#CRAZED FRUIT

[cinemaobscura]

Crazed Fruit | 狂った果実 (1981) dir. Negishi Kichitaro

[kvetch19]

[schlock-luster-video]

On April 18, 1958 Crazed Fruit debuted in West Germany.

[dude-could-you-be-more-gay]

Armand ate a tide pod

[cosycafune]

MATING PRESS!

1.0k words. kento's a little tipsy, a pussy-strucken mess. all he wants is to divulge in his precious housewife's cunt, consistently engaging in a mating press. he's desperate, wanting all of you...entirely. maybe, just maybe, he'd stuff you enough to corrupt you.

acts: messy sex, nasty sex, unprotected sex, mating press, slight corruption kink, breeding kink, teasing, overstimulating, crying, submission, creampies, sloppy kissing, consensual intimacy. mdni. 18+. masterlist.

a/n: kento likes messy sex, when he's slightly drunk.

YOU'RE TREMBLING, faced with the sight of a partially drunk Kento – flaunting an intimidating manspread. Nothing within you could face his wrath, sensing the itching lust that captures his low eyes. Naturally, you knew what Kento longed for. It’s so obvious, the moment you’re settled between Kento’s thighs – shaking with yearning you can’t shed.

Intoxicated with your presence, Kento pushes himself into drawing you nearer – toying with the ends of your frilly summer dress. Hungrily, Kento’s gaze darts up to you – sporting an intimidating aura. Whenever Kento drank in tolerable amounts, he’d become pent up – tinted with an insatiable urge for you.

Gluttony adorns him. Kento wanted to consume you, filling you up endlessly with his fruitful seed. Just seeing you, nervous, unable to control your lust, in front of him, drove him crazy. Even with him warmed by the alcohol, he always longs to stuff his beautiful wife, no matter where he lingers.

Shit, he’d take you on the couch he’s sitting on, the table, the floor, on the wall. Kento just wanted to take you on any spot he could, he didn’t fucking care in the slightest. All he longed for was to stuff you with his heavenly cock, pounding and decimating your cunt with everything he had. Sexually, he longed to suffocate you — driving into you to listen to every squeamish sound you make.

“Kento?” Meekly, you speak – gasping at his burly fingers kneading your doughy bubble butt.

“Hm?” Consumed by longing, Kento lowly greets your eyes – barely muttering a fruitful sound.

“‘Sure you wanna do this?” Squeezing your eyes close, you question him, “You’ve been drinking.” Frowning, you warm at Kento drawing you nearer to you – sitting you upon his tender lap.

“I’ve only drank a little, my love.” Reassuring you, Kento removes his lime glasses – displaying the aged contours beneath his eyes.

“If you’re sure, Ken’,” Teasing him, you fall tender – smitten at Kento’s fingers roaming over the fabric against your hips.

—⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You’re an unredeemable mess, your lips sloppily capturing Kento’s while his fat, angelic cock passionately pounded your plushy pussy. Gasps, desperate, dirty moans and pleasurable squelching sounds flooded the room. Unspoken tension riddled each one of Kento’s crazed thrusts, pooling into the subtle alcoholism that tints his breath. It’s so obvious, your decimated pussy tells its story – singing a sinful melody.

“Kento! Ngh! Warm!” Overstimulated, you frantically warm – enclosed by Kento’s physique in a mating press. 

“Love…when you’re like this,” Needy, Kento’s smooth tone adorns your ears – paring with his eager thrusts.

“‘Ts too…deep,” Mewling frantically, you feel Kento grab your jiggly ass cheek – gripping it to lodge his cock further into you. 

“You can…handle it,” Subtle aggressiveness tints Kento’s voice, leading him into softly kissing your lips.

“‘Can…Mhmm! Handle…it,” Cock-driven, your moans are breathless — consumed by Kento’s extreme neediness.

“That’s…my baby,” Hazy, Kento gently praises you — allowing his heavy balls to slap against your ass.

“So…warm,” Mewling, so, so, out of it, your eyes flutter — lifelessness tinting your battered eyes.

“Mhm, you ready… for my cum?” Kento’s tone holds a fragment of degradation. 

Instinctively, it causes him to pound into you with a might he knows you’re unable to handle. You’re barely able to breathe, your breasts perched up while his lips greedily meet your own. Ironically, your cognitive functions are limited — filled with the deepness and manhandled by Kento’s large cock. Every ounce of your physique is stuffed with Kento — intoxicated — tickled with the deepest elements of him.

“Baby, please!” Pleading, you tremble frantically — unable to function or breathe without Kento’s cum.

Within his presence, you always longed to be stuffed and decimated by him — every string of you wrapped around him. Your eyes were always flooded with love hearts, blooming further with the more cum Kento poured within you.

When it comes to hardcore intimacy, Kento’s extremely nasty — ruining you until you’re absolutely nothing. It’s a tad worse when he’s drunk and whiny, but able to consent enough to function. Hours would flow by, but Kento wouldn’t release you — honing his body with each thrust. None of him cared about drifting into overtime, he would simply expand on his nastiness.

Like, right now, the bedsheets are town, soaked with cum and squirt. The room’s thick with the blissful smell of sex, the sounds of inhumane struggling, cock handling and everything indecent. This imagery contrasted with Kento’s clean imagery, especially since he’s a man of hygiene. 

Yet, currently, he’s extraordinarily sweaty, his cock decorated with your dripping cum. Kento’s blonde locks stick to his forehead, his narrow eyes greeting yours as he bucked his deepest within you — feeling his previous rounds of cum clinging to his thighs. The whole room is extremely trashed, riddled with marks, and scattered furniture; everything’s clustered and unjust.

“Shit, I’ll give it to you,” Satisfied, watching you extensively beg for his cum, Kento responds — grinning.

“Please, I've… earnt it, Kento,” An external and internal mess, you plead heavily – your stomach churning at Kento fulfilling the mating press.

Mentally conquered, Kento tugs at your bubble butt – thrusting himself so deeply within you. So deeply, you’re unable to remember your name. You groan, thrash, basking within his company – eerily complete. Complete before he suffocates you beneath you, his diabolical cock pulsating deeply within you.

Wickedly, Kento glances down at you – his precious wife – enjoying the discipline he gifts you. When it comes to you, Kento’s unable to resist corrupting you – someone he’d spoil more than anything. Obviously, you loved it when Kento’s rough with you – pulverising you. Even with you as his precious housewife, Kento couldn’t help but gift you baby batter – so you can nurture a bun in your oven.

“Mhm, you…have,” Proud, Kento harshly finishes inside of you – filling you preciously with his manly spurts of cum. Every ounce of his cock was structured for you, no matter what moment remained. Shit, this moment compelled him frantically – toning him with love, devotion and solace.

Filled, Kento kisses your tender lips – observing the explicit mess he has made of you. Right now, you’re beautiful marked – submissive for him. Every crevice of you is structured for him, especially in this mating press.

He knew he would have to try this position again.

--

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. banner by cafekitsune <3

[dexaroth]

hell on earth

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ … 99% NOT LOVE ! | kinich x gn!reader

— in which two people notice what two people don't .

— i've gone absolutely batshit over him your honour. im going to now start writing for kinich like a crazed man dying of thirst in the desert. let it be known that streamer!au kinich, enemies to lovers with poacher mc and other ideas are coming up (no im not cheating on xiao shush)

mualani notices it.

"hehe."

and you hear it.

"so! there's a little..." she stares at you with the most serious face you've ever seen on the girl, acting suspiciously unlike herself. gesturing at you with exaggerated hand movements, then pointing toward who knows where, she eyes you. mischievously. "something that's 'going on', yea?"

and at first, you have absolutely no clue what she could be referring to. mualani is a sociable person, after all. her definition of "something" could range anywhere between a particularly cute baby saurian to an out-of-control-bonfire turned wildfire.

with the only eventful thing today being a brief morning surf session with sharky, you just sat there, never having felt more lost.

mualani grabs your shoulders in an iron grip, leaning forward to the point she's almost beginning to seem menacing. you can see the moment where she tries to think over something (which she never does quite successfully) before she straight up shouts:

"ah!! i'll just spell it out for you!! you. and kinich. bestie. spill."

.

.

.

ajaw did more than just "notice" it.

"you..! kIINICH, did you seriously have to-"

"noisy."

"selfish assh- ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE DISRESPECT! TIME AND TIME AGAIN, yOU'VE-"

"once again, ajaw. be quiet."

"sure sure, and pretend i didn't see you and that someone do a little smoochy-smooch, huh?! UGH, now you've asked for it- KINICH AND LOVEY DOVEY, SITTIN' IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

ajaw was what you would call a "witness". though, most would use that term in regards to one seeing a crime or heinous event take place — this event was nothing of that nature.

well, as far as kinich was concerned, the matter was simple. you'd ventured all the way to scions of the canopy to give him a gift, (claiming it was for the time he'd helped you after a couple of yumkausarus hadn't enjoyed your fruit offering and instead decided to off you), and he'd refused to accept it. he wasn't one to receive reimbursement for others, and he didn't particularly like talking either — it was a well-known fact, almost law in natlan, that if the malipo ignored your words, all you need do was apologize and continue on.

well, you did exactly the opposite.

