#AVERAGE LIKE STRIKE UP OF CONVERSATION

[griffonsgrove]

Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday. 

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s. 

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked. 

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

[sgt-tombstone]

do you think the recruits make chuck norris type jokes about the 141?

lieutenant riley doesn't go hunting, because hunting implies the possibility of being unsuccessful. lieutenant riley goes killing.

one time sergeant mactavish threw a grenade and killed five enemies. and then it exploded.

sergeant garrick sleeps with a pillow under his gun.

captain price has a bear rug in his room. it's not dead, just scared like the rest of us.

oh my god, 100% yes

Everyone thinks it started with Ghost, but Price was the original hardcore spooky bastard (in a very Chuck Norris kind of way), especially after he got promoted to captain. All of the rookies who made those kind of jokes are gone now, though, so he hasn't heard a Norris joke in a while

Enter Simon Riley.

It starts out kinda small, just an exaggerated rumor every now and then (he wears a skull mask; no matter how terrifying he is, people are going to talk), but then someone brings back Ye Olde Chuck Norris Joke, just one, and the entire mess hall lights up

Everyone is SO CAREFUL not to let Ghost hear about it, especially not the rookie who originally brought it up. By the end of the week, every rookie on base is whispering them and giggling about it. They've gotten more and more outlandish, as jokes do, and because none of the 141 do themselves any favors, especially when they step off the plane from their most recent op covered head to toe in blood, guns little more than mangled pieces of metal, their gear nearly in tatters, but they're all smiling and laughing like they're out for a day at a theme park

Price loves it. It reminds him of his younger days, before he got strapped with so much desk duty, when he really struck fear in the hearts of friends and enemies alike. He's always been the monster in the dark for terrorists, but his years have softened him around allies. Hearing the rookies whisper wild jokes back and forth is incredibly nostalgic and very affirming for him

Gaz and Soap? They're in on it, 100%. They both heard about it almost immediately after it happened and all it took was a shared glance to decide to feed the flames. Whenever they have babysitting rookie training duty, they'll drop little tidbits of "lore", most of it fake but some of it true. They don't have to stretch the truth too much because they know the lunch break gossip the next day will have blown everything out of proportion anyway. Whenever they hear a rookie go, "well, I heard...", they'll always pipe up with, "that's not how it happened, here's what really happened..." and the rookies fall for it every time. They have a shared note where they keep their favorite jokes they hear around base

Ghost hates it. He's used to striking enough fear into the hearts of rookies that they stay approximately forty-seven feet away from him at all times because the very sight of him has them shaking in their boots, but as the jokes grew more bizarre, the fear has been replaced with amusement. It's an awed sort of amusement, but still. Every time he hears a rookie giggle behind his back, he can't help but feel a bit mocked. It's fine when he calls himself nothing but a tool in the army's hand, and he's gotten used to (and comfortable with) being seen as nothing more than a walking weapon, but there are enough true stories about him to garner fear and awe; he doesn't need people making up lies.

It all comes to a head when a rookie starts talking a little too loudly, probably unaware that Ghost is even in the room. It's something stupid, so stupid that it's not even funny, but then Soap butts into the conversation, and Ghost tenses. They meet each other's eyes and Soap keeps direct eye contact as he smirks and says, "In an average living room there are a thousand objects Ghost could use to kill you, including the room itself."

Which is, objectively, true. But there's a glint in Soap's eye, the sort of mischievousness that Ghost loves so much, and he realizes that Soap just gave him the perfect opportunity. Like bait in a perfectly hidden trap. Ghost steps close to the back of the unsuspecting rookie, surrounded by a gaggle of even more unsuspecting rookies, and leans down to whisper in his ear.

"And I'll use every last one of them on you if I ever hear another joke on base, Private."

God, he hopes he isn't a corporal.

Apparently he isn't because the man jumps almost two feet in the air, a choked-off scream escaping his lungs as he whips around to find Ghost standing far too close for comfort, staring him dead in the eyes.

"Me, sir?" He stutters out, and Ghost almost smiles at the fear in his voice. The other rookies shoot to their feet as well, already edging towards the exit but unwilling to take their eyes (or ears) off of the conversation.

"Yes, you," Ghost rumbles, deep and dangerous. "If I hear anyone make a Ghost joke, I will hunt you down and show you why they call me The Ghost."

The poor soldier stammers out an affirmative, or maybe an apology, but he and his friends are out the door before Ghost can really parse out the words, and then it's just him and Soap. Soap, who's grinning like a lottery winner, eyes ablaze.

"That was hot, sir."

"You're fucked up, MacTavish," Ghost grumbles, but he can't keep the smile off his face. Maybe he could have some fun with the 141 jokes after all...

[raguiras]

TWST Olympics AU #1

Part 1: Heartshackle trio designs!

Reblogs are hella appreciated!! I'm likely shadowbanned 😭

As the Olympic Games are officially starting in a week, I decided to finally sketch some of the designs for my Twisted Wonderland Olympics AU! Next up are Riddle, Trey and Cater.

Everything about the AU below!

AU rules

Feel free to add your own OCs to this AU!

Fan content is obviously allowed! Just tag me in it, please.

AU summary

This is a magicless AU where all of the TWST characters are Olympic athletes in the real world. Some win medals, some barely qualify — but all of them live in the Olympic village. The students are aged up here (usually early to late twenties) while the faculty members have no set age and work as sports reporters.

♤ Character introductions ♤

ACE TRAPPOLA — A 21-year-old Italian prodigy basketball player. He's considered to be his team's ace (pun intended) and is great at tricking his opponents, making tons of baskets for the Italian team, and efficiently assisting his teammates.

DEUCE SPADE — A 21-year-old Japanese track and field athlete competing in various smaller disciplines falling under the "track and field" term. He's extremely average at most things other than sprints, often ends up in the bottom 3, and is secretly incredibly insecure about not being the best at anything.

ALLEN ALAGONA (YUU) — A 21-year-old Japanese-Italian gold-winning figure skater competing for his current home country, Ireland, along with his best friend and sports partner Alcestris. He gave up on his original dream — becoming a musician — and is now working hard to be the best male figure skater in the world, hoping to kickstart a career as a musician later on.

♤ Relationships ♤

ACE & DEUCE — Their friendship originally started when Ace posted a picture of himself watching a sprint competition while Deuce made a grimace in the background, causing the photo to go viral and become a meme. Deuce originally DMed Ace to take the picture down and got teased for it, but this teasing slowly developed into a friendship. While they get along well, Deuce is secretly a bit jealous of Ace for pretty much being a prodigy.

ACE & ALLEN (YUU) — Ace is a fan of Allen and views him as a fellow gold medalist. Being open-minded and "eager" to make new connections, Ace simply DMed Allen one day and the two became unlikely friends. Nowadays, Ace also functions as a matchmaker, being the only person to know just how much Deuce likes Allen...

DEUCE & ALLEN (YUU) — Deuce knows Allen as the most famous figure skater in the world and is absolutely stunned by both his appearance and humbleness. The two accidentally meet at a coffee shop during the games one day, decide to have a drink together, and strike up a conversation. Deuce is fanboying on the inside and trying to hide his surprise that Allen genuinely recognizes such an average athlete as him. Allen, however, already knows Deuce due to closely following all Japanese competitions, and has also noticed how incredibly ambitious Deuce is. Knowing Deuce's pain of carrying other people's hopes and never being the best at anything all too well from his teen years, Allen wants to get to know him better... and what starts off as mutual admiration and a celebrity crush on Deuce's side develops into full-blown love.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

If this post/AU ends up being well-received, I'll introduce Riddle, Trey and Cater next!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

More about the Deuce x Allen ship in the canon lore:

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

Friends who participated in the original AU development some months ago 🫶

@althea-and-alcestris @miss-atena @vanrouge13 @spookyavenuestreet @heyhellohihowareyou @nyx-of-night

[mixsethaddams]

Eddie and Steve were sitting on the back porch of the little two bedroom house that Owens and his merry band of government lackies gave to the Munsons in exchange for signed NDAs.

It was getting late and Steve knows he should go home, but Eddie keeps finding new conversations to strike up and it just feels too natural to keep responding. Getting up and announcing he was going home would be downright rude. The deckchair he was lounging in was confortable too, so it just made more sense to stay.

Eddie passed Steve the joint they had been nursing between them. Steve had lost track of what they were talking about a long time ago. He was too caught up in the low rumble of Eddie’s voice, quiet enough to make it feel like they were sharing secrets even if they were all alone with nothing scandalous to say. It didn’t matter what Eddie was saying. Steve was happy to just listen. The subtle fizz of the weed spread across his skin as he leaned his head back and enjoyed the light breeze that cut through the warm night.

Today was the same as every other day.

Steve woke up, showered, picked Robin up for work, and then spent eight hours rewinding tapes. He listened to her go on and on about her latest discovery of why Vickie was the perfect person, adding commentary where needed. Steve was happy for her, he was. He just wished she wasn’t so distracted. Not today.

And then he ferried Mike to Dustin’s, Will to the hospital to visit Max, brought Lucas home from the hospital so he could shower and then right back over again. He was barely through the door when Eddie called and asked how his day was, insisting Steve come over to hang out when he heard it was just ‘fine, average, nothing special’.

Steve had wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch with a terrible tv movie in the background. There was something about Eddie, though. Something in the way he moved, the way he said Steve’s name and dragged his teeth along his bottom lip over the V sound. The thoughts of staring at the stars with Eddie might just be the one thing that could redeem today. Even if no one else would understand.

Steve arrived thirty seconds before two large pizzas, courtesy of one of Argyle’s buddies in the business. They each had all Steve’s favourite toppings. Which was weird because Eddie definitely didn’t like olives or pineapple. Steve had a cold beer in one hand and hot slice in the other before he even said ‘hello’.

If there was any way Steve wanted to spend the final hours of today, it was with Eddie. He knew why, of course. He bit his tongue every time he got close to saying it out loud, but he knew exactly what that something was.

“And I figured hey, if it means I don’t have to sell weed to highschoolers anymore, then why not, you know?”

Steve’s brain took a second to catch up to Eddie’s train of thought about his new job. He was going to be working in a garage with Reefer Rick’s nephew.

“Totally,” said Steve, sipping the mostly empty bottle in his hand, the liquid warmed by being held so long. “I bet you’ll be great at it too,”

“Yeah well,” said Eddie, quirking his eyebrows. “I hope so,”

They fell into silence again and Steve started to think it might not be rude to leave any more. The joint was down to the nub, the beer was gone, and Eddie’s eyelids were looking heavy.

“I should, uh…” said Steve, shifting his weight on the chair to stand up.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” asked Eddie, looking up at the moon. Steve could see its reflection in his eyes.

Steve stopped.

“Tell who?” he asked. “Tell them what?”

Eddie sighed.

“It’s your birthday, man…” breathed Eddie. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Oh…” said Steve. He could feel his face heat up. “I don’t… I guess its not a big deal for me… Not for years…”

Eddie nodded solemnly.

“You’re too good for us, Harrington,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “I saw what you did for Robin’s birthday. Did she remember, at least?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He knew he’d probably get a frantic apology and a card tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was going to hold it against her.

“Pizza and beer isn’t exactly the five star treatment you deserve,” said Eddie. “Hope it’s enough to, you know, make today not suck entirely,”

Eddie waved his hand around in a circle, as if gesturing to the very day itself.

“This actually might be the best end to a birthday I’ve ever had,” admitted Steve. “So, you know, thanks. For doing this for me, I mean,”

“Thanks for eating all the olives,” joked Eddie, draining his beer bottle. “Besides, any excuse to hang out with you, I’ll take it,”

“Yeah?” asked Steve, his voice smaller than he expected.

“Yeah,” answered Eddie gently. “I like being with you,”

Steve’s stomach lurched. He followed Eddie’s gaze to the moon. She was beautiful tonight and Steve felt safe the cool glow she cast over them.

“How did you know?” asked Steve, playing with the hem of his sweater. “Or like, care?”

“Saw it on your license a whole back,” Eddie answered, lighting two cigarettes at once and handing one to Steve. “And I cared because… Because I care. I didn’t want you to be sad on your birthday,”

“Oh,” said Steve meekly. “I’m not sad. Not now. I’m happy now, so it worked,”

Steve took the offering of the cigarette and sat back in his chair, looking at his hand and the subtle hint of ‘don’t go’.

“Did you have a birthday wish?” asked Eddie, holding up the still-lit match. It was burning quickly down towards his fingertips.

“Just one…” said Steve slowly, looking through the flame at Eddie.

“A person?” asked Eddie.

Steve gulped, and nodded.

“So make it,” Eddie said. “Don’t tell me, or it won’t come true,”

Steve blew out the flame, still gazing into brown eyes, watching them turn black when the light was gone.

Eddie’s watch beeped. It was midnight.

“Didn’t come true,” said Steve sadly, his eyes still fixed on the point where Eddie had been holding the match between them.

“Give it time…” said Eddie softly.

Steve took a long drag of his cigarette and wondered if this is what every night would be like. If his wish came true and he got exactly what he wanted, would he sit out here and smoke and stare at the stars and listen to Eddie talk every night? Was he allowed to have that?

“I wished for the person that makes me happy,” said Steve, not looking over at Eddie but feeling bolstered by weed and boldened by beer.

