#I can do whatever the hell I want with the guy as long as I make sure they're still a little unhinged and silly

[milktiicup]

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk? 

[averysmolkirbo]

"Woahhh, am i in the afterlife?-"

"DUDE. WHAT THE HELL MAN. OUT OF ALLL THE MORTALS I COULDVE GIVEN A GIFT TO, I CHOOSE THE ONE GUY WHO NEVER FIGURES IT OUT???"

"Wha- are you like god or something? wait, I HAD A POWER??"

"YEA. I GAVE YOU THE POWER TO FREEZE TIME AT WILL AND YOU NEVER DID IT??? Waste of a perfectly good gift!!"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW. I WAS NEVER TOLD ABOUT THIS?"

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE THE DAMN BALONEY SANDWICH."

"wha- what does a baloney sandwich have to do with this???"

"I WATCHED YOU FOR LIKE A MONTH. AND YOU ATE A BALONEY SANDWICH FOR LIKE EVERY MEAL. YOU JUST STOPPED ONE DAY AND NEVER DID IT AGAIN. WHAT THE HELL, MAN. YOU HAD LIKE 50 FUCKNGI YEARS TO EAT ONE FUCKIGN SANDWICH AND YOU COUDLNT DO THAT?"

"Wait. Is this about that time i was like, 20??? I swore off of baloney sandwiches forever after i found my girlfriend cheating on me. That was her favorite. i only had it cuz i was with her."

(mortal, under his breath)

"....That bitch really took my virginity and my godly powers??? DAMN IT!"

"AW OF FUCKING COURSE I CHOOSE THE ONE THING YOU NEVER ATE AGAIN. SHIT. "

"ok so i still dont see why i had to eat a baloney sandwich to use the power. why couldnt i just *use* it. why is this MY fault. YOU shouldve just made it easier to use."

"Wow, i give you powers and this is the fucking thanks i get? See if i ever help you again..."

"Ok so like the thing is im not actually powerful enough to give you a gift that powerful no strings attached. I had to choose an activation condition for it to work."

"And you chose BALONEY SANDWICH? not something like BREATHING?"

"I didn't want to make it obvious!! I wanted to have FUN with it but clearly you were too DENSE for it. Baloney sandwich was the most consistent non-obvious thing you did!! how was i supposed to know you were gonna stop the NEXT DAY?"

"Ok. So while this obviously sucks for both of us, can i use it now? In my afterlife?"

"If you can make a baloney sandwich. I dont see why not."

"Ok. Cool. Is there like a godly pantry i can get the ingredients from, or...."

"Yes, actually, down the hall, to the left, 2 doors down."

"Sweet."

"Oh yea i forgot to mention we only have whole wheat bread"

" >:( aw man. I hate whole wheat. It tastes like shit. What else, you're out of baloney?"

"No......"

"why'd you say it like that"

--------

"Ok i found your stupid bread. but where's the baloney. You said you had some."

"We do, but-"

"ok so where is it."

"-but we keep it in the underworld."

"Why??? What do you guys have against baloney??? Why is only IT condemned to the underworld???"

"No reason! I swear! the guy who runs the place just REALLY likes it and none of us really do, so we just let him keep it down there"

"Yknow since he's like. Already stuck working in the basement. we thought we'd give him SOMETHING."

*one very long and perilous journey for baloney later*

"ok YOU COULDVE AT LEAST TOLD ME HOW HARD THAT WAS GONNA BE."

"I told you, man. He REALLY likes baloney."

"Whatever. i ate your stupid sandwich. how do i activate it."

"Try clapping."

*nothing happens*

"What. Why didnt it work. I ate your stupid baloney sandwich."

"Did you remember to add the mayo?"

"MOTHERFUCKER-"

You're a god who has decided to give a mortal a gift. You decided to surprise them by not telling them about their new power. After a full life of normalcy, you greet them in the afterlife confused and angry as to how they didn't discover their power.

[delilahsturniolo]

i love you, i’m sorry

— m.s

in which . . . matt accidentally confesses something he shouldn’t have in the heat of an argument.

genre/trope . . . enemies to lovers, angst. (resolved)

warnings . . . arguing, kissing & more.

written by . . . @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or re use my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first. happy reading! :)

“lay on the horn to prove that it haunts me.”

“i love you i’m sorry.”

you and matt have known each other your entire lives, which was unfortunate for the both of you. you may be asking yourself, if you’ve known each other for so long shouldn’t you be best friends?

well, it was quite the opposite actually. you and matt have hated each other for whatever reason, it was a rivalry between you two. you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without bickering, when your family and matt’s family hung out it was absolute hell for you.

all you wanted was to avoid matt at all costs, no matter the circumstances. however, you always got along with matt’s brothers.

you and matt never had a reason to hate each other, in fact you tried being nice to him sometimes. you both just never got along, bickering and complaining about each other 24/7. if you got a dollar for how much you both piss each other off everyday, you’d be filthy rich.

but, matt wasn’t a complete jerk. he didn’t completely despise you, sometimes he held the door open for you. other times, he would slam it shut in your face. matt absolutely adored teasing you, and doing small gestures just to make you annoyed at him. that was something he never failed at.

you had sort of a mixed and unsure feeling about matt. you were confused, you didn’t know how he felt about you. did he hate you, or not? even better question, did you truly hate him?

yes, of course you did. you were supposed to, you can’t love him. but…you felt something different over the past few weeks. as much as you hated to admit it, nowadays you didn’t mind his presence. just a few months ago, you’d rather get hit by a bus than be near him. but other days, he pissed you off more than anything. you hated him…but you didn’t at the same time.

you didn’t know what this feeling was, it made you sick. falling for your childhood enemy? it was impossible, it couldn’t happen. you hated it, you couldn’t make it stop. all you could do was push down your true feelings, and keep pretending.

so now here you were, in the present. it was pretty late in the night. you were at the triplets house, in the kitchen. nick was out for a space camp photoshoot, while chris was sleeping in his room.

you leaned against the counter, scrolling mindlessly on your phone as you popped a potato chip in your mouth, feeling the salty sensation sink on your tongue. quietly humming to yourself, you took in the peaceful silence. that is, until you heard the front door open.

matt walked in the house, going right into the kitchen. he huffed as he saw you, rolling his eyes. you bit your lip, not even acknowledging him.

matt walked over to the counter, shoving you over with his body so he could get by. you grunted, your phone clattering to the floor.

