam was more caring, sweet and slower with what he did and said. but they both complimented each other in this situation.
y/n licked up sam’s length, taking him into her mouth, “feels so good, baby. so perfect,”
colby had walked around the back of the bed, so he was now behind y/n. he grabbed her by her hair and pulled her off of sam, a whine escaping her lips. colby pushed y/n onto her elbows. “carry on, who’re. take care of sam,” colby instructed. y/n complied, going back to sucking sam’s cock.
colby reached for the zip on y/n’s latex suit, “as much as i love this, it’s gotta go,” colby uttered. he pulled the zip down, slipping the latex off of y/n.
she wore no underwear, nor bra underneath the suit. “such a desperate whore. just wanted to be fucked, isn’t that right?”
“don’t be mean, colby. she’s just needy,” sam countered, stroking y/n’s hair softly.
colby moved down the bed so he was now face to face with her pussy. “so fucking wet,”
he leant in, licking a stripe up her slit, causing her to moan out on sam’s dick. “that feel good, baby?” sam asked, y/n’s head nodding frantically.
colby moved his head further down, sucking harshly on her clit, causing y/n to writhe in pleasure, moaning around sam’s cock still.
colby brought two of his fingers up to y/n’s entrance, slowly pushing his fingers in. he started off with a slow torturous pace, y/n clenching around his fingers. he took note of this, increasing the pace of his fingers and his tongue, which flicked across her clit.
she could feel her release nearing, colby removed his mouth but kept his fingers pushing in at a relentless pace, “you gonna cum?”
sam removed y/n’s mouth from around his cock, letting her breath and answer colby. “yes,” she moaned, “please let me cum,” she begged.
“i don’t know about that. what do you think, sam?”
sam looked down at y/n. she was looking up at him, begging him to say yes, a blissed out look on her face. “i think she can. she’s been so good for us, haven’t you y/n?”
she nodded, “so good for you,”
“cum. fucking cum on my fingers, whore,” colby said, before diving back in, his tounge resuming to flicking back at her clit.
it didn’t take long for y/n to come undone on his fingers, moaning out and her eyes closing. colby slowed down his fingers, easing out of her. “you gotta have a go with her pussy, it’s fucking amazing,” colby told sam, speaking about y/n to him as though she wasn’t there.
the boys had swapped places now, colby stood in front, ushering her mouth back on his cock. rushing in to put his hands in her hair and pulling her down, causing her to gag around him. sam lined his cock up with her pussy, slowly pushing in, causing him to groan. y/n moaned at the feeling, looking up to colby, who’s head was back and his bottom lip in between his teeth.
as sam bottomed out in y/n. he gave her a few seconds to adjust. she clenched around him, letting him know he could move. sam held tightly onto her hips, pulling out of her and then slamming back into her. y/n’s mouth came off of colby’s cock, moaning out. but colby immediately came back in and put her mouth back around him.
they both thrusted roughly, synchronising their thrusts. y/n moaned out around colby cock, closing her eyes. “keep them open, whore,” colby pulled back on her hair, causing her to whine. “stupid whore, can’t even keep her eyes open,”
sam’s thrust began becoming sloppy, puffing into her. “gonna cum,” sam groaned, “cum with me, y/n,”
he reached his hand around to her clit, rubbing harsh circles. “cum for us, y/n,”she immediately let go, her orgasm washing over her. clenching around sam, as he followed suit. cumming deep inside her.
colby sped his thrusts up, stopped deep in her throat, releasing his cum down her throat.
sam pulled out of y/n, pulling his boxers back up. he walked around to y/n, crouching at her face level, “you okay?” he asked gently.
“i’m okay,” she nodded with a smile.
colby had walked away to pull his boxers back on and also grab a t-shirt for y/n, which actually turned out to be one of his own shirts, which she’d stolen.
“sit up angel,” y/n complied, putting her arms through the t-shirt, colby leaning in to kiss her forehead.
the boys sat opposite y/n on the bed, “so what happens now,” she giggled, a small smile on all their faces.
sam shrugged, “we’ll have to see about that. but something will happen soon. i promise,” he hinted, “but for now, we have a party to get to,”
y/n pouted, “but i just wanna stay here with my favourite boys,”
sam nodded, “i’ll go clear everyone out,” he left the bed and went to grab a t-shirt and shorts, which were his, but he’d given them to y/n. he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
colby scooted up the bed, opening his arms for y/n. who accepted with a big smile on her face.
“y’know, i’ve always had a thing for spiderman,”
#colby brock#colby brock imagine#colby brock smut#colby brock x reader#sam and colby#sam golbach x reader#smut#sam golbach smut#sam golbach#sam golbach imagine#spiderman#hell week#sam and colby smut
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You're Gonna Be Quiet
Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.
Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3
MINORS PLS DNI
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj
she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned
anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)
“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”
He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.
“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”
Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”
You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.
~~~
The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”
“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”
He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.
~~~
You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.
He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala.
As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.
You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.
“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”
You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.
“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”
You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.
“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.
Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.