“It won’t come true now,” teased Eddie, his voice low.

“Even if I tell them?” asked Steve, turning to look at Eddie. He looked into Eddie’s eyes again and thought of all the things he wanted to say. He felt something shift between them when Eddie didn’t look away.

“I made a wish on my birthday too,” said Eddie. “That didn’t come true either,”

“What did you wish for?” asked Steve.

Eddie’s arm flopped between their chairs, his cigarette burning steadily between his fingers.

“To make someone happy,” he said.

“Like…” whispered Steve.

Steve slowly moved his hand so it brushed against Eddie’s, the backs of their fingers rubbing together. Steve hooked Eddie’s pinkie with his own. Eddie looked at their hands and smiled gently.

“Yeah,” said Eddie quietly.

Steve hummed.

“Guess I just needed to wish for it too,” said Steve.

[retroaria]

hiiii >.< i saw ur event and RAN to make a request... could i request the dialogue “I do love you, you know…even if i’m shit at showing it.” with rinnie (i wouldve chosen him even if u didnt ask for it because it fits him SO well and i love him dearly) with a fem reader?? i hope i understood everything right and thank u in advance!!!!! take care (⁠ ⁠/⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠)⁠/⁠♪⁠♪

yaaaay rin brainrot!!! thank you sm for requesting!! :)

⋆.˚⟡ Rin Itoshi x fem!reader ⋆.˚⟡

a/n: so many people requested this one! this is very soft and fluffy, i hope you all enjoy :)

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

“Do I remind him? I feel like I shouldn’t have to but I also feel like he just isn’t the type to care about superficial things so maybe I should just-” you were cut off by a rather striking groan on the other end of the line.

“For the love of god, just tell him! He probably doesn’t even know it’s something you’d get so worked up about.” your best friend protested to you over the phone. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? If he feels bad then good, he should be a better boyfriend. And if he gets mad then RUN!”

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic, neither of those will happen. We’re both off today so I’m not gonna say anything, I just want to enjoy my day with him and not make it a big deal.” you sighed out, trying to be content despite the subtle stab to your heart. “I’ll text you later ok? Byeee!”

As soon as you hung up the phone you found yourself prancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, your eyes falling on the subtly slouched figure of your boyfriend standing over the kitchen counter. He was making a smoothie as he does every morning - strawberry, banana, protein powder - average boring Rin activities, unfortunately not appropriate for today’s occasion.

You’ve skillfully avoided much interaction with him since you both got out of bed, and at this moment you realized you aren’t sure if you could enter a normal conversation with him in your frantic state. Instead of blurting out the first thing that came to your mind which was, “TODAY IS KIND OF OUR ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AND YOU TOTALLY HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT SO I FEEL LIKE MAYBE YOU HATE ME!”, you decided to go with something casual, so you say, “Mmm, protein powder”

“What…?” Rin turns around to face you and raises his eyebrow at you, looking more concerned than confused. It quickly dawned upon you that you were in fact not looking or sounding cool, calm and collected right now.

“It uh…looks like a yummy smoothie!” you hoped deep down that your girlish charms could save you from deepening the awkwardness of an awkward situation with the most awkward guy you know. You twirl around on your feet a bit with your hands behind your back, flashing him a warm smile.

“Are you having a stroke?” Rin asks, and he’s being fully serious by the way. Was everything impossible with this guy? You begin to ask yourself how you’ve managed to survive a full year of his cluelessness, but then you remember you should probably respond before he actually thinks you’re having a stroke.

“No Rin I’m not having a stroke I'm just trying to start a conversation, jeez.” you snap at him with an attitude that must’ve come from the punch of him not falling for your attempt at cute girlie gestures. Rin sighs and turns his attention back to the blender. Great, now you’re sitting in the kitchen with him in silence except the blender is obnoxiously loud which somehow makes it all the more awkward. Finally it stops and he pours the smoothie out into two cups, setting one down on the table in front of you as he leans back against the counter with his in hand.

Two cups? He never does that. Is this his way of showing he remembered? Is this one of many sweet little gestures he’ll deliver to you throughout the day before the big anniversary surprise? Your wishful thinking is practically bulldozed as Rin opens his mouth.

“There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me.” he states, his deadpan expression felt like it was slicing you up into little pieces. Rin knew you well enough to know that you were holding out on him, and he was having a silent little panic attack of his own at the moment.

“Nope! Nothing, what could possibly be wrong?” you said nervously. A part of you knew that you could hide your feelings better than this, but the thought that he might pickup on your feelings and somehow read your mind kept you on your toes.

“Was I supposed to take you somewhere today?” he asks, tilting his head at you slightly.

“Like I said, it’s nothing!” you chuckle, it’s a weird chuckle though, definitely not soothing Rin’s worries at all.

He flashes you an odd look, his eyes are narrowed and he’s pouting slightly, almost like he literally is trying to read your mind. He chugs the rest of his smoothie and makes his way over to you. His expression turns back to his usual plain face and he lifts your chin slightly before placing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m going to the gym ok? I’ll be back in a few hours and then we can hang out, I promise.” he coos at you before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

He left before giving you anymore time to embarrass yourself with your incomprehensible ramblings - he’s a smart boy. That sweet moment coupled with the promise of quality time together was almost enough to make you forget whatever grudge you were holding against him. However, it wasn’t enough to fight off how shitty it feels to not have your boyfriend there on your anniversary.

You spent the next two hours frantically preparing yourself for Rin’s return. Rin spent the next two hours not going to the gym and driving around aimlessly because he totally lied about that as an excuse to think of a way to make it up to you. While he was blending his smoothie before, he let his eyes wander to the calendar you had hanging on your fridge door - today’s date was highlighted with little green heart. The pieces clicked in his head rather quickly, and instead of speaking up and saving you from your nervous ramblings, he took the opportunity to think up a surprise.

Rin is awful at surprises, not to mention he also isn’t the most creative guy. He ultimately decided it was pointless for him to think so hard about it when he could just go home and apologize. He swallowed his pride and stopped at a flower shop before making his way back, after all, who better to help him decide how the day should be spent than his partner in crime - you!

By the time you heard the front door of your apartment open you were barely half dressed and still losing your mind a bit. Somehow Rin’s two hour gym session turned into forty five minutes and your anxiety was at an all time high. You threw on the closest pieces of clothing you could find and walked out of your bedroom to see him standing in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers and a rather pouty look on his face.

“Hey…so uh, I saw the calendar before…I know I kind of forgot about our anniversary…and uh…I'm really sorry.” he said as he held the bouquet out towards you. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. You took the flowers from his hands and let out a sigh of relief.

“I was so worried all morning you wouldn’t remember.” you said as you smelled the flowers with a content smile on your face.

“I was so worried you were going to kill me for forgetting.” Rin looked down at you, his pout still lingering as he relaxed a bit, seeing you weren’t so upset with him. “This is just the first year you know, I’ll have like fifty more chances to remember after this.” he chuckled.

“You think we’ll be together for that long?” your eyes widened and you beamed up at him.

“probably.” he said slyly, taking the bouquet from your hands and setting it on the table. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him, his hands moving up to cup your face softly. “I do love you, you know…even if I'm shit at showing it.”

“I know, I love you too.” you cooed at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tender kiss.

dividers by: @toastray

[i-wanna-write]

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine x Reader Fic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1

Chapter Warnings: violence, cussing, lewd comments/thoughts, reader is described as female

Word Count: 3k+

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The day you met Victor and James changed your life. You immediately left Montana, not wanting the psycho and his brother to follow you and cause more trouble. You ettled in another secluded cabin, this time in the words of northern Alberta, Canada. You wanted to put distance between yourself and that run in.

After that run in, you went from encountering two mutants for the first time in over 50 years, to five in the month it took you to find a secluded cabin. You may have killed two out of the five you encountered.

It wasn’t your fault though. One was able to phase through walls and proceeded to do so through your motel room and into your bathroom while you were taking a shower. The man tried to have his way with you but your claws quickly castrated him before he had the chance, followed by a quick slice to his throat.

The other was a woman who was able to will someone to do anything she wanted. All she had to do was meet another's gaze and they were basically her puppet. She spotted you at a gas station and attempted to strike up a conversion before you made eye contact and told her to fuck off.

That’s when she got a hold of you and had you rob the gas station. Unlucky for her, it wore off once you handed the money over to her and you were quick to slice her throat with your claws.

For some reason that was usually your method of death. It was more poetic than ripping someone’s throat out. It also was something an average human could easily do with a knife, allowing police to never guess a mutant was the assailant.

You finally reached Alberta and were able to settle down into a small cabin that was a studio with a small bathroom situated, having just a tub and a toilet. You weren’t picky though, happy to just be alone again after a month of travel through towns and civilization.

Your days consisted of reading or hunting in the woods, sometimes venturing to the nearest town to acquire some food or more reading materials. And alcohol. You always needed to have beer and whiskey wherever you lived.

You enjoyed the silence when you were alone. How on mornings, you'd drink a coffee and read outside, watching the sunset and listening to the birds become awake. It was nice, no instinct to kill someone or being overwhelmed with scents to ruin your day.

Until that instinct came back in full force.

One minute you were seated on your dilapidated couch at night, eating a rabbit you just caught, skinned, and gutted, the next you were standing, alert with all senses. Your claws were elongated, teeth on full display.

Having been in this cabin for a year, you were used to all sounds around it. The sound of a family of foxes scurrying back to their home. The sound of the occasional bear walking by insearch of the foxes. The sound of the vultures circling over a dead carcass.

You never heard the sound of gunshots.

Following it was silence. No longer were the animals running around, the birds flying high. The only sound was your own breath and heartbeat for a moment.

Then you heard it. A roar so loud, you were surprised it didn’t shake your house. You immediately rush out your door, the fresh air filled with the smell of copper. Of blood.

You let your nose lead you, running a mile before you were able to make out two silhouettes in the dark. One was couching over something, the other a few feet away, leaning against a tree with their hand on their chest. You took a breath in, their scents hitting your nose.

“Fucking great.” You mumble to yourself, a few feet away from the pair.

Thanks to their mutations though, they heard it.

You watch as both of their gazes shoot your way.

“Well, look who it is.” The one crouching says, coming to raise. “Fancy meeting you here, huh frail?”

You roll your eyes, taking Victor in. He looks exactly the same as a year ago. Hair just as short, stubble still on his face. His canines are showing as he smiles and you watch as his clawed hand, which you now notice has blood on it, raises to his mouth and he licks it clean.

You grimace slightly, never relishing in the taste of blood. You turn your gaze to see James is still with him, leaning against a tree with an aggravated look on his face and holes in his jacket. You notice the holes are consistent with the amount of gunshots you heard.

“You okay?” You ask James, walking slightly closer to him as your eyes are finally adjusted to the dark.

“”M fine Bub.” He gives a curt nod of his head and you stare at him a moment, noticing that his hair has grown in the past year. It still curls around his ears and to the nape of his neck but now the tufts on the sides of his head are slightly longer. While it is a weird hairstyle, you silently think he pulls it off well.

You turn back to see Victor watching you, although this time in annoyance rather than distrust. You think he’s probably a little butthurt you broke his arm and tore out his throat.

You look down at the body before him, noticing claw marks on his torso and blood soaked in his clothes. The man appears to be in his early sixties, slightly overweight and balding. A gun is thrown to the side and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

You sigh, starting to walk towards your cabin before turning to look at the men, an eyebrow raised.

“You assholes coming or what?”

You turn back around and continue on your way, listening as the two of them begin to follow.

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You lead the other two mutants into your small cabin, none of you saying a word on the mile walk to it. You open the door for the men to enter, observing how they look around and know there's not much they'll see.

“Take us back here so you can have your way with us, frail?” Victor asks, turning from his spot behind your couch to look at you, smiling with his canines.

“Actually, so I can rip your throat out again.” You smile back, all canines.

Victor's smile falls from his face to annoyance, pride filling you. James' lips quirk up in a grin before being replaced with his usual brooding expression. It happened so fast you almost think you imagined it.

“I don’t like you.” You start, pointing at James. “And I certainly hate you.” You add, now pointing at Victor. “But odds are that hunter would’ve found me and I probably would’ve been the one to kill him so,” you shrug this time, ending it at that for your explanation.

“Awe, you going sweet on us frail?” Victor asks almost mockingly.

You just shoot him a smile back, not wanting to play into his taunts. You walk over towards the bathroom, opening the door.

“Only a tub but gets the work done if you want to wash the blood of ya.” You say to James, making eye contact with his deep brown eyes. “I was in the middle of my dinner but will go hunt another few rabbits. You touch any of my shit, you’d wish I only ripped out your throat.” You pointedly look at Victor.

You make your way from the opened bathroom door, walking past a thinking Victor. You pass James who is leaning against the kitchen counter and back to observing your small space. You’re about to make contact with the door handle before Victor’s voice cuts you off.

“What kinda man am I if I let a frail do the huntin’.” He says, walking back over to you.

You quickly glance down at his crotch, enough to make it obvious, before looking back to him. “Don’t think you’re much of a man to begin with.”