"no thanks."

"...sorry?"

"i don't need it."

"haha, so 'malipo' kinich's rumored no-nonsense nature really proved to be true! now come over here so i can give you my fucking gift!"

you were rather adamant about giving it to him. the reason? you'd bought the gift on a whim after seeing it being sold by a passing merchant, advertised as "80% only today if you buy within the next like 4 minutes" and you'd immediately dropped every mora you had. it was the most useless little thing ever, and you didn't want it at this point, but.. the deals. how could you return such an item???

naturally, you handed it off to the man you'd seen for a good two minutes before he flew, or did whatever his thing was, away. the man had remembered furrowing his brows the slightest, listening to ajaw's persistent yellings of "IT'S AN OFFERING TO ME, TAKE IT" and feeling an oncoming headache. "i said i didn't.."

as he turned to walk away, three unfortunate(?) things occured.

a rock under your shoe and a very graceful process of falling to the ground

kinich looking back (his mistake)

a kiss...?

oh, and two extra.

4. ajaw had saw it all. 5. and mualani, who had saw you from a distance and was coming to greet you, was faced with a sight she could not process.

...Now that he thought over it again, was the matter really "simple"? kinich's job was what he considered simple — split 70% to investigation, 10% to final decision, and 10% to execution, well portioned and planned out.

then, this...

.

.

.

"girlie, you've seriously got the wrong idea. i'm telling you, we aren't dating!"

"mmmokay. of course! because not-dating people kiss allll the time!"

you paused for a moment, remembering kinich's even tone, stern gaze, and... ah, a face that deserved a gold medal.

"it's only 99% not love, okay mualani? but if it wasn't..."

.

.

.

"... and it's 99% not love, ajaw."

(a/n) darling im back from jail part 2. daddys home part 2. not funny? ok. HIHIHIHI ive bene really built like a sun dried raisin lately but kinich is the healing holy water that has saved me i will write more for him in the future because i love him a stupid amount its like the first time in a decade I've written for just ONE character and AND AND

I THOUGHT HE WOULDNT OCME HOME BECAUSE I ONLY HAD 68 WISHES OUT OF MY ORIGINAL LIKE 100+ AND RUINED MY CHANCES BECAUSE OF REALLY REALLY WANTING MuALANI (i love her sm) BUT. BUT BRO CAME HOME. ON THE FIRST 10 PULL AND WON THE 50/50 JUST LIKE MUALANI DID (or is it 45/55 now idk) LIVE LAUGH LOVE KINICH !!

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

[luxuki-1]

dude really is one seriously crazed up fruit loop

[archivequinn]

Freedom ⚔ emperor geta x fem!reader

Summary: You are a servant of Emperor Geta and one night Geta asks you to do more than a servant. ao3 link Words: 6,093 Warnings: SMUT. SMUT IT'S SMUT SO MINORS GO AWAY. +18 oral sex, public sex, little bit dirty talk and whatever, unprotected sex, cumming inside. credits for dividers: @strangergraphics

This is my first time trying smut so I apologise if it was bad, my first language is not English so I apologise for any translation mistakes! If you like it, you can support me by RBing so that I can have a bigger audience. I hope you enjoy reading it. 🧡

When you step into Emperor Geta’s chamber, an icy cold hits your face, like the breath of a tomb. It feels as though Emperor Geta’s invisible eyes are watching you from between the walls.

In the center of the room stands a bed, rising like a throne, draped with a perfectly laid dark red velvet cover that declares its dominance. The patterns embroidered with golden threads shimmer like flames, but even daring to examine them up close requires courage. Seeing a wrinkle on those covers would be a crime inviting the Emperor’s wrath.

You silently place the basket in your hand into a corner. On the table sits a half-finished wine goblet. Beside it, there’s a plate with dried fruit remnants—it’s clear that Geta left in a hurry. As you tidy the table, your hand trembles while holding the goblet, because if it were to fall, it would be a harbinger of the disasters to come.

The moonlight streaming through the window falls on the columns next to the bed. The curtain sways slightly, and even this small motion breaks the silence enough to make you flinch.

You think Geta is ready to spend the night here now. Every corner has been straightened, every speck of dust wiped away, and everything is exactly as it should be—because if it’s not, Geta’s madness will find you with the first light of day. You take one last look at the bed’s cover, ensuring it’s perfectly smooth, and then check the table.

With trembling hands, you lift the wine decanter. Made of silver with delicate engravings, the decanter glimmers like a blade in the moonlight. If Emperor Geta decides to drink suddenly during the night, his goblet must always be ready. You’ve heard this rule countless times, and you know all too well how severe the consequences can be if you forget even once.

You tilt the decanter gently and begin pouring wine into the goblet. The thick, dark red liquid flows slowly into the glass, filling the room with a faint scent of wine. At that moment, in a fleeting lapse of attention, your hand slips from the decanter’s handle. For a brief instant, the decanter seems to float in the air before crashing to the ground like a lightning bolt meeting the earth. A sharp ringing echoes off the walls of the chamber.

The wine spreads rapidly across the marble floor like a bloodstain. That dreadful red seeps outward with a mercilessness that rivals the covers on Geta’s bed. Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart pounds as if it might burst out of your chest. For a moment, you’re frozen in place, as though any movement might magnify the horror of your mistake.

Geta must not see this. Absolutely must not!

You drop to your knees and frantically try to wipe the wine with your hands. Your fingers slide helplessly across the slippery marble, the crimson red staining your skin. Your breath grows uneven, sweat drips from your forehead into your eyes, but you can think of nothing else except cleaning the spill. You begin wiping the floor with the hem of your dress, desperate and panicked.

Just then, the ominous creak of the door’s hinges freezes your entire body. The door swings wide open, and Emperor Geta storms in like a raging wind. The moonlight illuminates one side of his face, while the other vanishes into darkness.

His eyes dart immediately to the ground, to the shattered decanter and the wine stain that looks like blood.

For a moment, your gaze locks on his crazed eyes, glowing in the moonlight. The corner of his lips twitches upward—it resembles a smile, but there is no warmth in it—only menace.

“Do you have something to explain to me?” he asks, leaning down toward you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

In that instant, even breathing feels impossible. Your arms fall limply to your sides, and you’re frozen, unsure of what Geta might do as the wine stain continues to spread across the cold marble.

“Please, forgive me… My Emperor. I… it was an accident,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you sink to your knees. Bowing your head to the floor, you cover the wine stain, as though you could erase your shame along with it. You clasp your hands together, bowing before him in a pleading posture. Your heart pounds mercilessly in your chest; the knowledge that a single word from him could seal your fate makes it hard to breathe.

“Stand up,” he says in a tired, deep voice. Not out of anger, but more out of exasperation. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you today. Clean it up and leave the room.”

His words carry the weight of a command, yet they lack his usual fury. His hair is slightly disheveled, and the faint shadows under his eyes reveal how exhausted he is.

“Yes, my Emperor. At once,” you reply, springing into action. Though your movements are clumsy, your trembling hands continue wiping the wine with the hem of your dress. As the stain on the marble floor slowly fades, Emperor Geta walks heavily toward his bed.

For a moment, you find yourself staring at his leather sandals and the fine silk fabric clinging to his frame.

Suddenly, Geta stops and begins to undress.

You hold your breath, lower your head, and focus on the remnants of the wine as if those stains were the most important task in the world. But the soft sound of his silk tunic falling to the floor causes your eyes to involuntarily shift toward him.

Geta had discarded the tunic, and under the moonlight, the breadth of his shoulders and the definition of his muscles resembled that of a Greek statue. His shoulders, the contours of his back… they seemed like a flawless work of art, delicately crafted by a master sculptor.

This magnificent man, whose name traveled on the tongues of everyone in the palace, always made you scoff. “You admire that madman? You must be out of your mind,” you’d think to yourself. Yet now, as you tried not to look at him, you couldn’t explain why your heart was racing so fast.

You swallow hard and lower your gaze back to the ground. The wine stain is completely gone. Quickly, you stand and place the shards of the decanter into the basket. “Forgive me, my Emperor. With your permission, I’ll take my leave,” you say, bowing your head and moving toward the door.

But just as you reach it, you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait.”

You freeze. Your eyes remain fixed on the wooden surface of the door. “Yes, my Emperor?”

“You forgot to extinguish the candle on the table,” Geta says, his tone sharper now but still tinged with fatigue.

“My apologies, I’ll do it immediately.”

You are forced to turn back. Without lifting your eyes from the ground, you walk toward the table beside the bed. As you lean forward to extinguish the candle, you can feel Geta’s presence looming above you; he’s lying on the bed, but it feels as though he’s still watching you. Your hands tremble as you hastily snuff out the candles.