Yet?
Yet.
~~~
“Who’s this, darling?”
You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.
“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”
You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.
“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”
His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.
“I’ll ask again, who is this?”
You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.
“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”
You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”
He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”
Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.
“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”
The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”
“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”
You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.
~~~
“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”
You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?
He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.
“Are you done?”
“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.
“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.
“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”
The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.
“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”
You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.
“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.
You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again.
Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.
“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.
“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”
You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.
“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”
“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again.
“Because your mouth is gonna be full."
#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes smut#mcu#the winter soldier#winter soldier#fanfic#reader insert#smut
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FILTHY DUMP!
,, mean! satoru x fem! brat reader , heavy degradation + words (whore , slut , bimbo , bitch) + reader calls him a bitch boy, spanking , heavy finger sucking + ear licking , unprotected , dumbification , not proofread + idk what else <3
divider @/yunjiniez
“nuh uh, gimmie y’r hands.” satoru scoffs, pinching one of your ass cheeks and making a pained whimper escape you. you were full of his cock, laid pitifully on your duvet and simply taking whatever he gives you. your fingers clench the fabric underneath you, hesitating to follow his command. you know you’ll be forced to bend to his will once he has his way.
but you ponder for far to long, a sound ripped from you as he takes your hands, holding your wrists behind you with one hand while his other plays with cream coating the are of where you two meet, “tsk, a whore like you doesn’t deserve anything.” satoru mumbles, keeping his gaze on the way your pussy sucks him in with the few short thrusts he gives your needy cunt. you bit your lip from the movement, needing to feel him give you the orgasm you want. but oddly finding his new “personality” hot, wanting nothing more but to push him just a bit further.
“y-yea? but you always spoil me toru. bet yer’ just gonna cum in me like the bitch boy you are.” you sing, relaxing your body, despite the growing ache in your arms, and trying to play into your little act. your confidence is dwindled down to smithereens when a harsh slap is given to your ass, making you scream and turn your head.
“nah, fuckin— wanna act tough, right?” satoru practically growls, anger evident as he lets go of your hands, not giving you a choice but to stuff your head in the sheets as he pushes it down, his chest pressing your body flush to the bed. “say it again. i dare you.” he purrs in your ear, ignoring your tiny mewls from the pure feeling of his tip bumping as far as it can in you. your mind surely doesn’t help you, too focused on his musky smell, a sweet but dull fragrance of his body wash overpowering your senses. god, you can even feel his pebbled nipples brushing against your skin, hot all over from the skin to skin contact.
“bitch boy. t-that’s what you are — ohhhh, toru!” your response is cut off with slender fingers squeezing your cheeks, a breathy sigh from satoru as he gives you a rough roll of his hips before targeting your cervix with a sharp hit. he holds your face so tight you’re forced to swallow down your moans, spit slowly coating his fingers until they’re slipping between your messy lips.
immediately, your tongue swirls over the long digits, choking as they reach the back of your throat, giving you no reprieve. “ah, can’t talk now huh? actin’ like a slut n’ slobbering’ all over my fingers. tsk.” his degrading sends chills down to your pussy, a disobedient hum leaving you and transmitting vibration through his hand as you feel your mouth starting to deny the muscles shoved between your upper lips.
on the other hand, satoru adores the drool he can feel sliding down his wrist, leaning down to the side his arm wasn’t wrapped around, licking your ear as you can do nothing but close your eyes in discomfort. “nasty thing. can feel ya around me y’know. getting off to this like some dumb bimbo.” satoru chuckles, his tongue flicking around the cavern of your ear as he scissors his fingers in your mouth, playing with it as if it was the delicate area between your thighs. you try to shake your head, desperately wanting to claim how utterly disgusting the stronger man was, but all you get is a thumb on your chin holding you in place. a look of disappointment crossing his face. “stay still. gonna fuck the shit out of ya. but y’r not cumming baby~ just a good lesson f’ya!” he giggles, pulling his dripping fingers out of your mouth and pulling away. his dick twitches inside you as he gets a good glimpse of your flushed and lewd state, before his hand wraps around the back of your neck while he pulls away.
“wait! sorry, i’m sorry, m’sorry..” you spew out apologies, to the point where your eyes begin to water, puffy lips quivering as you try to to move your head.
“too late for that. you wanted to act out, gonna make you my bitch. oh don’t run away now, haven’t even got to the good part..” satoru whines, pushing your head into the mattress without a care, his free hand rubbing the arch of your back as he begins to fuck you like he hates you. your muffled cries are like sweet melodies to satoru, whimpers that could have him cum without touching. sounds that his brain keeps stuck in his head because they’re his favorite song.
his thrusts pick up the pace, fast and harsh as your ringing ears pick up the sonds of his imbalanced breathing, and the slaps of his hefty balls hitting against your ass with a dangerous force that could leave marks. so enraptured with the simple feeling of pleasure, neither of you notice the way you did end up creaming around his cock. again, and again, and again. your minds falling weak to how good you both feel. all until you’re getting a filthy and revolting load of cum shoved into your undeserving cut, unapologetic spanks to your ass, and words that make you feel like a dirty dump for your one and only <3
#jjk x reader#jujustu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujustu kaisen#jjk smut#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader smut#jjk gojo#satoru gojo imagine#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru x you#satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru smut#jjk satoru
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Clownfall: Endgame
I am calling it that in the full knowledge that batshit things may yet happen, but listen. Listen. We have a year left before the general election. I am hedging my bets and assuming all that comes in that year will be Tory manoeuvring ahead of that. Let's all hope for a nice quiet year in which everything can fall neatly under that banner, that won't ruin this naming convention.