Victor growls, hand reaching out to strike you before James intervenes. You didn’t even notice, he reached you so fast. He now stands between you and his brother, his back to you. He’s so close your senses are filled with smoke from a cigar, a hint of whiskey, and his own blood. It’s amazing what your mutations do, sliding bullets out and healing as if they never happened.

Victor and James share a look, as if silently communicating before Victor leans into the taller man's ear. “If you wanted her that bad, just had to say so, Runt.”

Victor moves past the both of you, opening your front door and slamming it shut. James walks away from you, heading back towards the kitchenette. He opens a cupboard, as if knowing what’s in there, and grabbing one of your bottles of whiskey.

He doesn’t grab a glass, just opening the bottle and taking a swig. You sigh, walking over to the man, and lean against the counter next to him, though not close enough to touch.

“He always a misogynistic asshole?” You question, taking the bottle from James hand and gulping some down yourself.

The rims taste like him, a lingering taste of tobacco and mint. Your mind starts to wonder if the taste would intensify if his mouth was against yours but quickly shakes your thoughts.

James lets out a snort, grabbing the whiskey back. “Only around women.”

You snort at that, finding it funny how opposite the two brothers are. One barely speaks, the other enjoys his own voice too much. One is short, the other tall. One seems to enjoy the kill, playing into his instincts, the other fighting against them at every moment.

“Since you’ve probably gathered how I spend my years, roaming place to place, how do you and Victor?” You question after a few minutes, trying to learn more about them.

You’re met with silence and not surprised. It was bordering a personal question and you had to guess James wouldn’t be privy to answer it. You just let the silence take over again, going back to your thoughts.

“War.” James finally says.

“Hmm?” You question, turning to look at him in wonder.

“You asked how we spend our years, war.” James says.

You feel like an idiot for a moment but don’t let it show, quickly asking another question. “What type of wars?”

James sighs, turning to look at you as well to meet your E/C eyes. “Fought in World War 1, fought in World War 2. Now we just roam like you. Sometimes come across a mutant and Victor will take them out.”

“So that’s what he wanted with me.” You conclude.

“Among other things.” James reveals, eyes trailing down your body, as if realizing you’re not dressed like a boy as you were when you first met.

You immediately look away, suddenly feeling the intensity of it all and noticing how close the two of you have gotten. You’ve known this guy, what, three hours total? What’s wrong with you? You clear your throat, grabbing the whiskey and swallowing before speaking.

“Well, if you need to clean up. Help yourself.” You say, gesturing to the bathroom.

James takes that as the conversion is over and nods. You watch as he pushes off the counter and walks towards the bathroom. The door shuts and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Running a hand through your hair, you walk over to your couch, picking up your previous discarded dinner and throwing it away. You hear the tub turn on and try to ignore the naked man in the room so close. You wash the dish and head back to the couch, grabbing your nearest book and diving in to distract yourself.

You’re brought out of the chapter you’re reading thirty minutes later when the bathroom door opens, James standing in the doorway in nothing but his jeans. You swallow, feeling your heart raise. If you thought he was huge in his shirt, he appears larger without it.

His pecs are defined, as are his abs, showing off his muscular build. His chest is lined with hair, traveling down his stomach to the waist line of his pants. You imagine that if he were to take them off, it would continue down.

Your observable gaze catches James and you realize he just caught you ogling. You blush slightly, turning away in embarrassment. You’ve seen shirtless men before. Hell you’ve seen naked men and lied with them. But none of them compared to James and that is just with him without his shirt.

Your front door suddenly bursts open and you raise, teeth bared and claws grown. You hear a schlit and look over to see James in an attack stance, his own mutation on full display. That’s when you finally get a good view of part of his mutation. Out of his knuckles are three, one foot bone like claws on either hand.

‘So that's what he sliced me with.’ You think to yourself, wondering if they hurt when they exited him.

“Am I interrupting something?” Victor's voice drawls, your gaze traveling back to see the man with the door closed behind him.

Despite having gone hunting, he’s surprisingly clean. He holds three gutted and skinned decently sized rabbits in his right hand. You retract your claws and teeth, James doing the same.

“We’re just discussing why it was taking you so long.” James bites at him.

Seems like the more comfortable he grew in your presence, the more of a backbone James seemed to grow towards his brother. The older man just rolled his eyes, walking over to the table and putting the rabbits down.

“Time to get cooking frail.” Victor says to you.

He walks over to you, side stepping to take a seat on your couch. He brings his legs up onto the coffee table, boots still on, and crosses his ankles. You watch as he folds his hands on his lap, claws still drawn and gaze on you.

“Ain’t your mother.” You retort, smiling mockingly.

“We’re your guests, where's the hospitality?” Victor asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Same where my normal genes are, non-existent.” You cross your arms across your chest, awaiting him to get up and do it himself.

“For Christ sake, Victor. I’ll cook the damn food. Least we can do after her letting us in.” James grumbles, grabbing his shirt and jacket from inside the bathroom and putting them back on.

You hide your disappointment and watch as the tall man walks to the kitchen, this time rummaging through the cupboard before finding what he was looking for. He quickly gets to work at preparing the rabbits, you making your way to lean against the counter and watch him.

Despite you barely knowing them, your instincts tell you that James is the better of the two. That he wouldn’t ever harm you, at least on purpose, and had no ill will towards you.

You couldn't say the same about his brother. But somehow, you feel safe with James here. How he was willing to step in between you and Victor, his back to you in defense. You’ve never felt safe around soemone. Not since before your mutation made itself known

Soon, the meal is finished and you sit in the teared up recliner while James sits on the couch next to his brother. You all eat in silence, though noticing how Victor's gaze travels between his brother and you every so often, nose flaring.

You know he can probably smell your attraction towards his brother. Hell, you know it based on your own mutation. The moment you saw him without his shirt in your bathroom doorway, you’re core throbbed and you knew James would be able to smell you.

But that’s just nature, hormones. Any woman would have the same reaction in the situation, it’s just basic biology. Mutant or not, James was an attractive man. And guessing by his own scent he was giving off, you were an attractive woman in his eyes.

Once dinner is done, James, again your favorite brother by a long shot and not just due to looks, takes the plates and washes them. He returned back to the couch, standing over Victor with his arms crossed and looking almost expectantly.

“What?” Victor questions gruffly.

“Should get going.” James says pointedly.

Victor makes a face. “We got a place to stay the night, with no one around, and you want to leave?”

“She never invited us to stay.”

“I never invited you to stay.”

You and James say at the same time, looking at each other awkwardly. Victor lets out a laugh.

“Ain’t that cute. Soon you two will be fucking against the wall and produce little runts runnin’ ‘round.”

You stick your tongue in your cheek, wanting nothing more than to rip this throat out again. It seems if he can’t have you, he may as well embarrass his brother since he also wants you.

But you're not going to give anything to either of them.

“Victor.” James growls low, eyeing his brother.

You watch the silent exchange between the two before the older one rolls his eyes. He removes his once again kicked up feet from the coffee table, moving his neck side to side to crack it before standing up.

“Always gotta be the good guy Jimmy.” Victor mumbles before brushing past his brother.

You watch as he makes his way to the front door before turning around and flashing you his canines.

“See you around frail.” He says before opening it.

“I hope not.” You call back as he slams the door shut.

You’re alone with James and stand, arms at your side while his are still folded across his broad chest. You watch as he sighs, as if having expected that of Victor.

You feel sorry for the guy, really. He obviously loves his brother, at least a little. But it puts him with someone on the verge of losing sanity due to his instincts. You noticed that within only a year, Victor had no qualms about showing off his canines and claws, not once withdrawing them during this run in.

Meanwhile, James seems to have a good moral compass and always tries to diffuse a situation. He was just as quiet but more polite this time. He’s either logically thinking you’re aren’t a threat and beginning to feel comfortable around you, or maybe relying on his instincts and going of your mutual attraction to not see you as a threat.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. Neither of you moving or saying anything. You stare into his brown eyes, watching as emotions flicker through them. Anger, annoyance, acceptance. As if he knows this will be his life forever and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

He breaks the gaze first, lowering his arms and walking towards the door. You eyes follow his movements, watching as his hand opens the door before he pauses to look back at you.

“See ya ‘round, Bub.” James softly says before stepping outside the cabin, closing the door behind him.

“I hope so.” You whisper back to the closed door.

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Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05

[tsukii0002]

So, i like to think that Adam was jacked and reaaaally handsome, like...A LITERAL ANGEL FELL FOR HIM quite literally lol, and for the sake of my delulu let's say that most of the humans that the brothers met where taller and stronger that the humans nowdays (since Adam and Lilith met some centuries ago)

So since the brothers only met humans that were more strong than the nowdays humans, so when they see the mc for the first time (let's imagine that mc is pretty short like...around 5ft/1,50) they are like "??" they knew that humans are fragile and weak but they did not know that now humans are THIS weak and fragile, this was a shock to them.

BESIDES i'm pretty sure that i literally have no canon sorce for that the brothers actually changed their heigths i mean they were angels and now are demons, can't demons shapeshift?? because it's more usefull to them be that heigth, so when they see someone naturally short—Mc—they are a bit shocket specially when they still think that the humans still tall

I guess this apply to all the alredy born demons (i forgot like...the entire lore 😭 so forgive me)

How you think they will individualy react? What will they say? I guess that Beel and Belp will be more shocked since they watched the humans with Lilith while they were tall and strong so i imagine that the two youngests will be like "what lore did i miss?😦" Or "why you are like that 🤨"

Ignore my grammar mistakes 🙈

I really like the concept of changing the appearance, and "the more demonic real form of the brothers" . Also this kind of situation would be: what you asked for by catalogue vs what you get 😂😂. I don't know if I can capture your idea well, but here goes. And as always, thanks for the suggestions 🩷

How the demons react to an actual human (much smaller than they remembered).

Lucifer

Oh father why? As if he didn't have enough to keep a normal human alive, now he has to keep this creature alive? Like are they an average human? In his time humans were more… more.

Lucifer would keep his distance and be stressed constantly, he would feel like Mc was a balloon in a needle shop. He would worry about absurd things like they falling into any crack or hole. But what would really make him lose sleep is the thought of someone so small having so much power over his family, you know, pride.

Lucifer: Mc! Where are you?

Mc: *behind him* here?

Lucifer: One of these days you're going to give me a heart attack.

Mc: It's your fucking fault, not mine, you being a giant is not my problem.

Lucifer: You, little shit.

Mammon

Why so small??!! Are you putting him in charge of something so small? Of all the demons? He's looked after guinea pigs before for work and it's never worked out well, shouldn't you think again?

Mammon would be one of the quickest to forget about it, I mean they are small but they're his human. That is until he hugs or pushes them, because he'll think he's killed Mc and start crying. He has lost Mc countless times. Mammon's the type that gets a heart attack when Mc interacts with any demon, too overprotective.

Mammon: I knew people would pay to pet your head.

Mc: I'm glad business went well, now give me the 90% you owe me.

Mammon: What? That's not- don't give me that face!!!

Mc: It's just that, Mammon, this little face doesn't hold itself… now give me my share or I'll tell Lucifer that you've done business with my size.

Levi

Have they always been like that? Not that he's ever been interested in humans but… Are not they too cartoonist? . I mean in his real form he could pick them up as one of his figures… Does they bite? Small bugs tend to bite the most…

Honestly it makes he a little bit excited because Mc looks like the characters of his animes, that is to say they have the perfect size to be a magical girl. He'd also adapt pretty quickly although he'd be far from forgetting and he'd always be careful because oh god they're so small. Their condition makes it easier to strike up a conversation with them.

Mc: Have you handmade all these cosplays?

Levi: Yep…

Mc: They are for me right?

Levi: Yep.

Mc: Okey…. but I'm not going to wear the goldfish one.

Satan

… Well nice to meet you, don't come near me again. He had read about the great kings, the mighty heroes, the fearsome witches… he wasn't expecting a miniature human. It would be impossible to keep them alive, so he wants to get out of the way.

He has read a lot about humans, but he wasn't prepared for that. It never ceases to amaze him how little Mc's conscience is, anything can kill them! Why do them throw themself headlong into danger? He would start to interact with them very slowly, and even then he would be extremely careful, he wouldn't start to act more calmly until the fourth pact with Asmo.

Satan: *watching two KO demons with Mc on top of them* How?

Mc: I'm like a fiddler spider, tiny but lethal.

Satan: … Cool

Asmodeus

Oh my gosh, they're the size of a pocket dog, (Devildom's pocket dogs are six feet tall) . They don't look like any of the epic heroes or one with Solomon's power. So many things could happen to them, so many things could hurt them, he could do so many things to them… Is this a new fetish?

The one that best adapts his strength without giving up physical contact. At first he thought that Mc must belong to a small group of short humans. When he found out they weren't, he rethought a lot of things. Tempting humans nowadays would be complicated, and even more so if he showed his true form. But for some reason he was now more interested in actual humans.

Asmo: What is it about you that makes you so irresistible?

Mc: Ummm, do you really think something like that?

Asmo: Yes, you are so amazing and beautiful and charming… no human has ever made me feel like that before!!!

Mc: Well, you know what they say… *holds his chin from above* The best scents come in small bottles *smiling*

Asmo: *choked scream*

Beel

This can't be a human… Diavolo has been tricked, he could eat Mc in one bite, normal humans could be eaten in 5 or 6 bites… And why aren't they afraid? Don't they know the real size of a demon? Doesn't natural selection work in the human world?