“Tell me something. I can’t sleep.”

You raise your head slightly, looking at him in surprise. Is he joking, or is this some kind of game? There’s a glimmer in his eyes—tired but still menacing.

“What would you like me to tell, my lord?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Geta, reclining on the bed with his back propped against the pillows and one arm lazily stretched out to the side, speaks with a faint smile on his lips. “I don’t care. Tell me a tale, a story. But don’t be boring, not until I’m asleep.”

The subtle threat in his words seeps into your very core. Even as your knees still tremble, you find yourself standing in the middle of the room—before him, less like a servant and more like a prisoner. You clench your hands, clear your throat, and begin to speak about the first thing that comes to mind—your village. At that moment, you struggle to string your words together, avoiding Geta’s gaze.

“I… I come from a small village west of Tarentum, my lord,” you say. The words spill out slowly, your voice low but trying to remain steady. “There, my father was a farmer. Our land was small, but it was fertile. Every spring, the plains would turn green; the air would smell of lavender everywhere. At sunset, the light would shimmer over the fields like golden dust, and at night, the sky was full of stars. My mother… she used to weave small tapestries at home with my siblings…”

You pause for a moment, swallowing hard as the warmth of the memories washes over you. But Geta’s impatient voice snaps you back to reality. “And then?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, one eyebrow raised.

Your eyes drop to the floor, your breath tightening as if you’re reliving it all over again. “Then… then your armies came. At first, we saw the smoke. Rising over the forest, from the other side of the village. My mother told us to run, but it was too late. The soldiers… they set everything on fire. My siblings… they got lost in the chaos. My father tried to fight, but…”

The words catch in your throat. You clench your hand into a fist, taking a deep breath. “Then they found me. A soldier grabbed me by the hair and dragged me away. Since that day, I’ve been here, serving in the palace.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy, as a cold silence settles over the room. The final images of your village flash through your mind—the smoke, the screams, the scent of scorched earth. But Geta’s face betrays not the faintest hint of emotion. Instead, his eyes travel over you, scanning you from head to toe.

“So, a farmer’s daughter,” he says, his voice carrying a mocking undertone. “From lavender-scented fields to cleaning my chambers. What a charming story…”

The ridicule in his words cuts into your heart like a sharp blade, but you remain silent. In moments like these, silence is survival. And yet, you notice how the pain your story stirs within you has captured Geta’s attention. Perhaps some fragment of it has touched something deep within his deranged mind—or perhaps he’s merely found his entertainment for the evening.

The deep silence of the room swells, spreading like the shadows on the walls. Geta slowly turns his head, fixing his gaze on you. At first, you think you’re only imagining his eyes on you, but when your eyes meet his, you’re certain—he’s truly watching you.

“Well…” he says, his voice drowsy but tinged with a faint curiosity. “There was someone in your village, wasn’t there? Someone who made your heart race?”

The question catches you off guard. Your face flushes as you lower your gaze to the floor, clasping your hands tightly in your lap. “No, my Emperor. There was no one,” you reply softly.

Geta’s eyebrows draw together slightly, as if your answer wasn’t what he expected. Resting his head against the pillow, his gaze shifts to the ceiling, and his tone takes on a contemplative edge.

“Love…” he repeats, as though savoring the word. “Sometimes I wonder if it truly exists. Poems are written, wars are fought. But I…” He pauses, his gaze shifting back to you.

The exhaustion in his eyes deepens, giving way to a profound emptiness. “…I’ve never felt it. Not once.”

You swallow hard. For an emperor—especially one as cruel and mad as Geta—to make such an intimate confession feels almost unreal. For the first time, his face seems open, vulnerable, as though a part of his mask has slipped.

You want to say something, but the words stick in your throat. For a fleeting moment, your heart swells with an odd sense of compassion for him. The fear inside you gives way to what might be the one thing Geta needs most in that moment—understanding. But you are only a servant. How much right do you have to speak?

"What do you think?" he asks suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts once again. "Does love exist? Or is it just a fairy tale?"

You don’t know how to answer. "Your Majesty, I…" you whisper, but the words hang in the air. He has already turned his gaze away from you and back to the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he narrows his eyes, his fingers tracing along the edge of the pillow.

"It must be a fairy tale," he mutters to himself. "Too absurd and hollow to be real."

As your heart continues to race, the words slip from your lips almost on their own, "I’ve never been in love, Your Majesty. But I believe true love exists."

The moment your words fill the room, a faint look of surprise crosses Geta’s face. You expect him to make a mocking remark, but he doesn’t. His eyes fix on you, as if trying to understand what you mean.

"True love?" he repeats, his voice both curious and skeptical. "What does that even mean?"

"I don’t know. But it must be something that stirs your heart, fills you up, and makes you forget the emptiness," you say softly but with conviction. "Like believing without seeing. You can’t hold it in your hands, you can’t see it with your eyes, but you feel it. A glance at your eyes, a touch in your voice is enough. It makes you forget your fears, it completes you."

Geta remains silent for a while, as though he’s absorbing your words. The tired expression on his face gives way to deeper contemplation.

"That has never happened to me," he says finally, his tone softened. "I’ve seen hundreds of people. I’ve taken what I wanted. There were even those who claimed to love me—or so they said. But… something inside me has always been missing. Always."

Could the emptiness within a man who has lived like a king be the despair of someone who has never truly chosen anything in his life?

"Perhaps what you’re looking for is still waiting for you, Your Majesty," you say quietly.

"Leave," he says at last. "But come back early in the morning. I want to… talk more."

Bowing your head, you quickly make your way out of the room.

As the first light of morning strikes the stone walls of the palace, you carefully prepare the table in Geta's chamber. Silver trays, gold-embellished plates, and food still steaming… Everything must be perfect. Your heart is still racing from the strange conversation you had last night. Perhaps you had dreamed it all; how could an emperor speak so candidly with a servant?

Lost in thought, you suddenly hear Geta’s voice. “You’re so quiet. Are you that happy to see me this morning?”

You quickly turn your head. Geta is standing by the door, the long fabric of his robe elegantly draped around his body as he watches you. Behind his cold gaze is that familiar weariness, but there’s also a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

“Your Majesty…” you begin, but you falter, unsure of what to say.

Geta walks slowly toward the table and pulls out a chair before sitting down. Gesturing toward you, he speaks. “Set those trays down and sit.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, your heart nearly stopping. “I—”

“That was an order,” he interrupts, his tone still gentle but carrying an authority that leaves no room for argument. “Sit at the table.”

Wiping your trembling hands on the folds of your apron, you slowly take a seat at the table, though perched on the edge of the chair, ready to rise at any moment. Noticing your hesitance, Geta raises his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly.

“This trembling of yours is starting to annoy me,” he says with a hint of mockery. Then, taking a piece of fruit from his plate, he pops it into his mouth. “Keep talking. What you said last night was interesting. Tell me about your village.”

You swallow hard. The situation feels so strange that you almost forget how to form words. But Geta’s gaze remains fixed on you, filled with an impatience to learn more.

“My village…” you begin hesitantly. “Everything was simpler there. Our small houses, our fields… But I miss the horses the most, Your Majesty. Riding them along the edge of the fields in the morning… I was free then.”

“Free.” Geta repeats, as though hearing the word for the first time. He leans back slightly in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. “Riding? Is that what it feels like?”

A smile spreads across your lips, a warmth you haven’t felt in years lighting up your face. “Yes, Your Majesty. When you’re on a horse… the wind whips through your hair, the world shrinks. It’s like… your chains disappear. It’s just you and the wind.”

Geta watches you in silence for a moment. The emptiness in his eyes seems to fill slightly; he appears to truly be trying to understand what you’re describing. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“I wish I could feel this ‘freedom,’” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve ridden horses many times, but I’ve never felt that way.”

He picks up a piece of bread, extends his arm to the edge of the table, and pushes it toward you. “Eat,” he says simply. “You look hungry.”

“Your Majesty, I can’t. I…”

“This morning, the rules are subject to my whims,” he interrupts again, his gaze hardening slightly. “And I want to have breakfast with you.”

Reluctantly, you take a piece of bread and begin eating slowly. Geta watches your movements intently, as though even this simple act fascinates him.

“You know,” he says after a while, his tone softening. “Everyone in this palace… they’re all the same. Artificial voices, fake smiles… Even their mediocrity is false. But you…”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours as he continues. “You’re interesting. Your village, your stories, your belief in freedom… Ordinary yet sincere. And for the first time, I think I like that.”

It’s impossible to describe how strange you feel. Yet at the same time, you grasp the truth behind Geta’s words—his loneliness, the pieces of humanity still hidden somewhere deep within him. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you whisper. You can’t say anything more because even the slightest word would shatter the magic of this moment.

As you clean the table, your mind remains caught on Geta’s words. Why would an emperor like him find an ordinary servant interesting? And why would he openly admit it? These thoughts swirl in your mind as you notice Geta leaving the room. The echo of his footsteps, the heavy door closing behind him… You’re left standing there in silence.