Previous Reading
Important Terminology - Required Reading
What is a Whip?
How do Whips work?
Shadow Cabinet
Front Benchers, Back Benchers and the Cabinet
What do we need to call an early General Election?
The Adventures of Big Dog the Clown - Suggested Reading
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Elanor’s Guide to Liz Truss - Suggested Reading
Character-based prequel
The Premiership of Liz Truss
The Next Steps - Suggested Reading
The post-Truss contenders
Bye Matt
BoJo Resigns as MP
Alright, that's probably everything. Just nice to have it all in one place, innit? If you would like a nice soothing soundtrack to your reading, here's my recommendation. On with the show!
Clownfall: Endgame
Wednesday
So, let's start with charismatic and charming Home Secretary Suella Braverman! You may remember her from such hits as "Quitting before she could be fired after breaking the law only to be rehired by Sunak almost immediately and without consequence to appease the right wing nutjobs in the party", and "Claiming Pakistani men have a culture that makes them work in abuse rings to target vulnerable white English girls" (I should add that, if you are unfamiliar with Suella Braverman, regardless of what that quote implies, she is not, in fact, white); recently she made the news because she announced that being homeless is a "lifestyle choice". So true, Suella! They could give it up any time they wanted. They could, for example, get together and break in and steal your fucking house.
But in particular, here we're focussing on her recent stance towards the multiple huge pro-Palestine marches that have been taking place in London. So far she has indicated that she wants people who wave Palestinian flags to be arrested, so that's very measured and rational of her; but, last Wednesday (Nov 8th), she decided to write a lil opinion piece in the Times all about how mean and biased and liberal the police are. This is an absolutely fascinating assertion to I suspect literally anyone who has ever been involved with the police. But no! Quoth Suella, aggressive right-wing protesters are "rightly met with a stern response", while "pro-Palestinian mobs" are "largely ignored".
And, she claims, the march on Saturday isn’t simply a cry for help for Gaza, but an "assertion of primacy by certain groups - particularly Islamists - of the kind we are more used to seeing in Northern Ireland".
Imagine how well all that went down.
Thursday
You are underestimating how that went down, because it emerges that Suella deVille did not, in fact, get any form of validated sign-off or permission from Number 10 before squirting her ill-informed liquid horseshit all over the front desk of the Times news room, and that, Tumblrs, you'll be surprised to learn, is actually quite an important and compulsory part of criticising the police when you are the Home Secretary. Like, there is a Ministerial Code about this. It is very clear. It is in Article 8.2, Tumblrs. Thou Shalt Have Permission From Number 10 Before Making Media Interventions.
“The content was not agreed with Number 10,” a spokesperson for Prime Minister Rishi Sunak told reporters, referring to the prime minister’s Downing Street office. The ministerial code is clear that any ministerial media interventions need approval from No 10.
-AlJazeera
And the Tories are furious! The bloodbath forms quickly and loudly and the hounds start baying! Clown noses are flying everywhere! The factions are drawn! Because even now, there are Tories too stupid to understand that whether you agree with someone or not they still have to follow the rules! Also the other parties realise they can offer some actual opposition here, given that Suella has essentially dragged a barrel into the middle of the House of Commons dressed in a fish costume, handed around a set of loaded rifles, and then crawled inside to wait. The result is that the calls for her resignation are both deafening and pleasingly cross-party.
"(This is a) dangerous attempt to undermine respect for police", says Labour's shadow home secretary Yvette Cooper. "(It's) irresponsible," says London mayor Sadiq Khan. "The PM's weakness when it comes to standing up to Suella is the most shocking thing in all this," claims a senior Labour source.
They're wrong, of course. The most shocking thing is Liberal Democrat leader Sir Ed Davey realising he can actually appear in the paper if he plays this right and so surfaces to attempt some politics. "(Sunak) must finally act with integrity by sacking his out-of-control home secretary!" he declares, frightening many MPs who had forgotten he was even in the room with them.
Meanwhile, several Tories approach the BBC anonymously.
"The home secretary's awfulness is now a reflection on the prime minister. Keeping her in post is damaging him," says one. Another straight-up describes her as "unhinged". Another claims the comparison with Northern Ireland is "wholly offensive and ignorant", and really, all of this is permanently triggering that "Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point" reaction image.
Saturday
Hey, speaking of reaction images, look, Labour has a go:
Well. They tried.