Beel: *with mc sitting on his shoulders*

He would be super careful, as if Mc was made of porcelain. At first he would be reluctant to get too close, what if he broke something by touching it? But then he'd take on the role of guardian, and if anyone got more than five metres away from the little human, it'd end up as Beel's lunch.

Lucifer: Why is Mc on your shoulders?

Beel: They like to be tall.

Mc: actually it's because when he's hungry I run the risk of him crushing me without realising it.

Belphie

I've seen many humans and this can't be a human 2.0 how is something so small going to help him get out of the attic? He guess it's been too long since he've been down to the human world… if humans had been like that Lilith wouldn't have fallen in love with one…

Belphie: You're warm *placing them on his lap in class*

He fidn't expect anything from the human, however he was the one who took to them the quickest seeing what they achieved in such a short time, it seems that for a human to do great things it doesn't matter if they're small. They are also the perfect size to cuddle and sleep next to. And it's the perfect little warmth bag, as he can carry them at any time.

Mc: I think we can go home now Belphie.

Belphie: *getting up carrying Mcall the way* Cool, let's go sleep in the attic.

Mc: Do I have a choice?

Belphie: *fritting his cheek against Mc* No.

.

.

College is killing me again so sorry for the wait, I'm in a creative block so it's hard for me to write so if you've made it this far thank you very much 😌

[idyllcy]

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

[cowboyfromh3ll]

how about for arthur, john, and charles: your hcs on how each would react to a shyer (not naive) reader who has a crush on him and keeps needing his “help” for various things so she can get his attention, and eventually working up the nerve to be more forward and hopefully pique his interest. who would catch on the fastest? would any of them realize before or after she becomes more forward and how would they react from there? smut absolutely welcome 🙏🏻

HC for Shy!Reader ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith

HCs are so easy and fun to write

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

Arthur did not allow you much time to go and ask for help given his repeated and lengthy absences from camp

But when he was around to help, he put his all into it

No matter how mundane or small it may be, he always made sure to help you until satisfaction. Similar to the way he helps random people around the map, he helps you in the same way. 

But the level at which you asked for help was quite baffling to Arthur, but he never made a comment on it. He would never want to make you feel as though you were somehow less competent at doing things than the average person

He liked the way you would try to strike up conversation with him whenever he was helping you, recounting his travels to you in detail upon request

Part of him wondered why the two of you didn’t just talk more often outside of his time helping you. What he didn’t know is that you were unable to come up with a decent, not-too-forthcoming, excuse as to why the two of you should spend more time together alone 

He probably wouldn’t catch onto that fact too quickly, instead thinking you were just a person who wasn’t afraid of asking for help

He’d definitely think something was up when he realizes he’s the only one you ask

Maybe he’s just a dependable guy? He thinks to himself

But when you ask him to help you go fishing, come to find out you didn’t even have a rod, it was too late to back out as the two of you were already alone down the lake at Clemens point

He felt quite touched when you told him you really just wanted to spend time together, and that you weren’t sure how else to ask

Insisted you be more forward with him to establish a level of comfort between you two, but he still found it quite cute when you would shyly ask him for help

Eventually led to you two becoming very close, noticeably sweet on each other. Even the gang was able to catch on.

NSFW

Even though the two of you had been in an established relationship, your bashfulness did not end.

Asking for help for sexual matters was something you subtly hinted at or wordlessly requested, rather than outright saying it

Arthur himself was a man who needed clear permission, and your hints would be met with crudely sexual questions asking for confirmation

“You wanna have sex? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I understanding this all wrong.” 

His forwardness would have you burying your burning face in your shared cot as you nodded

Arthur was a very perceptive man, so when asking if he was rubbing your clit just right or if he needed to slow his thrusts down, you’d squeak out an embarrassed response

When you wanted him to touch you in a certain place, you’d nudge him in the direction, yank on his hand or hair, or simply just bashfully point wordlessly

Makes sure to constantly ask questions because he knows you’re not very vocal when it comes to self advocacy

Extremely tender and very patient with you, just wants to make you feel comfortable in the end to be able to vocalize your needs

John Marston (my pookie)

This man is as dense and stupid as a bag of rocks

The man himself doesn’t even know what he wants, so figuring out what you want is mental gymnastics on its own

He’s around pretty often helping around camp, and he doesn’t mind taking on the brunt of your chores as well

Doesn’t realize what you’re trying to do so sometimes he turns you down, saying he’s too busy

“Are you really that helpless?” 

He’d stand there confused as you stormed off angrily, only to have him follow you around camp begging for forgiveness

“I ain’t mean that, I’m happy to help you. I’m a fool, honest.”

You’d forgive him eventually

If it’s a more tedious task you need help with, he would get into the zone. Honing in all his attention while trying to fulfill his efforts in helping you as competently as he can

Focuses so much, that sometimes if you try to strike up a conversation about his day, he’ll either shut you down, or be so concentrated he won't even register your question

“Hold on, can you stop talking for a sec? I’m tryna concentrate.”

Would be equally as confused when you huff angrily and turn away while crossing your arms

You realize yourself that John isn’t picking up any hints, so you offer your own help as a form of “repayment” for everything he’s done for you

Is also dense about that 

“I appreciate the help, little lady. Though I don’t see why you’d willingly offer to help to fix a wagon wheel.”

Kinda laughable how oblivious he is

Eventually you have to muster up all the courage possible to ask him on a date to town

Emphasize the word date. Or else he’ll think you just want help with errands or something

Will accept, but won’t shut up the whole time about how sudden this is and how he would’ve never seen it coming

NSFW

Would get very excited if you even hint at something sexual

Much like Arthur, he’d ask for confirmation, but much more enthusiastically

“So you wanna fuck right? Right?!” 

Kinda desperate but who can blame him, you’re equally as horny

Get so caught up in excitement he gets straight to it, has to be reminded to ask questions and check up on you

The one time where you actually feel compelled to tell him things straight up instead of just hinting at it

“For the love of god, slow down Marston!”

He would for a few minutes, then get back to it

Would still be shy with asking, but you get so frustrated with how dense he is you’re kinda forced to

His excitement rubs off on you, so he doesn’t mind at all when you just shove his face between your thighs, that does all the speaking for you

Says shit like “You like that, don’t you?” without actually waiting for a response

Gets very embarrassed when you say no and ask him to do it another way

Charles Smith

This man's love language is literally acts of service

He’d probably end up falling for you in the process of helping you out so often

Will be more than happy to take you up on every request for help

Not only does it make you happy, but it makes him feel good for being able to help someone

Literally thrives off of it

He would be the one to pick up on it the fastest, but he wouldn’t make a comment. He doesn’t want to scare you off by being too forward and therefore curtailing your requests for help

Would be very intimate while helping you

“Hey, come closer to take a look at how I do it.”

You would lean in incredibly close, so much so that you’d be able to hear his breathing

Would sometimes take your hands and make you do it as well

Hands would linger far longer than necessary while helping you

And you aren’t naive! You knew what he was doing! He was flirting with you!

From an outside perspective, it appeared as though the two of you were just sitting around together and flirting rather than doing something to help you

“Like this?” You’d ask, which was followed by a giggle

It was pure self indulgence

He would often approach you himself and ask if you needed help on anything

Other times, he’d ask if you wanted to learn something new, showing you how to make weapons or how to identify certain plants from one another

Some tasks would be found mundane by others, but it was the most entertaining thing in the world as long as Charles was teaching you

You would feel most comfortable with him with asking him out, your question sounding more like a mutual profession of love from one another

NSFW

So so gentle

Much like in your relationship, you’d feel far more comfortable expressing your wants and desires to him

But you still struggle to maintain eye contact while saying it

If you turn your face away during sex he’ll gently cup your cheek and move your head to face him

Can pick up on your body language if you don’t feel too vocal

Will slow down or pick up the pace based on how your body reacts

Your moans are also a good indicator for him to know

Will also ask you questions before and after sex, like your some sort of food critic and you’re giving him feedback on his dish

You guys will probably sit down and have whole talks about your sex life, as embarrassed as it makes you, but he finds it necessary

Guy is a huge giver, in no time, he’ll know your body and what you do and don’t like like the back of his hand

[little-lost-lamb]

The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

_____________________________________________________________

Beelzebub 

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him! 

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.” 

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes. 

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it. 

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest. 

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips. 

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck. 

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and  incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room. 

No. 

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together. 

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it. 

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he  replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.” 

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open. 

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out. 

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you. 

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess. 

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo. 

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known  he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk. 

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments. 

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage. 

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be. 

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling. 

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE. 

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True. 

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so. 

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist. 

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

______________________________________________________________

@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

[artbyblastweave]

I've seen your capeshit posts thinking about The Boys, Worm, Invincible, the Big Two and their media landscape, etc. and I've enjoyed them a lot. You've got a good understanding of the creative and fandom forces surrounding the superhero genre. The one burning question that has sat at the back of my mind since I read Worm back in 2018, which I think you might have an interesting answer to, is simply this: IS an adaptation of that serial possible? Like in any practical sense? And would a mass-market Worm adaptation, however compromised by the adaptation process, have a positive or even significant at all impact on the genre going forward, and the way it's perceived both by hardcore fans and the average consumer?

People (including Wildbow himself at one point) have bounced around ideas for how you'd execute a tv adaptation of Worm, so I certainly don't think it's conceptually impossible. It would definitely be hard, because you'd be kneecapped by the absurdly short runtimes of modern tv seasons and the long turnaround time between seasons. Worm also has a wealth of detail and scene staging complexity that would be really hard to reproduce in a visual medium where someone has to either dress up as or animate all those bastards. And as the third kick in the teeth, I've mentioned before that there are ways in which I think Worm is in conversation with the superhero genre and fandom as it existed in 2011- the MCU cape boom has really heavily altered the space. Reference how The Boys (comic) was really specifically swinging a bat at the post-crisis comic book fandom, but the much tighter and more critically successful and broadly appealing Tv show is swinging at the MCU and DCEU.

But something I think Worm still has going for it over basically every other cape thing is its status as a worldbuilding project. Even if you don't understand every single comics element that it's riffing on, it's a story that, despite having a single definitive protagonist, does a really good job of having the setting be a character in the world and not just a bare-bones launchpad for that single protagonist. If the adaptation could really strongly integrate the setting-specific ways in which there have been, like, procedural reactions to the existence of capes, cultural reactions- really capture the sense of accumulating entropy that characterizes the tone of the setting, the sense of everyone being caught up in dynamics too big for any individual to control, the sense that all of this is in some way adding up- it would be doing something that's really just really not currently covered by any cape adaptation that's gotten big. And tonally, this would pan out (in fact does pan out) as something unique as well, because the fact that there's this entire setting out there constantly disintegrating under its own weight juxtaposes really well with how Taylor is constantly fighting like a maniac to sandbag her own little corner of purgatory. I really can't think of another superhero work that strikes that balance! And it's a balance you can't strike unless you're able to convincingly render that disintegrating world.

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: No Longer Invisible

Request: Hii!! Sooo I've seen ur Harry hook x reader who is the mad hatters child and im wondering if you could do Harry Hook x reader who is the daughter of the Cheshire Cat?? I'm recently been obsessed with both lol.

Reader: Female

Word count: 1872

Average reading time: 6 min 50 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes of mild injury description, emotional distress, sensitive themes of neglect and self-worth. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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Y/n Cat, the daughter of the Cheshire Cat, walked silently along the streets of the Isle of the Lost, her movements as sly as a cat’s. Unlike her brother, who is highly praised by their father as the one to carry on his legacy, Y/n had been left to fend for herself. Her presence on the streets was a result of his disappointment and disregard, and she had grown accustomed to the harshness of her lonely existence.

Rumors have been circulating around the isle that Uma, the formidable pirate queen, was looking to recruit new members for her crew. The thought both excited and terrified Y/n. She had always admired Uma's strength and the power of her crew, especially a certain pirate with a hook. Harry Hook, with his striking blue eyes and his natural confidence, had captivated Y/n from afar. She harbored a secret crush on him, though she kept to the shadows, too shy and insecure to make herself known.

Determined to discover more, Y/n made her way to the docks, where Uma’s incomparable ship cast a long shadow. Climbing a stack of crates to gain a better view of the deck, she leaned in, straining to catch the conversation between Uma and her crew. But as she shifted for a clearer view, the crate beneath her shifted as well. Y/n lost her balance and tumbled to the ground, pain shooting through her ankle like a searing brand.

Instinctively, she became invisible, hoping to avoid drawing attention to herself. Yet, despite her attempt to remain hidden, Harry’s sharp ears had picked up the sound. His eyes, keen and alert, scanned the dock as he stepped into view, his gaze intense yet curious.

"Lass?" Harry’s voice, smooth and velvety, cut through the air, carrying a hint of playful charm mixed with genuine concern. "I know yer around here somewhere. Come on out, don’t be shy."

Y/n’s heart raced, her fear mingling with the throbbing pain in her ankle, creating a tight knot of anxiety. Though she longed to reveal herself, her sense of vulnerability kept her hidden.