A few hours pass. The morning’s conversation is almost forgotten amidst the palace’s bustling daily routine—until another servant rushes in, out of breath, and says, “Emperor Geta is waiting for you in the back garden.”

The garden? And with you? Why? No explanation is given; only the command is to be obeyed. With sweaty palms and your head lowered, you follow the order.

When you arrive at the garden, the sight before you surprises you once again. Two horses, meticulously prepared, stand waiting. Geta is beneath the shade of a tree, hands clasped behind his back, impatiently looking at the ground. When he notices you, he lifts his head, and for a moment, the stern expression on his face softens. “Come,” he says, beckoning you with his hand. “You said you missed the horses, didn’t you?” “Your Majesty, but…” you murmur, your breath catching. “I… I haven’t ridden in years. Is this… proper?” Geta approaches you with a slight smile and places a hand on your shoulder. “When you’re with me, everything is proper. Now, stop making excuses and get on the horse.”

You hesitate as you approach the horse. Your hand brushes against the cold leather of the saddle. It doesn’t feel natural, as it did when you were a child. But Geta watches you patiently. Finally, with a trembling breath, you climb onto the horse. Geta steadies you with a firm grip around your waist, ensuring you’re secure before swiftly mounting his own horse with practiced ease.

The movement of the horse creates a brief moment of tension in you, but as the steps smooth out, your body adjusts to the rhythm. Something you had almost forgotten begins to resurface: the touch of the wind on your face, the freedom within the gentle trot. Your eyes well up involuntarily.

Guiding his horse skillfully, Geta rides closer to you. “See? You haven’t forgotten how to ride,” he says. His voice seems stripped of its usual arrogance, replaced with admiration and curiosity. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve missed this feeling so much…”

Geta remains silent for a while, as though he’s sharing the same feeling, though he’d never admit it. He orders the guards trailing behind you to stop. Now it’s just the two of you, heading toward the depths of the woods in the back garden.

Geta approaches the horse you’re riding. He halts his own horse beside yours and, without warning, pulls himself up onto yours, giving you no time to turn and look at him. His hands grip your waist firmly as he whispers, “Let go of the reins. I’m steering now.”

Your heart begins to race. Feeling his strong arms around your waist, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck… No matter how much you try to relax, your body tenses. “Calm down,” he says in an almost teasing tone. “I won’t let you fall.”

As the horse quickens its pace, you feel Geta’s hold tighten. His grip is firm but reassuring. The space between you has completely disappeared. For a moment, you sense the rhythm of his breathing aligning with the beat of your heart.

After a while, Geta pulls the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. “You see?” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “Stop tensing up,” he murmurs.

In that instant, you catch a sincere spark in Geta’s gaze—a spark that seems to beg you to see him not as an emperor, but as a person.

With the reins back in his hands, the horse’s movements return to a steady rhythm. Having the Emperor this close to you, feeling his breath on your neck, is utterly overwhelming.

“Calm down,” he whispers again. But instead of soothing you, it has the opposite effect. Calm down? That’s impossible. Because Geta’s presence seeps into you, breaking through the palace walls and settling deep within.

For a while, you ride in silence. The horse’s gentle rhythm, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, creates a melody of its own. But the silence is broken when Geta leans closer to your shoulder, almost pressing his lips to your skin. “May I ask you something?” he says, his voice low, almost intimate. “Of course, Your Majesty…” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You said you truly believe in love. Do you know where to find it?”

This was not the question you were expecting. For a moment, you don't know what words to choose. But with Geta's hands holding you tightly and the sense of security created by being this close to him, you gather your courage. "Yes," you finally say. "I believe it's real. But maybe... it can only be found rarely." Before you know it, Geta pulls on the reins to stop the horse, and you feel as though all time in the world has halted. The rhythmic breathing of the horse envelops your lightly swaying bodies. Geta slowly leans in, his head passing by your shoulder, his chin nearly resting against it. "Turn to me," he whispers. There is something beyond a command in his voice—a fragile yet passionate call, an invitation of desire. You turn slowly, your body trembling slightly. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, both of your breaths catch. "Your ordinariness… it's far more beautiful than I thought," he says in a low voice. And with those words, he brings his lips closer to yours. The first touch is light and cautious, as if he's afraid of breaking the magic of the moment. As one hand gently brushes against your back, his other hand touches beneath your chin, drawing you closer. The warmth between his lips makes you forget the chill of the wind. As you feel his breath and the weight of his touch, time seems to come to a complete standstill. Your heartbeat quickens, but you realize it's not from fear—it's from a sudden, unexplainable pull toward Geta. When your lips part, he tilts his head slightly and rests his forehead against yours. "This… this is what I wanted to feel," he says in a low voice, almost as if speaking to himself. And then, again. As Geta's lips meet yours once more, all the sounds and movements of the world seem to disappear in an instant. The horse's slow, steady breaths, the soft rustling of the wind, the distant chirping of birds... all of it fades into the background. His lips move gently and carefully, as if he’s trying to savor the moment and explore you at the same time. The hands on your waist act as an anchor, pulling you even closer to him as if ensuring you won’t fall. The pressure of his fingers is light yet commanding; it both supports and completely possesses you. At first, you are lost in the magic of the moment, but then Geta takes the kiss a step further. When he slightly parts his lips, his warm breath grazes yours, and you feel the delicate, inviting touch of his tongue against your lips. The sensation spreads through your body like an electric current. When you respond, the kiss becomes deeper and more intense. The movement of his tongue is slow yet passionate, as though he’s exploring you with every motion, wanting to fully claim the moment. The taste of Geta's lips… how does an emperor taste? For a fleeting moment, you notice the subtle traces of wine and spices on his lips; at the same time, the flavor seems to reflect his dual nature—both noble and wild. But instead of unsettling you, this combination draws you in further. His fingers settle lightly just above the curve of your hips, holding you with a gentle firmness that reminds you of his control. You can feel the faint press of his chest against yours, and your heartbeat begins to synchronize with the accelerated rhythm of his. The movements of his tongue grow bolder, more fervent, as if he doesn’t just want to feel you but conquer you entirely. The mingling of your breaths during the kiss creates a sensation that is both soothing and maddening all at once.

As you and him ride the horse deeper into the forest, the trees seem to close in around you, their leaves whispering secrets only known to lovers. Geta's hands tighten around your waist as he pulls you closer, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that can no longer be denied. The horse snorts softly beneath you as you dismount together.

Geta lifts you off the saddle and sets you down on the soft grass beside the lake. He gazes at your blushed face for a moment before his mouth descends upon yours once more. His tongue dances as he slowly works his way down your neck, leaving trails of kisses that make you shiver.

His teeth graze against the tender skin of your throat, sending shivers down your spine. He sucks gently, his mouth hot and demanding. His hands roam over your legs, tracing the curves of your thighs with a gentle touch that belies the passion burning within him.

As Geta's hands continue to explore your body, you can't help but feel a growing sense of desire. His fingers dance across your legs, tracing the curves of your thighs with a gentle touch. He pauses at the waistband of your dress, his fingertips grazing against the soft fabric as he pulls it upwards.

His mouth never leaves your neck as he sucks gently on it, his tongue strokes and nips at the tender skin. Your core burns with an intense longing for more.

Geta's hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, his palm pressing against the warmth between your legs. You gasp softly into his mouth as he begins to stroke you through the fabric of your panties. His fingers move in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your desire for him growing with every passing moment. His touch sends sparks flying through your veins.

As Geta's fingers deftly undoes your dress, you feel a thrill of anticipation run through your body. He pushes the fabric aside, revealing the curves of your breasts to his eager gaze.

His mouth descends upon one of your nipples, sucking it gently. You gasp softly as he begins to lick and flick at it with his tongue. His fingers knead at the other breast, rolling and pinching it gently as he continues to lavish attention on the other one. 

Geta's mouth moves from one breast to the other, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild. He sucks your nipples hard, making them pucker and stiffen with desire. His teeth graze against them, sending shivers down your spine as he bites gently.

As he works his way around your chest, Geta's hand dips lower, slipping beneath the hem of your dress once more. This time, however, it's not just for show - he slides a finger beneath the fabric of your panties, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You're wet and ready for him, and he knows it. His finger strokes against your pussy, gathering the moisture that's pooling there before sliding back up to tease you once more. 

Geta's fingers continue to stroke against your pussy, teasing you mercilessly as he works his way down your body. 

Finally, he dips lower still, his mouth closing over your pussy like a warm blanket. His tongue darts in and out of you, stroking against your inner walls.

You're powerless to resist the sensation of his mouth on you. Geta's tongue strokes and laps at you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes you feel like you're melting into his mouth. As he eats at you, Geta's hands move up to cup your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to his mouth as he devours you. You can feel yourself getting hotter by the second, your desire for him reaching a fever pitch.