BUT! Do you want to know the INTERESTING bit??!
Enter: Nadine Dorries! Mad shrieking pink harpy who spends her days maintaining a BoJo shrine in her bedroom! Always the most hinged of politicians, let's see what she has to say.
Former cabinet minister Nadine Dorries claimed Ms Braverman was trying to get sacked to give her a platform of martyrdom in service of the right-wing.
"The competition is on now for who is going to be the leader of the opposition," Ms Dorries told the BBC.
???!??!?
PERTINENT POLITICAL OBSERVATION FROM DORRIES?!?!?? The most shocking part of this whole affair. Remember that time she yelled at a journalist during an interview about Boris Johnson's latest scandal when he asked her how Johnson was feeling about the whole thing and inadvertently implied they were having an affair when No One Asked? God, wonders never cease. She's even acknowledging the Tories can't win the next GE, look. I'd say this is growth, except I am 100% positive she's just being catty about BlowJo being fired again.
Anyway, the real Saturday issue: it's Armistice Day, and there's a pro-Palestine march planned.
Now, to give context, Armistice Day has a creepy level of patriotic state-worship attached to it in the UK. Some time in October everyone on telly suddenly starts wearing a poppy, and if you don't you get hanged, drawn and quartered by (a) the British press, and then (b) a baying mob outside your living room. You most be performatively sad. You must perform reverence and hero worship and say things like "Never again" all while whole-heartedly supporting current wars. You must talk about "our brave boys", and share the works of dead poets from the trenches, and then completely fail to absorb any of their lessons. If anyone tries to wear the white poppy to distance themselves from the current political appropriation while still commemorating the millions of conscripted casualties, you accuse them of being "woke" and pissing on the worthy dead of WW1. It's a whole thing, and politicians love using it as an excuse to point fingers and mock each other for being insufficiently patriotic if they wear the wrong tie to the ceremonies, or choose to walk with actual veterans rather than a head of the current army, or any number of other things. And then on November the 12th they'll order a drone strike or something.
So, off the bat, you can see how a pro-Palestine rally on the same day was likely to be seen as provocative to some.
"Some" included Sunak! He didn’t (publicly at least) ask the police to ban the protest, but did call on organisers to call it off, claiming the choice of date was “provocative and disrespectful”, because as I say, a march calling for the ceasefire of a genocide is super disrespectful to every sad dead poet in a trench who dreamed of a ceasefire so they could live, or something.
But the inevitable therefore happens, which is that far-right activists agree that it's disrespectful, and so decide to violently target the march to show their respect for the idea of peace on Armistice Day, or something.
Here's the planned route by the organisers:
Note, though, that the Armistice ceremony happens at the Cenotaph - visibly nowhere near the march. These two events actually wouldn't have overlapped, if it weren't for far-right protestors deliberately linking them to stop them being disrespectfully linked, or something.
And that's exactly what happened. From the Guardian:
Perhaps the most striking incident, though, was when far-right protesters charged past police who sought to hold them back from the Cenotaph. In this video, a man shouts “this is fucking our country” in celebration. Whereas the pro-Palestine march had been excluded from the area as a precaution, the far right was not; by overwhelming the police, they supposedly sought to defend the site from an enemy that simply wasn’t there.
(that's quite a good article of the whole thing, actually, I recommend giving it a read.)
Crucially to the clown show, though, several politicians and others accused Suella deVille of emboldening the far-right, which... well, several of the far-right protestors straight up said was the case on the day, so hard to disagree, really.
Rumours of a reshuffle in Whitehall circumnavigate the land so fast the truth gets sucked into a tornado and is declared MIA. Here's the thing! I've covered a few Cabinet reshuffles by now, Tumblrs, you know the drill. Reshuffles are always deniable until they actually happen – so if, say, a reshuffle was going to happen on Monday 13 November 2023, there’d be no need to publicise it in advance. That way, if things change and politics happen, you don't need to retract anything :)
Because, remember: reshuffles are always controversial. Yes, some people get demoted, and those people will often kick off, and some people who don't deserve it get promoted, and lots of people kick off. But the big thing is that a lot more people get overlooked for promotion.
His most ardent supporters would say that Rishi Sunak is a cautious man (if you'll allow me a moment to express my own view on the matter, Tumblrs, if you'll forgive this crumb of personal opinion amongst my otherwise impeccable journalling of greatest integrity, I once did a teambuilding task with my students where they had to build the best possible bridge out of uncooked spaghetti and pieces of marshmallow, and I personally would liken the structural integrity of his spine to the losing team's entry), and reshuffles will spread a lot of disappointment to Tory MPs who lose – or fail to gain – a cabinet position.
So, all in all... regardless of Suella's idiocy...
There's no guarantee of a reshuffle. Rumours are just that - whether they prove to be true or not remains to be seen.
Week Commencing Monday 13th November, 2023
New week, new challenges! And it's going to be a big week this week. On Wednesday (tomorrow, at time of writing), three big things are going to be announced, and these announcements will colour everything else this week:
One. The Supreme Court decide whether the government will be allowed to enact their plan to send some migrants claiming asylum in the UK to Rwanda, a signature Braverman plan that human rights campaigners (including many in Rwanda) have been trying to block for ages.