"Lass, I know yer hurt," Harry continued, his tone softening with a tender lilt. "Don’t be shy now. I’m not here to cause ya any more trouble. Just want to help."

The genuine warmth in his voice seeped through her fear, clearing up her mind. Slowly, she let herself become visible again, sitting on the dock with her injured ankle cradled in her hands. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she avoided Harry's piercing gaze.

"There ya are," Harry said softly, his voice like a caress against the cool air. He knelt beside her with a lazy, teasing smirk, his eyes filled with both amusement and concern. His gaze was unwavering, a mixture of playful challenge and genuine tenderness. "What’s this, then? Hiding from me? I’d have thought you’d have a bit more courage."

Y/n looked away, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Harry’s expression softened, the teasing smirk melting into a look of sincere sympathy. He gently brushed his fingertips over her injured ankle, his touch light and tender as if afraid to hurt her further. His eyes never left hers, their deep, ocean depths filled with a soothing warmth. "Yer never a burden, Y/n. Quite the opposite, really. It’s a shame yer hide so well I would have liked to see ya more around here."

Y/n's gaze met his, caught in the magnetic pull of his eyes. Harry’s touch, both firm and gentle, sent a shiver of unexpected comfort through her. His hand lingered on her leg, a steady presence that offered reassurance and comfort. "Let me help ya out," he said, his voice a low rumble of warmth and sincerity.

With surprising tenderness, Harry lifted Y/n into his arms, careful to avoid hurting her injured ankle. She instinctively clung to him, her heart racing from both the pain and the unexpected intimacy. Harry carried her gently onto Uma’s ship, his movements steady and cautious, while Uma watched with a blend of curiosity and irritation.

"Harry, what’s this?" Uma snapped, her eyes narrowing as she took in Y/n’s presence. "You’re making a scene."

Harry flashed Uma a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just helping out a lady in distress. Can’t have her wandering around in pain now, can we?"

Uma’s scowl softened slightly as she assessed Y/n, her gaze shifting from irritation to hesitant acceptance. "Well, come on then. Let’s get you fixed up. And don’t worry about Harry’s antics. He’s harmless, mostly."

Gil, ever the ray of sunshine, appeared with a warm smile. "Hey there! I’m Gil. Don’t be shy. You’re among friends here."

Harry walked further into the ship, setting Y/n down on a makeshift bed in a small cabin below deck, his touch careful and considerate. He examined her ankle with a frown, his fingers light as he assessed the injury. "Looks like a bad sprain. We’ll need some ice."

"Thank you, Harry," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

Harry’s gaze softened, filled with a warmth that contrasted sharply with his usual flirtatious demeanor. "Don’t mention it. But I do have one request."

Y/n’s curiosity sparked through her discomfort. "What’s that?"

"Promise me you won’t be afraid to ask for help," Harry said gently, his voice a soothing balm. "Especially from me."

Y/n’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and nervousness. "I promise."

Harry’s smile was tender as he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Good. Now, let’s get this sorted out."

As Harry worked to tend to her injury, his touch was unexpectedly tender, every move made with a care that contradicted his roguish exterior. The flirtatious edge in his manner was tempered by a sincere concern that Y/n couldn’t ignore.

"You know," Harry began, breaking the comfortable silence, "Uma’s been talking about recruiting ya for our crew."

Y/n’s eyes widened with surprise, not realizing she was the very one the rumours were about. "Really?"

"Aye," Harry replied with a smirk that was both charming and genuine. "Says you’ve got skills we could use. And I’d say she’s right."

Y/n’s cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and anxiety. "I’d really like that."

"Good," Harry said, his tone softening even further. "We could use someone like you. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I’d quite like to have you around more."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. "You know," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "even if I disappear so often, I really like being around you too."

Harry’s expression softened, a warm, genuine smile spreading across his face. "I like having you around, lass. Disappear all ya want, I'll always find ya."

Y/n’s heart fluttered at his words, her apprehension melting away. "I’d like that too."

Harry’s smile broadened, and he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist with a gentle possessiveness. He trailed soft kisses along her ear and down her neck, marking her with a possessive tenderness that left no doubt about his feelings. Y/n’s shyness flared once more, and she instinctively disappeared again, her body becoming invisible in a reflexive response.

Harry’s voice, soft and coaxing, cut through her anxiety. "Come on out, kitten. Yer safe with me."

He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, his touch both firm and gentle, and began to tenderly caress her sides. "I promise, no one’s going to hurt ya. Just be with me, and let me take care of ya."

Gradually, Y/n allowed herself to reappear, her heart fluttering with both excitement and nerves.

Harry’s eyes bore into Y/n’s, their depth and warmth creating an electric tension in the air. “Yer special, Y/n. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Before Y/n could utter a word, Harry’s lips crashed against hers with a fire that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was all-consuming, a passionate storm of longing and need that swept them both away. Y/n melted into the intensity of his touch, surrendering completely as Harry’s hands roamed her back, pulling her closer with an urgent desire.

The kiss deepened, each movement between them a testament to the depth of their connection. Harry’s lips claimed hers with an urgency that spoke of all the unspoken promises, and Y/n responded with equal passion, her body pressed against his as if they were two halves of a whole.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Harry’s gaze remained locked onto hers, filled with a raw, unwavering devotion. His hand lingered on her cheek, his touch tender yet insistent. “Yer going to be just fine, Lass. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

Y/n, breathless and overwhelmed, let a smile break through, her insecurities dissolving under the weight of his fervent assurance. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Harry's expression turned serious as he looked at her. “Listen, Y/n, I insist ya stay with me. I don’t want ya out there on the streets. Not when yer can be with me.”

Y/n's eyes widened at the declaration, a mix of surprise and doubt flickering across her face. "Do you treat all girls like this?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Harry’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a gentle, knowing smile. “I don’t treat all women like this, just my woman. And I’m not about to let ya wander around hurting and alone. If yer with me, you’re safe, and I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at his words, the weight of her doubts lifting. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Harry’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and promise. “Then it’s settled. Yer with me now, and I’ll take care of ya. No more hiding, no more fending for yerself. Just trust me, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Y/n’s smile grew, her heart filled with a new sense of belonging. Just as they were basking in the warmth of their newfound love, the door swung open, and Uma walked in with a knowing smile, followed by Gil, who looked as confused as ever.

Uma's eyes sparkled with approval as she took in the scene. "Looks like my first mate has found himself quite the partner." she remarked, her tone light but genuine. "Y/n, you’ll make a great right hand for Harry. I’ve seen what you can do, and I’m glad you’re joining us."

Gil nodded enthusiastically, though it was clear he didn't fully grasp the situation. "Yeah, what she said! Welcome to the crew, Y/n!"

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of pride and happiness swelling within her. She glanced up at Harry, who gave her a reassuring squeeze, his eyes filled with pride.

"Thank you, Uma," Y/n said, her voice steady and filled with determination. "I won’t let you down."

Uma smiled, her gaze shifting between Y/n and Harry. "I know you won’t. Now, rest. We’ve got big plans ahead of us, and with you on board, I’m confident we’ll succeed."

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Requested by: Anonymous

[shirefantasies]

Hello again! I have another request that came to me as I was submitting a different one. How do you think Thorin's or the LOTR companies would react to reader having a buzzcut. Especially for dwarves who pride themselves in long intricately done hair and braids. Would they think something bad must've happened to the reader for them to have short hair. Cue misunderstandings and fluff, with maybe hair petting(buzzcuts are super soft!) Hope this sounds interesting enough to do, have a good day again! :)

(I literally lied on my last post THIS is my last pre-op post by the 45 minutes left before my operation appointment)

Heck yeah friend I love this! I don’t quite have a buzzcut but my hair’s far shorter than the average lady’s & definitely so for a dwarf, so I wonder about this too 😁 hope you enjoy 🥰 Warnings: a little violence in one reaction, injury mention in another

Thorin’s Company When You Have a Buzzcut

Balin

“You’re causing quite a stir with everyone, you know that?” Giving a chuckle at Balin’s cheeky look, you lean forward with your chin upon your hand. “And why is that?” “At risk of offense,” the older dwarf answered, “they all want to know what happened to your hair.” “Yourself included,” you shot back with a grin, “or else you’d not be asking.” Taken aback, Balin stutters a bit. “Ah, well, I confess I am a bit curious, after all. Reminds me of when my brother first took all his off. What a stir over something so silly. Do what you like, I was just wondering if Dwalin was trying to get you all painted up too.” “Not yet,” your smile softens and you give him a wink, “but if he does you’ll be the first to know. Ahead of all the sensation.”

Dwalin

You start the conversation on this one, seeing that Dwalin is the other company member with little to no hair upon his head and considering it a bonding opportunity. “Well, I’ve got a reason,” he shoots back to your comment of similarity, arms crossed but expression teasing, “what’s yours? You need some tattoos up there at least.” “No thank you,” you tell him, “if I’m adding any tattoos it won’t be on top of my head! Feel how soft it is up here.” Dwalin looks at you, prompting you to take his hand and put it on top of your head, his eyebrows raising at the sensation. And perhaps because touching one’s hair is a much closer and more intimate thing for him than perhaps you realize. You are quite forward, aren’t you?

Thorin

Pays little mind to how you wear your hair…or lack thereof. In fact, by your appearance he gauges you to be a warrior of some kind, thus taking command of your actions in a fight and seeking proof of your prowess. Before your first encounter with a threat the king’s questions are more along the lines of “What is your weapon of choice?” and “From where in these lands do you hail?” The day the company fights a pack of orcs, you manage to take down more than Thorin expected and at one point, you even jump in front of Dori to parry before a potentially deadly strike takes him off guard. Rising from the struggle of battle, black blood splattered across your layers and even your shaven head, you feel a hand upon your shoulder. Thorin. "It can be hard for us to look beyond our own kin," he tells you, "but you have well proven yourself today. We may not always understand each other, but there is a beauty in that, too, I see."

Oin

Wincing despite your gratitude, you shifted in your seated position while Oin packed the poultice into the wound your side had suffered. "Don't worry, you'll go numb in a bit. If it stings, that is quite alright, that simply means you are getting clean again." Thanking him through heavy breaths, you watched as the dwarf reached a hand up toward your head, running a hand over the soft, shorn little bit of cover it had. "And this one's healing quite nicely, quite nicely indeed. Why, I cannot even see the scar!" The sting in your bloody side faded down a bit as you tilted your head to fix Oin right in the eyes. "What scar?" "Did they not have to sew up your head at some point? Figured that's why they shaved you down," he answered, finally removing his hand from your head. You giggled at that, regretted stretching yourself at a new, though much smaller, arc of pain. "No, my dear Oin, I am afraid the only thing my head has suffered is my typical madness," you teased, waving your hands mystically and grinning at the way the healer laughed.

Gloin

"Pardon me, my dear," your name rolled smoothly off Gloin's tongue as he shuffled forth, hands folded in front of him in the picture of innocence. Oh, this was going to be good. "Yes?" You indulged him, swiveling to give your full attention. The auburn-haired dwarf pointed to his head, his own flowing locks. "What happened t'yer hair?" Perhaps sheepishly, his voice suddenly quickened. Feeling your eyebrows involuntarily raise, you tilted your head- this was not exactly what you’d expected, after all. “I cut it,” you shrugged, “got tired of how it was before. Simply wanted a new beginning, you could say.” Gloin’s eyes never left yours. “So no accident?” “No.” “Ha!” The dwarf bellowed, waggling a hand at his brother and a small scattering of company members a ways back. “I was right! By choice! Now pay up and remember I told ya it was worth the risk!” Shaking your head, you playfully smack him on the shoulder. “I’d better get a cut from this, you ol’ scallywag!”

Bifur

Catching Bifur signing, you turn his way, seeing the motions he performs by his head. “Did you cut your hair yourself?” You realize he is asking. “No,” you sign back, “another did it for me.” “You must trust them a great deal.” Simple enough words signed and yet there is something in the way his eyes shine, the fond inquisition in his smile, that brings a little shock of joy to you. Barring royal dressings, it was far more common for one to do their own hair or entrust it to a loved one, and you could see intimacy in the act. It almost brought a pang of regret that it was just some small-town hairdresser that sheared it at your asking and payment. Your hands freeze for a moment as your eyes search Bifur before you finally sign a response. “I suppose. Perhaps if you ever want to do something different with your hair, I could help you, too.”

Bofur

A mix between caring and teasing, he offers you cover! “Your head looks cold. Need to borrow my hat?” Thinks he’s so funny he laughs at his own joke whether you roll your eyes or joke back. “But really, any particular reason you took it all off?” "It was uncomfortable having it long," you admit, "I was tired of it all being in my face." The way everyone spoke of dwarven culture, you half expect disapproval, but this is Bofur you speak of. Instead he nods acceptingly, smiling in that way that always has you feeling seen and reassured. "I understand that." "You do?" "Sure I do! Why do you think I keep mine braided out to the sides like this?" At that, you smile back. "Besides," he continues, "helps me see all the best sights. The trees, the flowers, that smile of yours..."