As he eats at you, Geta's hands move up to cup your ass cheeks, pressing you closer to his mouth as he devours you. You can feel yourself getting hotter by the second, your desire for him reaching a fever pitch.

Geta's tongue moves in and out of you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking against your inner walls. He uses his nose to rub against your swollen bud, creating a sensation that's both gentle and intense.

He begins to move faster and more furiously, as if trying to drive you wild. He uses it like a fuckin' tool, plunging it deep into your pussy and then withdrawing it slowly before repeating the motion.

Your body is trembling with anticipation as he continues to devour you.

Suddenly, Geta adds his fingers to the mix. He inserts two fingers into your pussy alongside his tongue, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he continues to eat at you.

The sensation is overwhelming - it's like nothing you've ever experienced before. You're powerless to resist the pleasure that's building inside of you, and you know that it won't be long before you come.

Finally, with a gentle pressure on your clit, Geta's fingers bring you over the edge. You cum hard and fast, your body trembling with pleasure.

As you're still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm, Geta turns you around gently but firmly. He bends you over, his hands grasping at your hips as he pulls them towards him.

With a swift motion, he takes off his clothes. His cock springs free from its confines, standing tall and proud as he leans against you.

You can feel his hardness pressing against your back, and Geta's hands move up to stroke himself.

"My God," he whispers into your ear. "Your body is perfect for me, just like I guessed it would be."

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he begins to slide slowly inside of you.

"You're so tight," he breathes.

He pauses for a moment, his cock buried deep within you. You feel yourself relaxing around him, accommodating his size and shape with ease.

"I'm going to make this last forever," he whispers. "I want to savor every moment with you."

With that, Geta begins to move faster and more urgently, his hips pumping in and out of you in a slow but deliberate rhythm. His fingers are between your legs now, rubbing circles around your clit with a gentle pressure. Geta's other hand is cupping one of your breasts, squeezing and releasing it with each thrust. His thumb brushes against your nipple, sending sparks through every cell in your body.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. "I love how you respond to me."

As he picks up speed, his words become more urgent and passionate. You can feel him getting closer and closer to orgasm, his cock throbbing with desire as he continues to pump in and out of you.

He leans in to kiss you deeply. His lips are soft and gentle, but his tongue is insistent as it explores your mouth. You can feel him inhaling your scent, drinking in the aroma of your skin.

Despite his best efforts to be gentle, you can sense that he's on the edge of pleasure. His cock throbs with desire as he continues to move inside of you.

"May I cum inside?" he whispers against your ear. "Please?"

You nod silently, unable to speak through the intensity of the moment. 

With a final thrust, he comes deep within you. You feel his cock pulsing with release as he empties himself into your pussy.

As he comes, you feel your own body responding. Your pussy tightens around his cock as you come hard and fast, the pleasure building to a crescendo.

Together, you ride out the wave of pleasure, your bodies trembling with release as you cum together in perfect sync.

Geta turns to you, gently wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. The warmth of his body envelops you so strongly that it almost makes you feel safe, and you struggle to steady your breathing. "Look at that," he murmurs, tilting his head toward the sky. "I watch this every day. The sun sets, the stars come out. Yet... it feels like this view has meaning for the first time." He takes a deep breath, as if trying to suppress the adrenaline still coursing through him. "You know," he continues, turning his head slightly to lock eyes with you. "I've tasted power my entire life. Palaces, armies, victories... But I never understood what freedom feels like. And that absence has always suffocated me." He holds you tighter, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. "But now... Here with you... For the first time, I can feel what freedom is. It's like... the world belongs only to the two of us." For a while, neither of you speaks, simply breathing together. As the sky fades into complete darkness and the stars emerge, Geta's arms wrap around you like a shield. In that moment, there is only him. Just Geta and you. The rest of the world feels distant, its voice silenced. Maybe neither of you wants to end this moment. Maybe you both know this infinity, this freedom, is too beautiful to be real. But in this moment, you belong to no one and nothing. Only to each other.

taglist: @userchai @runningupthatvecna @multyfangirl @scarletwolfxox @mylittlepimp @25bohemianmoons @nicholaschavezslut69

[muletia]

Yknow what? At this point if megatron is obbsessed with human pussy then might aswell make soundwave join the party too. Hooray! Another decepticon joins in!!! Because we all know soundwave is very loyal and trust worthy to megatron, and megatron trust more to soundwave then the rest of the decepticons. Both honestly insane for y/n

Starscream on the other hand- he thinks this is getting ridiculous and just stare in horror😭

wrote this instead of studying. i cannot stop thinking about them handsome obsessed mechs man. and as for starscream - I have way different plans for him in this au thanks to one very delicious anon ask :))

When Soundwave joins your merry band of obsessed Decepticons, there’s no way for you to escape from the Nemesis (I mean, you’ll manage somehow, because this is crack—anything goes, and the bullshit flows freely). His master had already instructed him to monitor you constantly, especially since Optimus somehow keeps breaking onto their ship. Initially, Soundwave simply carried out the order without questioning his master’s decision. There wasn’t a shred of personal desire, sympathy, or sentiment in his actions.

Well, his motives change drastically when he concludes that you’re worth his attention. Curiosity turns into attachment, attachment into need, and need into hunger. From that moment, the order ceases to be an obligation fulfilled out of loyalty. It transforms into care. Into the need to protect. Under no circumstances could you fall back into the servos of the Autobots. Your place was here, on Megatron’s lap and under his watchful gaze.

I don’t think Soundwave hides his feelings. Even though he’s mute, calculated, and above all, a cold-blooded spy, Megatron easily guesses that his second-in-command has plans for you that go beyond his primary orders. His body language gives him away—tiny deviations noticeable only because of the eons of history they share. It’s subtle but undeniable. And astonishing, because Soundwave betrayed him. The most loyal follower stepped beyond the boundaries of an order, proving that the impossible became possible—that an apathetic machine could feel.

At first, Megatron is furious. He didn’t plan to share. He had already claimed you—you belonged to him alone, and once he won the war, you were to stay in his servos forever. There was no room for another mech, for anyone else. But possessiveness doesn’t get the chance to take root, completely consume his processor, and lead to irreversible, harmful decisions. This arrangement might prove fruitful, after all. Megatron still trusted his spy—more than any of his other subordinates. And so, he allows the partnership.

Your freedom on the Nemesis may have expanded, but hopping from one crazed Decepticon to another came with a catch tied to a suspiciously practical offer. Megatron informed you that from time to time, his second-in-command would take care of you, so you could forget about ever seeing the Autobots again. However, he didn’t tell you that his second-in-command was just as unhinged as he was—and apparently had plans for you that extended beyond passive observation.

Soundwave isn’t as touchy-feely. He doesn’t hold you against his chassis for hours to prove that his badonkers are bigger than his rival’s. He doesn’t demand touch from you, either. But there are moments when he forces closeness: stroking your hair, examining your body with his thin digits, massaging your back. He isn’t invasive like Megatron, nor harsh in his affections. His movements are subtle, carrying greater respect for you. After all, you didn’t fully belong to him. He only got a fraction, a small piece to calm his raging processor chanting your name. Megatron holds the reins and always will.

It’s most evident when they’re together in the same room. It’s on Megatron’s throne you sit, on his lap, as he recites Cybertronian romantic poetry or his own verses—mostly concerning his turbulent, sick feelings toward you. Soundwave is merely an observer. He doesn’t dare ask for more. He takes the scraps, but they’re enough because you’re close, because he has consistent access to you. He’s also content with his leader’s victory (at least until you return to the Autobots), because when you’re on the Nemesis, everything falls into place. The fire in their sparks burns fiercer, more fervently.

[suguann]

OH, DARLING—ASTARION

✎. he’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky, and you have the sneaking suspicion he's upset with you. | wc. 1.3K+

tags. fem!reader, established relationship, jealousy, slight dirty talk, pet names [18+ only]

masterlist

Eighteen days. That’s how long it takes between the Shadowlands and reaching Wyrm’s Crossing. Longer still since you’ve interacted with anyone other than bandits, lost refugees, cult-crazed lunatics, and your merry band of weirdos (Gale’s words, not yours). 

For once, you’re not picking berries off bushes to offset hunger until you make camp or plucking bramble from your pants when the occasional trail turns out to be safer than the King’s Road. You can finally sit at a bartop and order wine instead of choking down the contents of an ancient bottle of Ithbank you snatched from a cellar in some decrepit village.

That was at least the most tolerable thing you experienced outside the gates, as far as roughing it in the wilds goes.

And it might be your newfound appreciation for city life, of finding an escape from what’s become your current normal—sneaking past goblin-infested camps, waterlogged boots, and haystacks for beds (an upgrade from sleeping on the cold, hard dirt, you suppose)—that lures the Drow twins over to your party walking down from the top floor of the Sharess’ Caress.

“You must be curious after keeping such…” Nym glances over Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach, hovering behind you, threatening with blood stains on their clothes and out of place in an establishment full of nobles and wealthy ministers. “Interesting company.”