It’s a massive deal anyway – a flagship government idea that’s been bogged down in the court, and we’ll finally have an answer one way or another. For what it’s worth, the Tories aren’t confident about winning it, either. The optimists among them reckon it’s a 50/50 chance, the pessimists reckon it’s 70/30 against, so it's iffy at best.
But here's the thing!
Plenty of Tories have always disliked Suella. Others could handle the odd outburst she has, but can’t stomach the sheer number of them lately - the Lib Dem non-entity man was absolutely right that she is rapidly growing out of control and just does not know when to shut the entire fuck up.
Which means! If the Supreme Court allows the Rwanda plan, Braverman could become emboldened, like a far-right protest injuring police officers to defend the cenotaph from people who are nowhere near it and have no interest in it. Do we want an emboldened Braverman?? Well; no, obviously. I also don't want dysentery, or rotten meat, or a serial killer in my neighbourhood. But it's a question even Tories are asking themselves, which is notable.
Plus, even if the court allows it, there will still be months of planning, and lawyers might still prevent the plans in the long run... But psychologically, the issue is this: the government wants this win, but probably doesn’t benefit from Braverman feeling victorious.
Two. We’ll get inflation figures. The government promised to halve inflation, and it seems likely they’ve managed this. Expect them to massively celebrate this, to distract from the promises they haven’t kept e.g. waiting lists in England, competent governance, etc.
Three. Voting on a ceasefire in Israel seems likely for Wednesday. It’s the SNP’s idea, and it won’t affect government policy (they won’t support a ceasefire – they claim it’ll empower Hamas).
But it’s a big deal for Labour, even more so than the Tories. A Shadow minister has already resigned over the war. A bunch of frontbenchers want a ceasefire, but that isn’t Keir Starmer’s policy, a man who is calling for the colours of the Israel flag to be shown at sports matches to show that "we stand in solidarity with Israel", because you can really count on Starmer to fuck up everything he touches. So what do they do? Abstain? Claim they had a prior commitment?? We might see more resignations, basically. Big day for Starmer.
So! With all that in mind...
Monday
8.43am
Oh look. Timestamps are back. I wonder if that suggests anything?
Suella Braverman is sacked as Home Secretary.
But! Sunak is accused of waiting too long! Which he demonstrably did!
He should have made the decision after the illegal article that she shouldn't have written and triggered a far-right rally on fucking Armistice Day. Instead, remember that 'cautious' descriptor I talked about?? He waited until the tide had turned against her completely, and now looks like he (a) was too much of a useless wimp to fire her until he was sure people would still like him and pat his dick and tell him he's a Good PM, and (b) only fired her because he caved in to that appalling lefty liberal cabal that somehow these days includes the Metropolitan Police of all fucking people, and she'd have been able to stay otherwise.
Shout out to the best comment from Reddit:
u/nowonmai666: Doesn't she normally get sacked on a Friday so she can have the weekend off before being reappointed?
Anyway, that's the big risk now: Braverman’s supporters can claim she was only fired because Sunak caved in to the left.
8.56am
Tory MP Andrea Jenkyns claims Sunak only sacked Braverman because he caved in to the left.
9.00am
Neil O'Brian, Pharmacy Minister, quits to live out his stated dream of being a back-bencher with less power.
*sus*
9.09am
Nick Gibb, Schools Minister, quits to live out his stated dream of being more diplomatic, or something.
*sus*
9.42am
The Lib Dems decide to build on the success of their leader getting to be on telly for his one comment on Thursday and call for a general election. Says Ed Davey: “It was the Prime Minister’s sheer cowardice that kept her in the job even for this long. We are witnessing a broken party and a broken government, both of which are breaking this country.”
Good job! They're having such a good few days.
Anyway remember the Tories don’t have to have a general election until December 2024, though, thanks to the Fixed-term Parliaments Act (2011), which was passed by the coalition government of Tories and, um, Lib Dems. In which Ed Davey served for three years.
Hmm.
9.43am
James Cleverly (remember him?) returns to the Cabinet and is appointed Home Secretary. The party attempts to appear trendy by experimenting with emojis:
This appointment is probably because Tory strategists wanted him in a domestic role to help the party’s chances in the next election; as Surprising Political Pundit Nadine Dorries told us, of all fucking people, the race is now on to lead the opposition.
But hey, this is not likely to lead to any more changes -
10.03am
FORMER PRIME MINISTER, BREXIT-TRIGGERER AND PIG-FUCKER DAVID CAMERON BECOMES FOREIGN SECRETARY
!!!!!!!!!!!!
And look! Another emoji! They're so hip!
(Side note... the balls on this one are astounding, actually. The UK political system has been in chaos ever since Cameron, and he was the first domino. This is not a well-loved former hero that will be greeted warmly by the unwashed masses.)