Bombur

“Singe all your hair off?” Bombur nods sagely despite the fact that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I’ve been there. Burned my beard leaning too far over the stove.” You can’t even correct him right away because you’re too busy laughing. Finally, though, you explain to him that your hair was simply so unhealthy it needed to start over. “Ah, I see, I see! Trying to take better care of it, then?” At that, you nod. He looks at you with new interest, eyes shining eagerly. “So what would you like to do with it next? I’ve got some things you might like to put in it, and I think it would look mighty nice if you wanted to try…”

Dori

"Sometimes I wish I could do that, too," Dori remarks one day, rolling blue eyes illuminated beneath the sun that peeked between the branches. Shifting carefully so as to not disturb your pony, you turned back to face him. "Do what?" "Cut all my hair off just to save some time in the morning!" He replied with a wave of a hand in your general direction. Chuckling, you gave a conceding nod. "I suppose you would gain back an hour, wouldn't you?" At that, it was Dori's turn to laugh. "But then again," you continued, "then you couldn't wear as many of those nice clips and cases. That is one thing I miss about having it all." Puffing up like a proud little bird, Dori smiled. "They are quite nice, aren't they? You know, if you ever get so bored you're tempted to let it all come back, I could make you some of your own."

Nori

Abrasive as it was, Nori's question found you in a way that raised such amusement you forgot to be upset with him entirely, instead simply falling back with a bark of laughter before you answered. "Looks like you're tryin' to hide your identity. You on the run from someone?" He continued musing, in fact, as you laughed. "Law somewhere? A scorned lover? Simply run off with something too valuable not to do that?" Finally, your voice returned. "All this because I've sheared my head down?" You burst out incredulously. "Ever consider," you gasped in mock-scandal, "I like it like this?" "Sure, but that's not exciting," Nori shot back with a smirk, "I like a good story." "Well," you crossed your arms, "perhaps I still have some of those, too."

Ori

Shuffling up to you was the youngest dwarf in the company, sweet Ori; Ori was one of the dwarves who accepted outsiders most readily, and you spent plenty of time at his side watching his drawings and records come to life. That day, though, what was in his hand was not his book, rather a bundle of fabric. "I made this for you." Eyes widening, you extend your hands to accept the soft knitting, peering back at Ori. "I thought your head must get cold," he explained his craft as you unfolded it, revealing a thick, sturdy cap you immediately began pulling onto your head, "does it fit?" Yarn hugging your head perfectly, you nodded. "It's just my size. Thank you." Before he could speak again, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in some time. Thank you."

Fili

“One of my braids came undone. Kili?” The younger Durin prince seemingly did not hear the request for his presence, so you stepped forward. “I can help.” Goggling at you, Fili posed a question. “Do you even know how?” Hand falling to your hip, you shot him a look. “Though I may not possess them myself, I am quite capable of doing them up.” The golden-haired dwarf looked sheepish, a bit of the mischief fading from his blue eyes. “Suppose I assumed you didn’t much enjoy doing them either,” he told you with a nod toward your head. “Well,” a teasing smile drifted across your face, “I certainly would…unless you are scared.” You were no fool. You knew how the Durins were with challenges. And if you remembered correctly, you knew how dwarves were with braids…

Kili

He cares some of the least out of the dwarves being the least traditionally presenting himself. He’s sort of the type to be a little attracted to everyone, enjoying the unique traits of all types of people. You still cannot help being a bit surprised when he flirts with you, though, not expecting someone with a cut like yours to catch his eye or draw his teasing. “Not one for a courting braid, I see? No one worthy of putting one on you, no doubt.” For all his jesting questions, he never actually demands an answer, though. Instead he simply launches into a story about a haircut prank he pulled with his older brother once to keep light conversation flowing. “Well, by the end of it our uncle looked quite like you! Except he didn’t pull it off half as well.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins | Let me know if you'd like to join!

[thewulf]

Absolutely Gorgeous || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Anyways what if they meet a teacher from base like she teaches at the school on base at the bar but she’s not drinking just hanging out! Like how do you think that would go? Read Rest Here

A/N: Back at it with my favorite man!! Hope you guys enjoy! As always, thank you for the request!!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 3.1k +

“Finally!” Your co-worker, Molly, squealed as she put the overflowing binder down on her desk, “Three months of freedom!”

Grinning you nodded your head along with her, “They’re not that bad, Molls.”

She had to suppress the eye roll she wanted to give you, “You had a class of little fourth grade angels. I had those sixth-grade demons all year long.”

Your laughter filled up Molly’s empty classroom, “Fair. They were probably my best class yet.”

She nodded her head, “Sometimes you get lucky like that. Was not my year.”

“Maybe next? What grade are you teaching anyway?” The two of you began to walk out of the building for the last time this summer. That was until you needed to get the decorations hung for the next school year.

She shrugged, “Haven’t been assigned yet.”

You nodded along thinking to yourself. The school on base was… tiny. Itty bitty. It was a miracle it even functioned. It was another miracle there were enough students to keep the place running. But they did. And it kept you employed. You’d only been teaching for the last three years, still trying to find your groove. You’d stumbled upon this job in your search and couldn’t believe it actually paid a decent wage. So, you took it and ran.

“Hey, are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” She asked once the two of you got to the almost desolate parking lot. Just your two cars and the principals left.

You shrugged, “Wasn’t planning to.” It’s not that you hated going it was just horribly overwhelming for you almost every time you went. It always ended the same damn way every single time. You’d get all dressed up, put too much makeup on and then get ignored. The friends you’d come with would always, always, find a man to talk to leaving you in limbo. It wasn’t for a lack of trying either. You tried so hard to just strike up a conversation with anybody only to be left or once again, ignored.

It hurt at first. Then you got used to it. You’d, unfortunately, had gotten used to being alone in a really crowded place. So, you just started going out with them less and less. You loved them. The group of friends you’d found in San Diego was like nothing you’d had before. You didn’t even think yourself as unattractive. It’s just when you stood next to them you’d looked incredibly average. Average and boring. Which was fine, it just got a little old when the hot pilot would be chatting up everybody but you.

“You should come!” Molly squeezed your bicep trying to convince you with a cheerful gaze crossing her eyes, “It’ll be so fun. All of the teachers are planning on coming!”

You had to bite your lip from the instant scowl that wanted to cross your face, “I’ll have to think about it.”

She shook her head, “That means no. Come on Y/N! Please?” Hey big blue eyes turned down as she gave you a silent pout.

It was really hard to say no to Molly. She was so kind, sweet and so damn infectious you just wanted to say, “Yeah, sure. I can come for a little. You know I don’t drink though, right?”

She nodded, “I know, it’s still nice to have you there. You keep our heads level and in check.”

You only laughed a little. You decided to call off drinking back in college. You’d had too many hospital visits for alcohol poisoning that even you got embarrassed. You just never seemed to be able to control yourself. You’d tried. For years you’d tried. But you’d always, always, without fail would take it one step too far. That’s when you decided to quit. You became an entirely different person that you hated when you drank.

“Somebody has to.”

She squeezed your arm. That’s who she was. She loved giving physical affection. At any chance she could she’d give a hug or squeeze an extremity. Only if you were comfortable with it though. She made sure of it though.

“I’m so glad you’re coming! We’re meeting at six. A bunch of pilots just got back from a mission too. Shelly told us last night.” She clapped all too excitedly.

Great. Just great. Hopefully Penny was working. That’d give you somebody to talk to. Giving her a slight head bob, you hoped it would come off as excited, “That’ll make for an interesting night.”

She shot you a wink, “You don’t know the half of it. Alright, see you tonight?” She headed for her car after stopping at yours to finish up the conversation.

“Yeah, see you tonight.” You hopped in your car already feeling the dread of tonight. You’d just leave before the sun set. That’s all you needed to do. It’d be alright.

You were already regretting committing once you parked your car. Maybe you could just bail now? Fake an illness? But then the literal two hours you spent getting ready would be for null.

Sighing you decided to just walk in. It’d be fine. You looked nice. Opted for a pretty floral sundress. It was far too hot to even contemplate putting shorts on. So, a dress it was. This time a sigh of relief escaped your mouth seeing Penny behind the bar with a few other bartenders.

“Y/N!” You spotted Molly waving at you frantically. The three girls already sitting at the bar with a drink in hand. They all looked beyond beautiful. It came naturally for Molly. You knew you were slightly jealous of the girl, who wouldn’t be though? Shelly brought her friend Erin. Who both looked stunning. It wouldn’t be long now before each girl would get plucked. Might as well enjoy the time you had with them all.

“Hey pretty ladies.” You hugged each one before sitting next to Molly. You jumped right into the conversation with the girls finding yourself quickly engaged with the drama Erin was telling the group about.

Not long after you finished your first soda Shelly was getting chatted up. That was quicker than normal. The sun wouldn’t even be setting for another few hours yet. Maybe you’d have to make your great escape far sooner than you planned too.

Being so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even heard the pilot slowly approach the bar next to you. He’d even ordered and all before he attempted to grab your attention. You caught Jakes attention almost immediately when he heard your friend call for you. He’d never been so entranced by somebody so damn quickly. He knew immediately he’d have to approach you.

He'd watched you for longer than even he’d care to admit. But how could you blame him? Your smile nearly took his breath away. His attention was so drawn away from the conversation that he didn’t even hear rooster make a snide remark. His eyes remained on you from across the bar. He was being beyond creepy, and he knew it. But for the first time in his life, he almost felt nervous at the thought of approaching you. Nervous of the thought of you rejecting him. He honestly didn’t know if he could take it. He’d never felt anything so strongly before without even talking to you.

“Whatcha drinking darlin’? I can get you another one.” Jake smiled softly. He’d decided to play down his usual overt flirtyness not wanting to scare you off. As often as it worked sometimes he did get turned down

You looked down at your glass realizing you were out. Then you decided to look at the face that the voice came from. He was handsome. So very handsome. That was without question. But he surely wasn’t talking to you. Nobody ever talked to you. So you turned away waiting to hear the conversation go on.

You waited a second not hearing a response but turning back to the pilot who was looking at you like he was waiting for an answer, “Me?” You’d asked with the utmost confusion.

He chuckled softly, “Yeah you. Who else?”

You peaked around and shrugged, “Not sure.” You’d admitted.

He brushed it off, “So? A drink?”

You nodded, he’s harmless you were sure of it, “Sure. Soda.”

A smile broke out onto his face as he tried to flag down a bartender, “Mind if I have a seat?” He asked you, not wanting to assume like he had so many times before. He had a feeling you were different. Whatever the hell that meant. But he knew one thing. He felt different. Nervous. Anxious.

You shook you head quickly. Almost on instinct, “No, not at all.” He didn’t seem to judge you in the least for your drink of choice. That often alienated people even further. What weirdo orders a soda at the bar? You. You did. You just pretended it was a jack and coke or something. It was easier that way.

You felt an elbow to your side. It had to have been Molly pushing you along. When you turned to snap at her she was walking away, waving, “We’re going to sit outside!” She winked knowing you were trapped. You were far too cowardly to run away so quickly so you decided to stay. But you felt far too cowardly to stay too. It had to be a sick joke or something now. Why would this gorgeous man want anything to do with you? Especially when Molly and Erin were right there.

“Thanks sweetheart.” He only smiled seeing you look straight ahead. Either you were shy or incredibly standoffish. He had to assume the earlier. Especially with how seemingly friendly you’d already been to him. It wasn’t all that often that beautiful women were shy Jake had noticed over time.

You nodded your head thankful your head decided to fall over your ear shielding the rising blush for him, “Sure.”

He sat down quickly turning himself towards you. This was going to be difficult he decided. He wanted to be forward, so you knew his intentions, but he didn’t want to be too much. Or worse, make you uncomfortable. He knew that there was no coming back from that. You just seemed shy though. Like you didn’t know how to proceed. So, he’d take the reins and steer the conversation.

“Haven’t seen you before. You from around here?” He tried to break the ice. He didn’t know if it’d creep you out. He’d never been this fucking unsure of himself and it was beginning to drive him mad already.

He seemed genuine you thought. Like he was actually trying to strike up a conversation. You’d still refuse to believe it was anything legit though. Likely a bet with the other khaki uniformed people in the corner of the bar.

Fuck it. May as well entertain it. Even if it was a joke at least it was a conversation. Not like you’d had your friends to fall back on, “Yeah, teach at the school on base. Live close by. Just don’t get out that much.”

He hummed contemplating what to say, “That’s too bad.”

“What’s that?” You asked him all too curious at what he meant.

He shrugged trying to play it off nonchalantly. It felt like he was in seventh grade all over again trying to learn how to flirt all over again, “Could’ve met you weeks ago darlin’” He grinned scooting ever so slightly closer to you.

Was he being serious? Even if he wasn’t you couldn’t stop the reaction that came with the conversation with him, “Well,” You decided it was time to be confident. What’d you have to lose? “I’m here now.” You finished wanted to suck in a breath. These flashes of confidence came around occasionally.

His smile turned down into a low smirk. His eyes darked just a tad as he leaned in. He took that as an invitation. You’d more than invited him in now, “That you are beautiful. And I am so thankful for that.” He almost whispered in your ear.

You still shivered. He was laying it on thick now. So would you. Or throw it back in his face, “Are you?”

He nodded, “Very. Means I can ask you out on a date.”

The laugh that left your mouth was inescapable. It had to be a joke. In your twenty-five years on this planet this had not once happened to you. It happened to all of your friends, sure, but not you, “Yeah, sure.” You voice was oozing sarcasm that wasn’t lost on Jake.