It’s safe to say you’re uninterested in the twins, but that doesn’t stop your curiosity from piquing when Nym demonstrates her talents with a peach she snatches from a fruit bowl off the nearest table. By the end of it—an obscene display that catches the eye of a few patrons walking by and sends your imagination reeling—you wonder how often she does this to gain clientele. If it’s always so…hands-on.

“So what do you think?” 

You don’t know what to think, oddly confused like that first time Astarion had to spell out for you that he wanted to have sex—you’re going to be so fun to break, pet—a girl who’s every bit the product and trappings of a sheltered fool. 

“Are you interested?”

The mutilated peach in Nym’s hand drips clear fruit juice down her wrist in thin rivulets, collecting at her elbow. You start to shake your head—

Astarion scoffs. “She already has her hands full without your sticky fingers and whatever the hells you’re doing to that innocent peach.” 

Nym’s mouth curls up into a coy smile before her gaze sweeps over to Astarion. “Her lover, I presume?”

“As in, I already tasted said peach while you’re still trying to get your mouth on it; well then, yes. Very much so.”

You slap his chest, your face somehow getting hotter. “Astarion!”

“Darling, we’re in a whorehouse. I assure you they’ve heard worse.”

Nym makes a wordless, amused sound. “Well, if you ever find yourself curious or—” she gives Astarion one last scrutinizing once over and looks at you again “—unsatisfied, you know where to find me and my brother.”

Before you can politely decline, Astarion chips in on your behalf, “Trust me, she’s not.”

He steers you toward the door—I’m never going to look at a silly piece of fruit the same after this—and you don’t miss how he sends the twins a withering stare right before he joins you on the street.

He’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky. 

You stare at the back of his head as he walks in front of you, bulky pack slung over his shoulder with the books and scrolls you bought earlier, deciding whether you should join him or leave him to his thoughts.

Karlach nudges your shoulder. “Trouble in paradise, soldier?”

“Not really.” You bite your lip. “Should there be?”

Her gaze follows yours to Astarion, and she hums in understanding.

“If you stare at his back any longer, you might burn a hole through it." Heat crawls up your neck, and you try to give her a shove when Astarion looks at both of you over his shoulder, but she doesn't move an inch and laughs instead. "He’s probably upset over finding another pebble in his boot again. Don’t sweat it.”

An unreasonable suggestion, for you know it’s more than another pebble.

He doesn’t say anything once you all reach camp, nor does he give you even the slightest acknowledgment when you walk by his tent on your way to bed or look up from his book—no hello, my sweet readily waiting on his tongue—when you slip a little note under his nose. 

It’s starting to give you the sneaking suspicion he’s upset with you—though you hardly have the faintest idea why.

You’re pulled awake by the quiet, careful shifting of your blanket as someone slips into your bedroll behind you. You stare blearily at the barn's wall, trying to blink away the disorienting feeling still clinging to you like dew on a humid summer day. 

It’s the first brush of sharp incisors against your throat that erases the last vestiges of sleep altogether.

Ah, so he read your note.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you whisper, aware enough to remember the other two people sleeping in the barn with you.

“Have I?”

“You know what I mean.” You tighten your grip on your blanket. “You’re upset, aren’t you?”

He kisses the tender spot below your ear. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“But you’re unhappy.”

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out to taste your skin. 

“Yes, I’m unhappy.”

“Was it because of what that drow said?”

“Hm, be more specific.”

“When she—with the peach.” You squirm a little, a mouse blessedly caught by the tail. “You know.”

His chuckle is soft, faintly mocking.

“Oh, darling. You think I’m jealous?” He runs a thumb over the fluttering pulse in your neck. “How cute.” 

And right before he applies the smallest amount of pressure—

“Well, you would be correct.”

When Astarion works at the laces of your pants, loosening them just enough to slip his hand underneath, you jump at the first cool brush of his fingers tracing across your heated skin. Your muscles jump, jump, jump under his touch, goosebumps prickling along your arms when his hand fits suddenly between your legs. Two soft pats that make you gasp.

“Drippy,” he murmurs. You don’t think your face can get any hotter.

Then he’s hooking two—fuck, three—fingers into you, splitting you open, curling up toward your belly; you can’t bite back the moan that breaks free.

“Hush, pet.”

Nipping at your neck, he scissors his fingers, smiling at your choked, stuttered gasp.

“Do you think I’d let anyone see how you fall apart with a few quick strokes of the fingers? How you sound? How you taste?” 

The questions are followed by his thumb pressing into the achy spot at the apex between your legs, and you don’t mention that he’s doing this with two other people sleeping soundly on the other side of the room. 

“This—” his fingers curl inside you, pressing until he finds soft flesh that makes your legs jerk. “This is all for me—mine—wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod slowly, hand clamped over your mouth to trap the sounds that keep escaping.

“Good, so we understand each other then.”

Your thighs tremble around his wrist. His fangs drag across the thin, breakable column throat, almost like a warning, catching at two identical scars that haven’t fully healed since you’ve let a feral, lost little vampire into your camp before he gives in and bites.

Digging in—messy—you imagine the dribble of red down his pale chin, how he sometimes leaves it there to savor later.

You’re limp and floating in a matter of seconds, your mind blissfully quiet for the first time in days.

“Remember that, darling, the next time someone starts giving you ideas.” After a moment, he whispers: "But I'm also happy you said no."

And he slips out of your bedroll without so much of a creak in the floorboards and out of the barn as if he was never there.

[schlock-luster-video]

On October 11, 2008, Crazed Fruit was screened at the Panorama of European Cinema.

[wndaswife]

Love & Loathing: The First Christmas | Series Masterlist

The holidays feel lonely without your friends and family. Wanda faces her first Christmas after her divorce and miscarriage. The two of you build your first tradition.

Word count: 2635

Tags: some angst, light manipulation, foreshadowing of future toxic relationship as seen in main series, writing this after already writing the main series reminded me of emily im sorry by boygenius! sad!

Wanda’s cart came to an abrupt stop when a young child suddenly ran away from his mother to the other side of the aisle, passing in front of her without warning. Her orange juice lurched forward then fell onto her carrots. 

The child’s mother quickly came over, scolding her son for running in front of a moving cart as he begged her to buy rainbow chip cookies for Santa, oblivious to the fact that Wanda and her full cart were still standing idly behind him, unable to skirt around.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized after giving in to the rainbow chip cookies once her son apologized to Wanda too. He went to place the package in their cart. “Holiday shopping makes them a little wild too, I suppose.” She laughed like she was telling her an inside joke.

Them, like a proper noun.

“Children, yes,” Wanda conceded with a small nod and a smile. “I understand. But rainbow chip is a great pick. Very considerate of Santa’s tastes.” She looked over at the young boy who waited for his mother patiently, then seemed bashful when he made eye contact with Wanda. 

Wanda then noticed the woman’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, barren of a wedding ring, and then to her cart, empty of what a mother would shop for her children for. Wanda dropped her left arm to her side, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

After finishing up her grocery list, she strolled back down the cookie section and picked up a package of the rainbow chip cookies. As she walked to the checkout line, she ran her eyes across her cart — orange juice, the Pillsbury cookies you liked, eggs, milk, bagels, your favourite ice cream flavour, some things for the washroom, baking ingredients for a recipe you’d been wanting to try, some snacks, fruits and vegetables, and the rainbow chip cookies.

She put her left glove on first, then her right, then started to place her things on the conveyor. 

“My kids have been in a baking craze since they got off school,” the cashier told her as she bagged her flour, then her vanilla extract. “It must be the season.”

Wanda looked up from her wallet then smiled. 

“Mine too,” she said.

When she arrived at home, you were sitting at the dining table on your laptop. It was nearing the end of the semester, so you still had a few more final assignments to finish. You stood and helped Wanda unload the groceries.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted once all the bags were on the counter. She reached and placed her palm against your furthest cheek, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple.

“Hi,” you answered with a smile, putting some things away into the fridge. “Did you get the Pillsbury cookies? You saw the holiday ones, right?” 

Wanda handed you the milk. “I did. There were only the snowmen.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted something that was Christmas themed.”

The rainbow chip cookies came out last. Wanda had never tried them, and it wasn’t on the shopping list, and you hadn’t asked for it before. She handed them to you as you stored some things away into the cupboards.

“Do you like these? They were on sale,” she suddenly lied.

You took them from her, eyes running over the package. Then you set it on the counter with a contemplating hum as you peeled it open and looked inside. “Oh, I do like these. I last had them when I was really young.”

After dinner, you resumed working on your laptop, cuddled up beside Wanda on the couch as she flipped through Netflix for something to watch. She had a glass of white wine in hand and an arm around your shoulders, fastening the shared blanket around your body.

You’d been trying to apply for some jobs lately; after declaring a temporary leave from college starting next semester, you wanted to start working a little to make some income and keep yourself busy. You were hoping for something part-time and very casual.