Awkward though, since just last month Sunak claimed that we’d lived through “30 years of a political system that incentivizes the easy decision, not the right one.” It would be a terrible shame if a journalist was to ask David Cameron whether he agreed with the Prime Minister on that, given that Cameron’s job is to support the Prime Minister now.
Especially since Cameron took to Twitter last month to explicitly criticise Sunak for breaking the Tory promise to deliver High Speed 2.
(Cameron tweeted this criticism last month. Labour MP Angela Rayner however promptly retweets it now lol suck a dick Dave, but try a human one this time)
Also, fun fact, Cameron has just come out of a large-scale lobbying and corruption scandal. Given the state of Sunak, though, that's actually probably what got him the job.
BUT!!! Here's an even funner fact: the man is not an MP. He left politics after he accidentally triggered Brexit and then it came out he'd once face fucked a dead pig's head while it was held on the lap of another Tory; he's been living it up in the lucrative world of after-dinner speaking, as these people do.
So can you do that?? Can you hold a Cabinet position if no one at all has voted for you??
Yes, turns out.
Don't be alarmed by that, though:
But, convention holds that anyone who becomes a Cabinet member while not being an MP needs to be a Peer - that way, if they do bad and naughty things, they can't be held accountable by the House of Commons but they can be held accountable by the House of Lords. Only problem is, Hameron is not a lord...
10.13am
The reshuffle, bafflingly, continues. Jeremy Hunt will remain as chancellor.
For the first time since 2010, the top four positions in government – Prime Minister (Sunak), Chancellor of the Exchequer (Hunt), Home Secretary (Cleverly) and Foreign Secretary (Cameron) – are all held by men.
10.18am
Lots of people tweeting about the historic context of Cameron’s appointment. Here’s my favourite:
10.48am
David Cameron is given a life peerage, so his proper name now is Lord Piggledick.
10.52am
Health secretary Will Quince quits. He wasn’t planning to stand for re-election anyway though, so this one is probably not a shock. But it's important that no one else resi-
11.04am
Decarbonisation minister Jesse Norman resigns.
...
...
...
Time for a
✨Conspiracy Theory✨
Between Quince and Norman – as well as Neil O’Brien and Nick Gibb – we’re seeing several mid-ranking ministers resign, despite being generally regarded as fairly competent.
It’s possible they were fired in private, and they’re publicly resigning to save face. But here’s another theory.
MPs aren’t allowed to seek commercial employment for six months after resigning from the government.
So hypothetically, if you were going to lose your seat in a general election, you’d want to have resigned six months earlier so you can still get a job.
If that’s what these guys are doing, it suggests we’re on track for a May 2024 election...?
11.05am
11.12am
Remember Cameron's financial scandal? Quick background here: David Cameron was specifically vice-chair of a £1bn China-UK investment fund.
So let’s see what throwback former leader Iain Duncan Smith thinks of Cameron’s return:
“I am astonished at this appointment. It seems to send a signal to China that we are pursuing business with them at all costs and any costs. Those who have been sanctioned now feel more abandoned than at any time. Those facing genocide and persecution will feel more abandoned than at any time.”
I cannot believe I am about to say this.
But.
I agree with Iain Duncan Smith *spits on floor*
11.50am
Former Tory deputy prime minister Lord Heseltine is asked to sum up the return of Cameron, and says it’s the “clearest signal that the sort of right wing lurch that we’ve seen and the anti-European movement that we’ve seen has been put to bed, and that will get a message across to people”.
12.13pm
A Tory MP is worried that Cameron’s return will turn back the clock on Brexit and Johnson’s election.
“It is very alarming. I am predicting a softening on small boats, a softening on legal migration. I would not be surprised if the ban on conversion therapy returns.”
... Don’t threaten me with a good time.
Anyway, let’s see how the public actually sees Cameron compared with other PMs!
Yeah, not sure people will mind if Cameron’s not Boris Johnson.
12.43pm
ITV political editor Robert Peston walks past a minister of state. The minister’s on the phone, but takes a moment to heatedly shout at Peston, “The PM just sacked me!”
I guess some days are easier than others as a journalist
12.47pm
Therese Coffey resigns as environment secretary!!!!
*choirs of heavenly angels sing*
You'll remember her of course, Tumblrs - she was one of the thugs manhandling people into the 'right' voting lobbies to force their vote on the day of Liz Truss' fracking law. Rumour has it she still has the Whip handle in her ass.
A lot of people seem to be resigning today! But don't be fooled. In almost every case, it’ll be because they were told to resign. They’ve been sacked, but they resign to save face. A last mercy from their benevolent leader.
My guess: Tessie here is terrible at media skills, so – get rid of her before she hurts general election chances. This, too, is a pattern.
12.52pm
Rachel Maclean sacked as Housing Minister! Fun fact, numbers fans: it took Doctor Who 33 years to make it to eight Doctors, but since the 2019 election, the Tories managed eight Housing Ministers in just under 4 years
trololol
1.15pm
Jeremy Quin quits as Minister for the Cabinet Office.