He tilted his head as he observed you, “What?”

“Is this some sort of joke or?” You looked around waiting for somebody to point at you, laughing. That’d be horrifying.

He shook his head, “Not at all sweetheart. Why would you think that?” He asked with all the sincerity lacing both his face and his expression.

You took a breath. Because nobody had ever done this before? Because why would he, the most handsome guy you’d laid your eyes upon, have any interest in you? Because this was the last thing you expected tonight. Not that you were against the thought. You just couldn’t believe it.

“No reason.” You tried to play it off as coolly as possible, but you knew you failed. You were fidgety and anxious. Not attractive at all.

“So, what do you say?”

You looked around. Why did he pick you? It just didn’t make sense. There were so many beautiful women. When you were constantly picked last it just didn’t compute when you were one of the first to be picked, “Are you sure?”

He studied your face before his smirk dropped into a frown, “Yes darlin’. I’m positive. Why do you keep trying to check?” He turned the question around on you.

“I mean, there’s women in here like Molly.” You pointed to your blonde friend who was sitting at a bench outside near the beach.

Ahh, that made sense to him. But it didn’t at the same time. You were beautiful too. Just as beautiful as the other women in the bar. If not even more beautiful. Something about you just got his mind going crazy and he wasn’t quite sure what the hell it was. But damn was he determined to figure it out.

He looked over to the girl you pointed to and shrugged, “She’s pretty but not really my type.”

You took your time looking over his features making sure he wasn’t lying to you, “Erin?”

His eyes flicked to the other blonde-haired girl you were pointing too. He shook his head, “I think you’re beautiful. She’s pretty but you’re… you’re absolutely gorgeous. What’s that mean?” He needed to get you to stop thinking about everybody else. He needed you to think about you. To stop comparing yourself. It had to have come from somewhere. Self-doubt always came from a place of neglect. Whatever it was he wanted to help you. Hell, he wanted to go on a date and then ten more with you already. He could just tell you were so layered, had so much to you. He was more than fascinated and needed to find out more. For the first time ever, Jake wanted to get to know the person he was talking to instead of getting into their bed.

It was slowly starting to click into place for you. Maybe he did actually find you attractive. He was certainly being adamant about it, “Really?” You were aware how cringy it actually was to look so daft and clueless. But on the other hand, you were genuinely mystified by the entirety of the situation. It’s not like you never ever got male attention. It just never came in this form. It always seemed to come with a catch.

His softer smile retuned as he reassured you, “Really. I’d love to take you out on a date…” His eyes went wide as he trailed off, “I don’t even know your name.” Looking away in slight embarrassment it was your turn to gain a little confidence now. You were pretty sure that he was actually into you. He was as handsome as ever. And he seemed a touch nervous to talk to you. This was your chance.

Returning his soft smile, you sat up a little taller in your barstool as you turned to him just a little, “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeated committing it to his memory. He got that exiting feeling that you’d be in his life to come for a long while. Taking a second to really remember this moment in time. Your soft smile, the light blush that danced across your cheeks, the way the sunset seemed to gleam off your glistening eyes. He was a sucker already. He’d hardly known you, but he was ready to dive right on in.

You hummed taking a sip of the Diet Coke you’d ordered waiting on his name. You weren’t the most talkative in general, so this was a task for you, to say the least. Words never seemed to come all that naturally to you.

“Jake.” He leaned in closer feeling the pull.

“Jake.” You repeated just as he did, “You look like a Jake.”

His smile grew a touch, “Is that a good thing?”

You nodded your head, “I think it is.”

He was full on grinning now, “They say third times the charm. How about a date? Me, you, tomorrow, 5 PM?”

You had to admit you were more than a little excited to be asked. Let alone by him, “Sure, I’d be down.” You cringed internally at that. Why’d you accept like that? You were trying to come off cool not like a sixteen-year-old girl getting asked on her first date ever.

He pulled his phone out in lightning speed, “Well then darlin’, that calls for me getting your number.”

You’d have to put a pound of makeup on tomorrow from how much he was already making you blush. Taking his phone from his grasp you could’ve sworn you felt the butterflies explode when you touched his fingers with your own. With you unusually shaky hands you put your number in before handing the phone back to Jake.

Your phone chimed after he rattled off a text, “And now you have mine sweetheart.”

You didn’t want to admit how smooth that was but your cheeks flaming up gave that bit away. When you didn’t respond he knew he needed to, “As much as I want to stay and talk with you all night sweetheart. Your friends are staring, and I know mind are to. I’ll pick you up at 5?” he stood from the barstool next to you.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

He sent you another wink before grabbing his beer, “I’ll see you tomorrow gorgeous. Can’t wait.”

“See you tomorrow Jake.” You waved. With that you spun making a beeline for your friends who were nearly squealing by the time you made it to their table.

“Tell us everything!” Molly was smiling from ear to ear truly thankful you’d given somebody a chance.

Taglist: @loving-and-dreaming

[crypticsketchpad]

HEY FOLKS DIDJA MISS ME. anyways here’s something I’ve been workin on for the past few weeks, some actual reference pics for the folks from these posts! I think it’s time they got a proper ref and lore post (it’s been, what, over a year since I made them?), soooooo :] buckle up. individual pics + bios under the cut; content warning for death, gore/body horror, unethical science and/or medical malpractice, I guess some minor mentions of self harm and emotional abuse… let’s just say they’ve been through a lot

CHIMERA

they/it - 23’5 - ~400 y/o - epic wubbox..?

Chimera can only be described as a true monstrosity among monsterkind. Its three components were unfortunately torn apart in an interdimensional travel accident, and in a desperate attempt to save them, their sibling Matrix decided to combine the three into one semi-intact body. Whether or not their efforts were successful is debatable; Chimera is highly physically unstable, and isn’t exactly all there mentally. It’s usually kept away from the eyes of the public, housed in the bowels of the Ethereal Island castle.

Resents Matrix for bringing them back, as they use this fact to control them. They insist that Chimera owes them their lives, and that they should be grateful, but constantly mistreats and neglects them.

Most of its original mechanical parts were damaged in the incident, so their body’s construction is supplemented by the body parts of other ethereal monsters.

EEKTO

The “primary” head, Eekto has the most control over Chimera’s body. It’s the only one who can see and hear clearly (though not by much…), so it serves as the collective’s eyes and mouth. Associated with the element of plasma, it now constantly leaks plasmic goop from its mouth, eyes, and neck joints, making it hard to speak without choking on its own saliva. The flame that engulfs its eyes grants Eekto enhanced vision in the dark, and allows it to detect things that aren’t visible to the average monster. In life, it was the oldest of the five siblings.

NOCK

The second most active head, what Nock lacks in hearing and sight it makes up for in chattiness. It’s the main mouth of the body, consuming large amounts of food at once in order to sustain all three of them. While usually relying on Eekto to be its eyes, it can also “see” by using its long, snake-like tongue to smell its surroundings, and is capable of picking up minor sound vibrations with the membranes of its Grumpyre wing “ears”. Nock’s demeanor is almost always disturbingly cheerful, and it seems to be in blissful denial of its current situation. It’s always happy to strike up a conversation with whatever monster happens to stumble upon them while lost in the castle- unless it’s Matrix, of course.

FRAKTAL

Fraktal, associated with the element of Crystal, was the worst fatality of the trio. Its head is basically all that remains of its original body, but even so, it’s in very bad shape. Frozen in a state of decay, it’s become a host to many crystalline growths that have covered its mangled face and “neck”. It is completely unresponsive to outside stimuli, and only ever moves when one of its other two siblings decides to move their shared body’s tail. The other two, however, act as if it is still alive somehow, treating and addressing it as such. Sometimes, though, one of the other heads may sense a signal from their tail; a faint, abstract thought that is not their own.

MATRIX

they/them - 11’1” - 431 y/o - rare wubbox

A self-proclaimed “genius” scientist, Matrix loves nothing more than to upgrade themself and others through body modification. Creating questionable prosthetics from miscellaneous materials, they kidnap and experiment on monsters against their will, leaving them mutilated at best, and in some cases, whatever unfortunate victim enters their lab never comes out. Matrix’s mission is to “improve” the lives of the Ethereal monsters, who they’ve proclaimed themself the leader of. They see other monsters as nothing more than test subjects who should be happy for the help they’re providing, falsely believing that their work will benefit monsterkind as a whole, and that anyone who opposes is simply ungrateful.

The first rare wubbox to ever exist, Matrix used their supernatural ability to create interdimensional rifts to access the human world. Inspired by what they saw, they rebuilt every part of themself in order to reflect that technological influence. Pleased by their transformation, they created copies of themself, which they distributed across the monster world; as such, nearly every rare wubbox is a clone of Matrix, with a few exceptions.

Using their aforementioned interdimensional abilities, they’ve shut off Ethereal Island from the rest of the monster world, preventing anyone other than themself from entering or leaving. Any Ethereal monsters who live on the Natural Islands are descended from ones who left their home island before Matrix and co’s arrival.

They were the one who rebuilt Chimera, and the perceived success of this operation is what inspired them to experiment on other monsters in an attempt to make them better than they were before. They also use this fact to keep Chimera under control, constantly reminding them that they literally owe them their lives.

Their extra set of tail-arms were assembled from parts leftover from Chimera’s creation. These arms are very flexible, and can extend and retract slightly, though they are not as strong as one may think. (Which means that unfortunately, Matrix can’t do the Doc Ock arm walk thingy.)

While Chimera’s components are affiliated with three of the Ethereal elements, Matrix is affiliated with the Mech element, and was taught the basics of engineering by one of their creators, a Vhamp named Khord. In the present day, they find Mech-element monsters the ideal subject to use for their projects.

ZYPHUR

it/its - 12’3” - 427 y/o - common wubbox

Scarred and damaged- not just physically but mentally- by the horrors it’s had to participate in, Zyphur is Matrix’s unwilling lab assistant. Serving as the brawn to its sibling’s brains, its main role is to gather subjects for Matrix to use in their experiments; it’s easily large and powerful enough to capture and restrain the other Ethereal monsters, but that doesn’t make the process any easier for all involved. Zyphur resents its job, and feels terrible forcing its captives to participate in the twisted whims of its older sibling, but it really doesn’t have a choice. It depends on them for food, shelter, and care, and feels obligated to help them due to familial ties. Despite this, Matrix constantly berates, mistreats, and manipulates it, keeping it as their own little lackey for whatever tasks they need done.

It was forced to help gather Chimera’s body parts immediately after the accident, and assisted Matrix in reassembling them. It was in a state of shock the entire time, still reeling from its own injuries, and begging its one remaining sibling for some semblance of comfort, which it never received. Before the accident, Matrix was often dismissive but still kind towards Zyphur, but this soon changed to pure disdain and superiority towards it in the aftermath.

Ended up the least scathed after the accident, with its most major injury being a severe head wound, practically ripping half its face apart. Despite Matrix’s efforts to repair it, this wound never healed properly, leaving a massive scar on one side of its mouth.

Associated with the Poison element, which is clearly visible in its eyes. Its major bodily fluids (notably tears, blood, and saliva) are tinted a vivid green and are somewhat acidic, leaving marks on whatever they touch. They are also toxic to other monsters and may cause skin damage or poisoning when exposed to them. In theory, Zyphur is capable of spitting jets of poison saliva as a defense mechanism, but tends to just let it passively drip out of its mouth.

Due to the extreme neglect, trauma, and isolation it’s had to endure, Zyphur is somewhat developmentally stunted, and behaves much younger than it is. When the Cataclysm and subsequent accident happened, it was mentally around 15 years old, and hasn’t emotionally progressed much since.

Most of the time, when its parts haven’t been repaired for a while, the edges of its gauntlet pieces are broken, with pieces of the prongs on the end often missing. This damage is self inflicted, fueled by Zyphur’s guilt towards the pain others have suffered because of it. It feels that Chimera’s components didn’t deserve to undergo such a horrible fate, and that it should have taken their place instead. Matrix simply sees this damage as the result of clumsiness, and often scolds it because of this.

Refuses to interact with Chimera- or any other monster, really- whenever it can help it; the feelings of guilt it holds about their situations are too painful to bear.

Very malnourished, and doesn’t get to eat real food very often. Its main diet consists of Matrix’s leftovers and whatever mutilated, “unusable” monster parts remain after their experiments.

ALVA

it/its - 13’5” - 433 y/o - common wubbox

A brilliant (albeit shut-in) scientist, Alva is the creator of Wublin Island and its denizens. When not looking after its “children” (the Wublins), it spends most of its time tinkering and experimenting with new ways to put the knowledge gained from its previous projects to good use. Between these two tasks, it’s almost always exhausted, and tends to overwork itself, refusing to sleep for days and putting its work and the needs of the Wublins before its own well-being. Despite this behavior, Alva is mostly satisfied with the life it’s built for itself.

One of the oldest living wubboxes from the Dawn of Fire, and one of the first to be created; it lived through the Cataclysm but doesn’t like to talk about its experience very much.

VERY bad at caring for itself in general; it doesn’t replace its parts as often as it should, causing itself chronic pain and fatigue. Alva tries to remedy this by occasionally using a shoddy cane it made for itself, but doesn’t do so often, insisting it’s fine- often while visibly having difficulty standing and walking.