The gold Christmas lights Wanda had hung up around the fireplace and curtains glowed warm, enveloping the living room in something gentle and festive. There wasn’t any other light on aside from the stovetop in the kitchen, so the laptop screen felt particularly intrusive.

“What are you working on?” she asked, putting her phone down and looking down at you from the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“A final essay. It’s pretty overdue.”

Wanda eyed the tabs you were switching between. “Overdue? Online courses not working well?”

“I thought it might be better for me but…” you trailed off, your fingers pausing atop the keyboard. Your index finger tapped ever so slightly against the E key, just enough to make the plastic sound against the board.

“Is something on your mind…?” Wanda asked, setting the remote down. She craned her neck down and brushed her nose against your cheek.

Your fingernail traced the top edge of the D key. “It just feels like I’m always behind. I keep trying to change things around so maybe I might find something I can finally get accustomed to — online courses, a lesser course load.”

Then, quietly, you added, “My friends don’t even ask to study with me anymore. I know I declared a leave, but...” 

The Christmas lights reflected against Wanda’s glass, and against the pale golden hue of her wine, it looked like she was drinking champagne, slightly flat. 

She set the glass on the coffee table then carefully closed your laptop, allowing you to remove your hands from the keyboard. She placed it down, closed, beside her wine. Instinctively, you curled up and leaned your head against her chest, and Wanda wrapped both arms around you, one hand coming to cradle the side of your head.

Before she could say anything, you said, “They invited me out to the Christmas market downtown a few days ago.”

Something tightened in Wanda’s stomach and she looked down at you, but your face was covered by your hair and some of the blanket which was wrapped around her arms. 

“Really? You didn’t tell me,” she said. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say at first.”

“Say to whom? To them or me?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered quietly. “Both.”

Wanda’s hand tightened around your shoulder. You buried your cheek against her chest, feeling like she was holding you tighter against her. Instead, Wanda felt tense; the idea that you could feel about her in any similar way that you did for your friends made her feel like she was just as disposable and temporary.

“Did you go…?” Wanda asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding strained as she feared the answer might be that, yes, you did make plans and see other people in your life without telling her.

If your feelings of uncertainty were the same between her and your friends, and you ended up seeing them and not telling her, wasn’t that the same as you picking them over her? Leaving her behind like some afterthought, only to come up later when you felt a little insecure about something?

You shook your head, and Wanda took a breath through her nose, tension in her lungs dissipating. Then you lifted yourself from her chest and reached for your phone. Wanda pulled you back against her when you leaned back, but now your head was on her shoulder instead of her chest so you could both look at your phone screen together.

You showed her a picture on Instagram of your friends together at the market. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Wanda said, brushing her nose against your temple then kissing your cheek. “But you wouldn’t have really enjoyed yourself if you were with them, would you?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, eyes still on the screen, obviously not really caring what she was saying, and still feeling rather down about it.

Wanda bit the side of her tongue a little at your passive insistence that you still cared about the fact that they hung out without you. “Baby, you always say that you don’t really feel like you fit in when you’re with them. Don’t you say that…?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did we do that day, anyway? We went shopping for decorations, right? And got dinner? Wasn’t that much more fun?”

You nodded and looked up. 

Wanda felt her breath hitch and snag in her throat when you met her eyes. She swallowed, wondering what you might be thinking when you looked at her like that. 

“I… I’m really happy we’re spending the holidays together,” you said quietly. Your phone dimmed then locked, the image of your friends forgotten. 

Her lungs filled with air and her expanding rib cage pushed gently against your upper arm.

“Me too, Y/N.”

A warm hand cupped your cheek, smooth fingers brushing against your soft skin. She looked over your face in great detail. 

When the thought came over her, wondering what similarities you held in comparison to your mother and father, Wanda looked away. She reached over to get her wine glass then settled back against your side.

You leaned your head on her shoulder and Wanda rested her chin on top of it. 

“Any movie you’d like to watch?” she asked, combing her fingers through your hair. 

You reached for the remote and turned on the TV. 

Early the next morning, you sleepily padded downstairs to see Wanda setting up the Christmas tree in the living room. She was still in her pajamas, but she had a sweater on and her hair was clipped back. 

When you stepped off from the stairs, Wanda turned around to greet you with a smile. She outreached an arm for you to come over and give her a hug. 

Wanda thought you were rather light on your feet; you would sometimes sneak up on her when you’d enter a room. It was a stark contrast to Vision, who was quite tall, and seemed to always walk with the frustrating burden that he’d woken into another day, living the same life as he did the day prior.

It was the recollection of painful memories like that, ones where you’d no doubt see her as a spineless, empty woman, that made Wanda all the more confident in her decision to keep truths about Vision from you. She wanted to be someone different, and better.

You walked over and wrapped your arms around her waist, tucking your head under her chin before she kissed your forehead. 

“You started putting up the tree without me?” you asked, lifting your head and looking up at her.

“Oh,” Wanda replied, turning her head to look at the tree. She had only just started with the ornaments, and the cardboard box she stored the tree in was still on the floor.

She looked back down at you.

“You want to help?”

You nodded and pulled away from her before digging through the box of ornaments to begin decorating. “You shouldn’t ever decorate a Christmas tree alone unless you’re actually by yourself.”

Wanda smiled at your boldness as she watched you from behind. She pinched your side playfully, causing you to flinch away. She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into her, pressing a kiss to your neck and causing you to giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. Then you shooed her away so you could continue with what you were doing. 

Wanda hadn’t ever decorated with anyone else; Vision wasn’t very festive, and when she was younger, her family often travelled for work, leaving her and Pietro to celebrate alone with the company of their neighbour who watched over them.

Their neighbour was a strict elderly man who didn’t speak much English and slept most of the time, whose dialect was that which only their parents understood, and was never taught to Wanda nor Pietro. Her memories of Christmas as a jointly-celebrated holiday was reminiscent of bitter black tea, imported from her neighbour’s hometown overseas, and television on its lowest volume in the late evening, playing old holiday sitcoms.

“My parents and I got in a fight a few days ago,” you said suddenly, still hanging up ornaments.

Wanda looked at you as she adjusted the position of some of them she’d put up earlier. She thought for a moment before responding, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s okay,” you answered.

You’d been having a hard time with your parents the past few months. They were upset you’d taken a temporary leave from your schooling without consulting with them first, they were upset you’d been spending so much time with someone they’d never met, and they were upset that you hadn’t been speaking with them.

You still had a large sum of money left from when you worked more often than you attended classes, and so you were rather glad not to rely on them for any financial support, not that you often spent money while being at home with Wanda.

The change, according to them — and according to you, too — had seemingly come out of the blue. But, still, you could pinpoint when it started.

After meeting Wanda, all you wanted to do was run away from things. You wanted to run from your parents, who’d always babied you and never gave you your own choice in anything, and from school, and from your friends, and from the world.

To word it more accurately, you’ve always wanted to run away from things. 

And Wanda let you. 

She took you away and kept you safe.

You hung an ornament on the tree, and instead of leaning down to take another out of the box, your arms stilled at your sides and you looked down at the floor. 

After a moment of silence while Wanda was busy reaching up to hang an ornament close to the top, you asked quietly, “Is it okay if I spend Christmas with you…?”

Looking up from the floor, you met Wanda’s eyes.

Wanda felt her breath hitch at the sight of you looking at her that way — expectantly, patiently, like what she said mattered to you a great deal. She leaned down and placed the ornament back in the box. She stepped towards you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. “Of course, baby,” she answered quietly, speaking against the side of your head. “Let’s stay home for the holidays — just the two of us.”

By next week, your gifts for Wanda were wrapped and stored under the tree. You mixed them in along with the ones she’d gotten for you, so you could see them altogether.

Wanda was still at work, staying a bit later tonight, so you went out to walk through the Christmas market downtown on your own. You saw a beautiful jade hair clip that you thought would look perfect on her; you imagined the shade of green tucked within the brown of her hair, bringing out the green in her eyes, and her delicate fingers wrapping around the handle to clip it in.

Wrapped in a small box, you crouched down and placed it on top of a gift Wanda wrapped for you.

When she came back from work, Wanda found you dozing on the couch in the living room with a blanket draped around you. You were bathed in the gentle light of the Christmas tree that you’d put up together.

She quietly put her things down before approaching your delicate sleeping figure. She crouched down and carefully brushed your hair out of your face, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m home, my angel,” she whispered softly, a smile growing on her face as she watched you awaken slowly.

[sleeepybeary]

☆ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ☆

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: Spending the late hours of the day helping Agatha brew up what she'd call a "love potion"

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 622

“My dearest familiar, fetch me the fruits of a mandrake”

There it was again, the tiresome echo of your beloved's voice that seemed to only carry request after request as of late.

When Agatha had sought out your company for the evening, you initially thought you'd be spending the time together doing more coupley activities. Things like cuddling, going for a walk, doing some harmless gardening together; not entering an unfalsified contract to become her ever obedient slave as she whisked something beyond your willingly accepting knowledge in the kitchen.