1.37pm
Times Political Editor Steven Swinford reports that No 10 is struggling to find a new housing minister (owing to rumours the job is cursed). Several people have turned it down, including Jeremy Quin. It is incredible to me that they didn't line someone up before sacking the last guy.
Kemi Badenoch and Michael Gove are apparently unhappy that Rachel Maclean was removed from the role. I for one do not care about the opinions of Kemi Badenoch or Michael Gove.
2.04pm
Health Secretary Steve Barclay becomes Environment Secretary. This is effectively a demotion for him. It is our 5th Environment Secretary in four years. Chasing that Housing Minister record! It took 19 years for Doctor Who to have five Doctors
2.15pm
Richard Holden appointed new Conservative Party chairman.
A 2019-intake Tory MP, he led the charge against Sir Keir Starmer over Beergate, which did damage Starmer a bit (albeit not much, given that it turned out Starmer had complied with lockdown regs, and the accusation was nakedly to try and distract from Partygate). So this appointment looks like more strategy to win the next election - someone not known enough to be hated, with what passes in the modern Tory party for a proven track record.
This could be a sign that the Tories intend to at least try to shore up the Red Wall votes? As unlikely as the Tories are to keep those seats.
That said, Holden’s seat disappears in a boundary change next election, sooooo … we'll see what they do there.
2.24pm
Victoria Atkins appointed Health Secretary, replacing Steve Barclay who’s moved to Environment Secretary. She's a relative unknown but also considered actually competent. Massive middle finger to Steve Barclay
2.37pm
Laura Trott (formerly in pensions) promoted to Chief Secretary to the Treasury.
2.42pm
Science minister George Freeman resigns.
3.18pm
YouGov conducts a snap poll: is the appointment of David Cameron as Foreign Secretary a good decision or a bad decision?
Good decision: 24%
Bad decision: 38%
Don't know: 38%
So that's going well
3.24pm
Greg Hands is made a business minister after losing the Tory chairman role.
John Glen moves from chief secretary to the Treasury to become the Minister for the Cabinet Office and Paymaster General.
3.39pm
With Cameron being a Lord now, he’ll be based in the House of Lords rather than the Commons. The most recent Cabinet Minister to be based in the Lords was former Brexit minister Lord Frost, who did weigh in on the matter:
“[T]hough I was not running a whole Department too. I don’t think it works well to have a lead Cabinet Minister answering questions and defending their Department solely in the Lords. The Lords is not a fully party political environment - nor should it be - and voters are owed proper political scrutiny. In our system, that can only happen in the Commons.”
I cannot believe I am about to say this.
But.
I agree with Lord Frost *spits on floor*
The SNP had already called this out, with MP Stephen Flynn claiming, “The UK is not a serious country.”
4.21pm
Conservative MP Lee Rowley appointed the 16th housing minister in the past 13 years. Even counting David Tennant twice, that's more than all the Doctors Who we've ever had, and that took almost 60 years.
5.16pm
Sky News’s Tamara Cohen reports that Sunak sacked Braverman by phone this morning! Downing Street says there won’t be any exchange of letters between them - this is almost unheard of. Politics runs on paper trails! Everything happens through formal letters! By phone!
It means we’re denied insight into their differences. But Cohen reckons we’re likely to hear from Braverman on Wednesday, as the Supreme Court rules on the Rwanda scheme.
6.03pm
Tory MP Andrea Jenkyns, former Education Minister, submits no-confidence letter in Rishi Sunak.
It's almost like, in the absence of Dorries, she's decided that someone needs to step up and have a tantrum and that someone might as well be her. It is, actually, an extremely funny letter, as these letters go. Normally they're written with a sort of furious earnestness wrapped in formal language. I presume that Andrea Jenkyns MP, former Education Minister, was aiming for something similar, and the first paragraph manages it. But by the end you sort of start to wonder if this was supposed to be a letter she wrote with her therapist to get her feelings out:
My favourite line, when pulled in isolation, is "Yes Boris Johnson, the man who won the Conservative Party a massive majority, was unforgivable enough."
Yeah, Andrea babes. You're bang on there.
6.05pm
Esther McVey is appointed as Cabinet Office minister. Not a full cabinet member, but she will attend cabinet meetings.
This is notable: unlike a lot of today’s appointments, she’s on the right of the party. Her role will be to represent the government on TV and radio as much as possible, talking about gender/culture/British colonial history issues (i.e. she’s anti-woke and a screaming bigot).
In other words, with Braverman gone, McVey is an offering for the populist right of the party to try to appease them.
6.15pm
Sunak tweets about the new cabinet, claiming they’ll make “the right decisions for our great country, not the easy ones.” So it looks like that’s the new slogan, and we're pressing on with austerity
6.27pm
Tim Loughton, a Tory MP on the “One Nation” wing (i.e the David Cameron side) responds to Andrea Jenkyns’s letter of no-confidence by tweeting:
“Where can we submit a letter of no confidence in the Pantomime Dame?”