Adores the Wublins and would do anything for them; though it’s quite exhausting caring for them all, it loves them very much, and tries its best to keep them happy. This also involves it hiding any sort of negative emotions or pain it feels in front of them, as it doesn’t want its children to worry about it.

Inherited the gift of the spark of life from its creator, a Galvana named Ivolta, who was the original inventor of the wubbox.

Typically doesn’t interact with the outside world much, but periodically allows airships from other islands to bring it supplies and monster eggs. It doesn’t like to leave the island, but may do so on rare occasions if its expertise is needed- namely, it was recently contacted by a team of monsters who want to use its statue-waking tech to reawaken the newly discovered Celestials.

Before the fall of Starhenge, Alva was Matrix’s best friend; the two were very close, bonding over their similar interests in robotics and bioengineering, and often collaborated on projects. However, after seeing how drastically different they are now and how harmful their “work” has become, it is disgusted by them, refusing to speak to them, despite their constant, oblivious attempts to befriend it again.

——————————————————

PHEW that was a lot haha, anyways, if anyone has any questions about these guys, feel free to ask in the replies or my askbox! (i’ll try and respond in a timely manner lmao) been working on this storyline for a while now and I can definitely expand on some of these things if anyone’s interested :]

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟝 ✧₊

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

Day 25: Leather/Rubber/Latex, Daddy/Mommy Dom, Guns/Knives

𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

sequel to 𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x FEDRA!Comandante Veracruz | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CONTENT: degradation x ∞, dark!Joel, QZ!Joel, dubcon elements, sir kink, humiliation kink, gun play, Joel is mean and rough, Veracruz is horny and pathetic, butt stuff, cumplay?, one-sided pining? | SYNOPSIS: With a string of harsh circumstances narrowing his options for survival in the QZ, Veracruz attempts to strike a deal with someone he knows can turn things back around.

“So, do we have a deal?” Veracruz presses.

Joel busies himself with a loose splinter of wood on the edge of the table, barely showing interest in the conversation. He leans further back in his chair and sighs.

“Yeah, I’m not really seein’ where this benefits me ‘n Tess.”

“How the fuck does it not benefit you?! I –” he breaks off and throws his hands in the air “–I’m the one who’s taking a loss here, out of anybody.”

“Your demotion ain’t my emergency, and it certainly isn’t gonna make me cut a deal that’s not worth our time.”

He wasn’t sure how Joel knew about the shake up in the rankings amongst FEDRA officers recently, but he couldn’t deny it. He’d had it in good with the last guy, and things were fine until they made one too many backdoor dealings and got sloppy. Now some new haircut had taken over the position, swept into the QZ, and made a big fuss, switching up positions and weeding out anybody who was more into securing their own side deals than maintaining the status quo.

“You act like you’re not getting anything out of this deal, and that’s complete bullshit,” Veracruz spits.

He hated how domineering and untouchable Joel always was. He made intimidation seem effortless, and he’d carved out a decent way of life for himself along with his partner Tess. They made good enough to stay under the radar but still score little perks here and there that otherwise weren’t possible to your average citizen. He’d made the mistake of trying to gain the upper hand with him before, and he had no intention of trying anything like that again.

“No, I think you’re just underestimating how much more I need to get outta this to offset the fact that I’m dealing with such a prick,” Joel shoots back lazily.

“So now I’m supposed to take even more of a loss because you’ve got a problem with what? My personality? Sounds awfully sensitive for somebody who’s supposed to be all big and bad.”

“Think of it as an Incentive Bonus for me. Somethin’ that motivates me enough to deal with your bitch ass every week.” Joel pauses for a moment and smirks, eyes lifting to meet Veracruz’s. “Besides, I don’t think you need reminding of how big and bad I am.”

Veracruz swallows hard thinking back to the time several months ago in the alleyway where he’d tried and failed to blackmail Joel, only to end up on his knees and covered in Joel’s cum. His cheeks heat with embarrassment at the memory, and Joel’s smile only widens.

“What are you really after?” Joel tilts his head to the side and pins Veracruz with a dubious look. “You could cut a deal with about seven other guys running around, but you for some reason seek me out? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were lookin’ for somethin’ you know only I can offer. Somethin’ to really satisfy you.”

Had he really been so obvious? He wouldn’t go as far to call it a crush or an infatuation, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how Joel made him feel that day in the alley. How the control had been ripped right up under his feet and how it had been the most exhilarating, demeaning, and arousing thing he’d ever experienced. How expertly the power was taken back from him. How the loss of control by someone bigger and stronger had sent an electric buzz through his entire body.

But Veracruz was never delusional enough to proffer Joel for that sort of interaction again and had long ago accepted that physical proximity by way of a business partnership was as close as he was going to get his fix of Joel Miller.

“I sure do remember you runnin’ your mouth a whole lot more the last time we talked,” Joel snorts.

“Sure sounds like you’re angling for a certain type of arrangement, Miller,” he lobs back weakly.

“Just callin’ it like I see it.”

Veracruz stalls for a moment but falls short of a rebuttal.

“Put your gun on the table and put your arms out to the side,” Joel orders.

He stands and looks at Veracruz expectantly, smirking when he wordlessly complies. With his pistol planted on the table, Joel pats him down quickly before settling back into his chair.

“Is it really necessary to give me a fucking pat down?” he huffs.

Joel completely ignores the objection and folds his hands behind his head. “Now that we got that outta the way, I’m giving you a chance to pitch an actual offer for this deal and quit wastin’ my time.”

Veracruz visibly scorns the insinuation but can’t stop the drop of his gaze to the spread of Joel’s legs in the chair. His eyes flit back up to find Joel staring at him with a bored smirk. He lets out a heavy breath and steps closer. There really wasn’t any use skirting around the inevitable. The guise was quickly crumbling, and Veracruz didn’t want to risk Joel walking if he didn’t just get to the point.

“Ain’t gonna take itself out,” Joel murmurs with a deliberate upswing of his hips before settling back.

Veracruz silently sinks to his knees and tries to ignore the searing gaze watching his every move. He’s almost disappointed when he makes it past the zipper and boxers and finds a limp cock. He immediately scolds himself for wishing this was more of a turn on for Joel.

“That little pat down made me realize that pay cut really hit you hard, huh? Seems like you’ve lost a little weight there, babydoll,” he muses, practically laughing in Veracruz’s face at the hardships he’d been given left and right over the past couple of months. “That’s alright. I’ll give you somethin’ to fill that mouth up. Might even give you somethin’ to fill that belly up, too, if you make this real good for me.”

The condescending nickname paired with the hazy promise of drinking Joel down was already making heat pool in Veracruz’s lower belly.

“First things first,” Joel grunts as he leans across the table and grabs the pistol. The bullets clatter loudly onto the wood when he swiftly unloads the gun. He reassembles the now empty firearm and props it between his legs. “Wouldn’t be smart to accept the goods without testing them first.”

Veracruz shakes his head, confused at the remark. The smile twisting Joel’s mouth makes the lightbulb go off in Veracruz’s head, and his entire face flushes.

“Not gonna say it twice,” Joel snips, impatient and domineering.

Veracruz closes his eyes, brow pinching ever so slightly, when Joel’s palm connects with his cheek in a stinging slap. He gasps at the sharp strike and glowers at Joel, who just laughs low and smug.

“Eyes up here.”

The disgraced, embarrassed officer swallows his pride and gently places his lips around the barrel of the gun so as to not knock it against his teeth.

“Suck.”

The cold, hard metal is heavy on his tongue as he creates as much suction as he can around the awkwardly shaped object. The taunt of Joel’s now half-hard cock right next to his mouth is almost too much to bear, but the order of eyes up makes it slightly easier to ignore. After a few moments, Joel seems placated enough to trust Veracruz with the real thing.

“You try anything funny, and I’ll drag you out into the street, slice your belly open until you’re fallin’ out all over the place, and feed you your own innards until you choke to death, you understand?”

“Yes,” Veracruz gulps. When Joel gives him a pointed look, Veracruz amends his response. “Yes, sir.”

Usually on the receiving end of these types of situations, Veracruz is at a loss where to start. Surely a man like Joel Miller knows exactly what he likes and how he likes it. There might not even be any pleasing him, which wouldn’t be surprising if that’s all this turned out to be anyway: some big show of dominance and submission. Still, it was better to just start and get this over with so he could jerk himself off the second Joel left.

“Ah ah ah, we’re not in a rush,” Joel chides when Veracruz sloppily takes him into his mouth. “You’re gonna suck my cock nice and slow, got it?”

So with a renewed, hastened pace, he sinks his mouth down until about halfway when it nudges the back of his throat and makes him cough. Glistening lines of saliva are already forming trails from his mouth to Joel’s cock, now rigid and demanding.

“Be a good little soldier and keep those eyes on me when I’m letting you suck my cock.”

He does as he’s told and angles his hips away in hopes that Joel won’t see his own growing bulge. It was bad enough that he was in this position; he didn’t need Joel knowing how much he liked being treated this way on top of it. With his jaw already starting to ache and Joel with no sense of urgency, he tries to take him deeper, only to cough and gag every time. Thankfully this seems to do something for Joel.

“Yeah, choke on it,” he groans. “This is my throat now. Gonna fuck it how I want.”

Without warning, Joel grips the back of his head and begins maneuvering it up and down at a steady, grueling tempo with the only breaks being when he turns Veracruz’s head sideways so he can bulge his cheek out with his cockhead.

“Don’t even respect yourself enough to not crawl back, beggin’ for me to gag you with my cock. What a pathetic piece of shit,” Joel grunts.

“I–I need a break,” he gasps, panting for air while he can get it.

“I’m not done, and you should be fucking grateful that I’m not giving your mouth a break by fuckin’ another hole of yours,” he bites.

A breathy groan slips from his lips before he can stop it, and Joel’s face twists into a malicious smirk. “Un-fucking-believable. You’re really that fuckin’ desperate to be my favorite little fucktoy, aren’t ya?”

When he doesn’t answer – shame and arousal heating his entire face and neck – Joel laughs at him again. 

“It’s your lucky day because I’m feelin’ real generous. Get it realllllll wet because that’s all the help you’re gettin’ before I shove it into that cumhole of yours.”

Veracruz takes it to the back of his throat to coat it in as much slippery, thick slobber as he can before following Joel’s instruction to stand up and drop his pants. The humiliation deepens when he spots the prominent swell between Veracruz’s thighs.

“Bet you’d set yourself on fire if you thought I’d piss on you to put it out,” Joel jeers.

Without waiting for a reply, he shoves the younger man against the edge of the table, knocking his feet wider apart until his hips meet the tabletop.

“This what you like? Bein’ a warm hole for me to fuck? Stickin’ my cock wherever I want because you need it that bad?” he taunts, damp breath fanning against Veracruz’s neck and making him shiver.

Joel lines himself up and slowly presses inside the puckering ring of muscle. He barely gets the fat tip past the opening before the resistance pushes against him. He snaps at Veracruz to touch himself so he'll relax, which only partially works. Veracruz feels the cool tip of his pistol nudging against his mouth and opens wordlessly for it, already knowing what Joel wants.

“There you go, little boy. Suck on that. Keep ya from cryin’,” he goads, pushing harder into the still too tight ring of muscle. “Suck on your little pacifier to keep from cryin’ while I wreck this hole.”

Veracruz whimpers loudly around the barrel, eyes slipping back as he sucks harder and tries not to come. It’s hardly five half-deep thrusts later before Joel spills inside with a wanton moan, gasping and cursing as he floats down from his high. 

“Best little cum dumpster I’ve ever met,” he muses, still a little out of breath. “I’ll be real generous and let you keep my cum plugged up in there for a little while longer. Remind you what you’re good for.”

He slowly drags himself out of the yawning hole, pulling a hiss from Veracruz despite the gentler than anticipated exit. Joel takes the gun from Veracruz’s mouth and presses it against his leaky opening.

“Now hurry up and finish,” he orders. “I wanna see if your used up cocksleeve can even clench around anything after takin’ me.”

The frantic, borderline hysterical sounds that he makes as he milks himself to completion will no doubt bring a dreadful sense of disgrace later on when he’s alone in his barracks, but right now all he can focus on is the singular most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. The shrill whistle in his ears nearly blocks out everything else as he lays face down on the table in a puddle of his own spend. He feels the bottom of his shirt being tugged as Joel cleans himself up.

“Good doin’ business with ya, cumrag.”

The next sensation that comes into his consciousness is the hot pearl of spit Joel leans over to spew over the side of Veracruz’s face. 

The zip of Joel’s fly and the jingle of his belt being fastened punctuate the heavy air. “See you at the drop next week,” he calls over his shoulder before walking out without another word.

tagging everybody from the first one

@multiversed-daydreamer @covetyou @axshadows @jupiter-soups @vabeachazn

@for-a-longlongtime @goodwithcheese @perotovar @pedrostories @thosewickedlovelies

@nothoughtsjustmeds @pedrit0-pascalit0 @ems-chaos-corner @galaxyedging @legendary-pink-dot

@elegantduckturtle @ghostofaboy @absurdthirst @toxicrecs @ghotifishreads

@sp00kymulderr @wannab-urs @bonezone44