You were her assistant, and had been for the last hour now as she pushed you back and forth between the kitchen counter and the small storage room turned pantry. It was seriously draining you both physically and mentally.

Looking up from the small of a journal you were scribbling in, you blink with a furrow forming between your brows. “An apple..?”

“Yes, Y/n” Agatha had rolled her eyes slightly, a small smile poking at her face. “or in other terms: the apples of love”

“You know this really makes no sense in the slightest” you mumble, eyes dragging down to the pot not too far away from you, or as Agatha would persist you to call it, her cauldron. It was nothing more than just a regular cooking pot, with an almost copper looking outerlining. It even looked regular. A thickened sheet of smoke bubbles over from its insides, acting like a fine rim of melted wax as it pools out and frees itself into the air.

As for what's actually inside the pot and being cooked at this very moment?

It was to be your dinner… you think.

“Why do you need to keep using these ridiculously given names for simple items such as an apple?”

“Because, my dear-” Agatha had looked up, her blue eyes almost searching yours now as she flicked her hands slightly, trying to rid herself of any cider residue. “-I'm making you a potion”

“It's pork with apple cider sauce-”

“-It's a love potion!” She had voiced quickly, cutting you off in an instant as she turned her head almost defensively, a small “hmph” sound eliciting from her throat.

“...Why?”

Agatha blinks, glancing at you from her peripheral twice over, the second time at a more hesitant rate than the first. Licking her lips slightly, she flicks a strand of hair out of her face almost aggressively. “Isn't that obvious?”

“I don't know. Is it?”

She blinks, pointing to the pantry. “Fruits of a mandrake. Go. Now, pet”

Pushing your tongue against the inner of your bottom lip, you laugh out an airy sound of disbelief. Though, you comply regardless, acting the way she'd end up praising you for eventually.

Grabbing the apples and bringing them back to wash carefully under the tap, you roll your sleeves up.

A moment of peace fills the room before the length of Agatha’s arms could be felt slithering their way around your waist, her voice a tale of her true motives “By the end of this, you'll love me ten times more than you already do”

You try with all your might to ignore the large swell in your chest and the faint of bats going crazed within your stomach as you silently grin to yourself.

“Are you always this dramatic when cooking?”

She hums for a moment, the small vibration of her throat rippling against your shoulder in a reminder of her unrelenting proximity. “Only when I'm presenting to you, my love”

[hpgal]

DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes

CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence

TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.

Word Count: 2313

Everything hurts.

But when did it not?

But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.

Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.

Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone. 

Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began. 

So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.

Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.

Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead

Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.

My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.

Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would’ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.

I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.

Now?

Really?

I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away. 

Could he possibly be possessed?

The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.

I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.

Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.

At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.

I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.

I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.

I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?

I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.

Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.

He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.

The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.

I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.

I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.

“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating. 

Then his eyes glowed green.

At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.

Well shit.

He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.

I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.

“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision  continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.

The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”

The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?

I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.

“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.

The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”

My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.

Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.

Please help me, stranger.

--------

A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.

[milkytheholy1]

Name Calling

Shadow The Hedgehog x Female Reader

A/N: I've been eating up all the Shadow content lately and it all came together into this fic. I know I try to stay in the GN category but something within me just wanted to write Female, so I am sorry to those who will be put off by that, but tbh, it doesn't really have anything to do with the fic it's just the pronouns I used, they can be inalterably changed for those who prefer.

_______________________________________________

Shadow The Hedgehog had been called a lot of things in his life, monster, villain, thug, traitor, the list goes on and on. But he supposed he deserved it, after all, he was a freak of nature; a piece of science moulded by alien goo and crazed mathematics. He was made with pure intentions but was messed with, he deviated from his chosen path whether it was his choice or not.

On some particularly bad days he was known as the hedgehog that would end the world, who would bring destruction and chaos to everything he set his hands on, a single breath of his was thought to level a city. Shadow felt forever alone. He had no family to turn to, no friend to comfort him like Maria once did, to him no one compared; they were all beneath him.

Maria was the only person who could ever understand what was going on in his confused mind, she often sought to help him, she gave him a purpose:

"W-why was I made? Why was I created into this world if I was only meant to cause destruction?"

"That's not why you're here, Shadow. You are here to help people, to help me and the other humans who live down there! You were born to protect mankind from evil."

"But, Maria, I was created with this evil inside of me. The humans would only fear me-"

"You were born from love, Shadow! My grandfather made you for me, he made me a best friend and he made someone who would spread love and kindness wherever he went. Humans only fear what they don't know, or so I've been told, but they will love you, Shadow, they have to!"

Painful images now plagued those pleasant thoughts, tainting her memory like mould on a rotting fruit. After Maria's death, Shadow became a machine, too hard to produce emotion, too cold to think about the actions he took. All he knew was humanity was to blame for Maria's death, humanity took the only person who understood him; they had to pay.

Bases were burnt down, G.U.N soldiers were hunted, and civilians became hostages. Nothing was too much for him at this stage, all he needed was to quell the anger that burned inside of him, the vengeance that fueled his very being. That's where the names started coming from, parents warning their children about the boogeyman that lurks around the corner at night, the feral beast that kills in the darkness and leaves no witnesses.

Through his rage, he forgot what Maria told him, he forgot what his purpose was: to protect, to spread kindness and to love. He only came to this realisation one night after a particularly gruesome fight. It was in a small village, somewhat far from the big towns and cities, cobbled streets and large green fields. It was here where Shadow had tracked down a retired G.U.N agent, he was there on that night and therefore he had to pay.

The struggle had led from the agent's house to the cobbled streets, a single gunshot ringing out into the silence of the night, the moonlight tracing over the man's lifeless body. As Shadow pulled back, his ears flicked, a small sound: a gasp. Quickly turning around his eyes caught another human, deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Shadow flinched, shaking away the similarities he tried to focus.

The young woman slowly shuffled back into the alley they were hiding in, the moonlight dancing over her clothes as she moved. Shadow gripped his gun tighter, the sound of his gloves creasing was as loud as the gunshot from before.

"I'm sorry I have to do this," he mumbled, pulling the gun up and aiming it at the woman. She cowered slightly, eyes dancing between the unconscious man on the floor and the ebony hedgehog in front of her, "Then don't."

Shadow perked a brow, amused by how forward she was, "Do you know who I am?" he wasn't cockey, it was a genuine question. The lady shook her head, "You're the boogeyman."

"Then you know why I have to do this."

"Then before I die, may I ask you a question?"

Shadow thought it through, although he didn't want this to drag on any longer and daylight was soon approaching, what harm could one question do from a dying woman?

"Why do you do this? Why do you go around killing people and burning houses? I've seen newspapers talking about you, calling you a monster-"

"Because I am a monster!" He struck back, cocking the gun. "A real monster would have pulled the trigger by now, a real monster wouldn't even entertain a stare with me."

Now that was good. Shadow felt like he had been pushed away into another reality, one where all of a sudden he didn't have to kill people anymore. A reality where he didn't have to skip town and live in trees or under benches, one where we didn't have to hide and feel so angry all the time.

Snapping back into reality, Shadow adjusted his hand holding the gun, foolishly he had dropped his arm just a little, "Enough, you don't know me."

"No, I don't. I don't know you, the papers sure seem to think they do, but no one just goes around doing what you do for fun. I'm not trying to help you, but don't you think you should step back a little and think about what you're doing? Is this really what you want?"

"Of course it is! This is all I've ever known and it's all I'll ever be!" he cursed out, anger swelling deep within his mind; this was just meant to be a simple job and now you'd gone and made it confusing.

"Is that really what you want?" The one simple question had broken Shadow, he dropped the gun to the floor, staring hopelessly into the ground. He had failed Maria, looking at you had reminded him of her, the promise he made to her, the purpose he was supposed to have.

He was meant to protect mankind, to help them and instead, he led them to an earlier grave. Another sound rang out, snapping the pair's attention from each other onto a random doorway. An elderly man emerged from the house, looking up and down the street until his eyes landed on you both and then on the body.

"The boogeyman! The boogeyman's here! And he's got an accomplish!" he screamed out, suddenly more and more lights started flashing on, the whole village was nearly illuminated in bright yellow light. Shadow saw the panic on the young girl's face, he recognised that look all too well: Fear.

Her life as she knew it was crashing down all because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was all his fault. Taking what Maria said to heart, Shadow saw this as his second chance at life, his second chance to protect humanity and it all started with her. Swooping the lady into his arms, Shadow ran as fast as he could, he had to go somewhere where they'd both be safe.

The past few years after that had been a blur, things have changed since the old days, Shadow gets called friend, bud, hero and most importantly, he gets to be called the love of your life. Perhaps it was one of his best ideas to save you on that day, even if it was his fault. After that night, Shadow never left your side, perhaps it's because he felt guilty or that you reminded him of Maria; who knows?

But what you do know is that he's free now, free from all the negative thoughts, free from the names, and free from his past life.