(It’s Andrea he’s publicly referring to as a pantomime dame there. A lil joke from the Tories for you)
6.31pm
Paul Scully sacked as minister for London. Didn't know that one was a position.
9.43pm
Sunak says that only a two-state solution will allow a new future for Israel/Palestine. This is, um, not what the Prime Minister of Israel wants. Who knows whether the Prime Minister of Israel will survive this crisis anyway – but these are big words from Sunak. Cameron’s influence? Maybe? Interesting either way
10.03pm
And then - PLOT TWIST!!!
According to ITV political editor Robert Peston, a senior government source reveals that Cameron was approached on TUESDAY.
Which means plans were underway to get rid of Braverman not only before the far-right violence on Saturday, but before her anti-police article on Wednesday. It seems she lost her job not because of what she said about police after all; but because she claimed homelessness was a lifestyle choice.
Well well.
11.05pm
And the day finishes with Andrea Leadsom back in government (as Under Secretary of State for Health and Social Care) which nobody saw coming! Pretty demeaning to the other 300 Tory MPs who could have been given this.
The final response from numerous Tories: they are feeling jilted and insulted because David Cameron being brought back when he's NOT EVEN AN MP, RISHI suggests that they themselves are not good enough to be in government.
No one tell them
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"I LOVE YOU!" - "STOP SAYING THAT!" — LYNEY
sometimes lyney forgets he's not supposed to fall in love with you. wc. 800
・✶ ｡ warnings — friends with benefits, saying i love you during sex, fem! reader
"does, fuck— does that feel good?" lyney swallows a deep groan before grinding his hips into you, bending you in half as he pounds into you harder, resulting in you wincing out his name through a slacked jaw as your body overflows with excitement.
you smile a little before wrapping your arms around him, "yeah, d-don't stop," and you're beyond impressed by how easy it was for lyney to target your sweet spots like he's crafted them himself— as if he was the only reason they were there in the first place.
he angles his hips specifically to rut against them, and makes sure to alternate between fucking you hard and fast but also deep and slow to tempt you on purpose, spurring you on.
truthfully, his ability was undeniably breathtaking.
his face burns in your neck when he traps your skin in between his lips to suckle a hickey on the flesh, making sure he's always languidly thrusting into your heat— and you just feel so fucking good when you batter him with your cunt like that, squeeze down on his cock to make him whine out your name in candid mewls, so dearly that he's close to finishing inside of you.
"t-that's what i wanna hear," he grunts through rolled hips, his erection achingly hard and throbbing and ready to blow his loud into you that he's turning desperate, desperate to cum— lyney just wants this so badly right now, fuck, he needs you, okay? yearns to finally push deep into your walls and fuck you through his warm cum.
never have you been fucked just like that before— and it was thrilling, but it urges lyney to give you even more.
you always take him so well, bounce that pretty cunt back and forth his cock until you're making him thrust into you faster, better, desperately when you grip him tightly in your walls.
"archons— i love you," he whines out loudly, "just —love how you feel, just fucking love you s'much, baby,"
hold on, "w-wait, what?" you clumsily talk through a moan, but it's more of a yelp if you're being honest— and lyney seems to suddenly realize that he has just ruined this entire night for the both of you.
"what did you say?!" his noises hitch in his throat as you softly push him off your body, "lyney! answer me,"
your eyes were open in straight disbelief and terror— it's as if someone just told you the most horrifying horror-story in existence, although you were still engulfed in liquid bliss and fought the quivers of your body, you sought out his eyes and met his unfocused, slightly embarrassed gaze, his cock now completely stilled inside of you.
"I-i didn't say anything!" he panics, then whines as he slowly slides inch by inch out of your warmth, his shaft still hard and leaking, "ugh, i mean," he adds nervously and averts his gaze, "i-it's not that i love you! i mean, hm, you're great, like, only a fool wouldn't love you, right?"
in this moment in time, lyney would honestly claim anything in order for you to please just forget the last two minutes of this night.
"hey, i mean, i love this!" he swiftly points to your lower regions,
"doing this, with you! hey! don't give me that silly expression! i swear, i didn't mean you as in loving you!"
"you're not supposed to say that, lyney," you exhaustingly slant back into the disheveled pillows, "it turns things more complicated and we won't be able to continue this,"
you feel his chest rumble with an awkward chuckle as he nervously drops next to you, reaching over for a blanket to cover your naked bodies.
"yeah.." you're both still exhausted, breathing loudly from the sensitivity and the pent up stimulation forcibly exiting your bodies, the built up bubble in your stomach slowly dissolving into clear nothingness.
"this will have to be a secret," lyney continues, "between us,"
"lets pretend this never happened," you retort back almost immediately, in fact, there was nothing in this world that would make you forget this, but you could at least pretend its never happened.
after this, you're not really sure on how you're supposed to just forget this occurred and if he meant it with his whole heart— neither does lyney know how to continue living after embarrassing himself in front of the person he fell in love with, much more pretend he doesn't harbor those feelings for you in the first place while fucking your brains out next time.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#lyney x reader#lyney smut#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#lyney x you
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