“dude, can you not?” you scoffed, pissed off as you picked your phone up from the floor. matt turned on the sink, beginning to wash the dishes.

“can you not with the attitude?” matt mocked you, not even batting you an eye. usually you would just flip him off and leave, but you didn’t this time. you wanted to confront him, show him that you weren’t a pussy.

to the both of you, arguing was a competition. you would just keep going on and on until one of you backed down, and usually it would be you. however, not this time.

“i don’t have a fucking attitude.” you crossed your arms, the back of his head facing you as he aggressively scrubbed a plate. you were testing his limits, and you found pleasure in that.

“whatever floats your boat.” matt shrugged, laughing to himself. “do you always have to be so annoying?” he continued, which only provoked you more.

you rolled your eyes and sealed the bag of chips shut. “do you always have to be so mean to me all the time?” you shot back at him. matt turned off the sink water, wiping his hands before turning around to face you. “i’m not mean, sweetheart. come on, is that all you got?” matt teased you, knowing it would make you annoyed.

“shut up!” you raised your voice at him slightly, making him scoff in disbelief.

“what the fuck is your problem?” matt raised his voice back at you, you weren’t in the mood for this right now. your frustration was building up by every passing second.

“you, matt! you’re my problem!” you shouted back at him.

“my fucking goodness, y/n. you’re always starting shit, aren’t you?” matt complained, throwing his hands up in the frustration. you simply said nothing.

“what? cat got your tongue?” matt darkly chuckled. you rolled your eyes, starting to walk away. matt only followed after you.

you stomped outside into the driveway, it was the dead of night. you suddenly felt matt grab your arm, turning you around to face him.

“let me go, matt.” you spoke fiercely, trying to yank away from him. his grip only grew tighter, he completely ignored your protests.

“y/n, stop it. listen to me.” matt told you, you only shook your head.

“get away from me, matt. i hate you.” you remarked, matt shook his head. “no you don’t.” he pulled you closer.

the cold wind blew in your hair, matt’s eyes pierced into yours. “what are you talking about?” you questioned him.

“you don’t hate me.” matt shrugged, you weren’t even trying to pull away from him anymore. something was drawing you to him, and you didn’t mind it for once.

“yes i do! you don’t care about me!” you argued back, matt completely snapped at you.

“of course i care, y/n! how could i not care? i care more than anything in the world.” he shouted.

“since when did you start caring about me!?” you scoffed in disbelief.

“since fucking forever, you idiot!”

and those exact words, the moment they came out of his mouth silenced you. which by the way, was a rare occurrence. your lips parted slightly. “what?” you murmured.

matt let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i love you, okay? i love you so fucking much, goddamnit! i’m sorry i fell in love, i can’t do shit about it and…i didn’t want it to happen, y/n.” matt blurted out. what? this was the absolute last thing you were expecting.

“you…what?” you spoke softly. your mind was racing with a million thoughts at once. matt was in love with you? your heart began to beat faster as you looked into his eyes.

“you think i wanted this to happen? trust me, i’m just as confused as you.” matt’s voice broke. you both stood across from each other, goosebumps raising onto your arms.

“i love you too, matt.” you whispered. matt’s gaze immediately softened.

“but…the thing is i can’t. i can’t love you. it won’t work out. we can’t be together and you know that.” you muttered, looking away from him as you said that.

“you don’t get it. it’s not that easy to lose feelings for you, if i could i would. i can’t lose feelings for someone i’ve loved for so fucking long.” matt’s voice came out shaky as he expressed all of his emotions.

you sighed, stepping closer to him. he looked down at you, his eyes growing glossy. your hand traveled up his chest and to the side of his neck, matt’s breath hitched at this action.

before he even knew what was going on, you leaned in, pulling him in for a kiss.

both of your lips connected, your heart felt full, as if you had been needing this your entire life. matt groaned against your lips as the kiss grew more and more passionate, more hungry.

you both wanted this badly, you craved each other more than anything. this felt so wrong in your brain, but yet so fucking right in your heart.

matt’s hands gripped your waist tightly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips continued to dance with his, you felt his soft and supple lips crash against yours once more.

matt pulled away from the kiss, not letting go of you though. you looked up at him, a smirk creeping up on your face.

“mmm..you’re not so bad after all.” matt hummed, his finger lifing your chin up with dominance.

“i’m gonna murder you, sturniolo.” you teased, matt only chuckled, his hand moving to your cheek, caressing the skin gently.

“you wouldn’t.” matt smiled down at you, before leaning into your face once more, his lips colliding with yours again.

maybe loving him wasn’t so bad after all.

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! ✉️

[peterman-spideyparker]

The Great War (Babe Part 2) (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! At the risk of forgetting to post part two, I'm doing it now! Like I mentioned in the first post, it's only a part two if you want it to be--you can just have read Babe and leave it at that, but this is just more idea to go with it that I couldn't stop my brain from working on. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been almost a month since you left Matt. Everything hurts, and you're doing what you can to get through. Foggy calls, and it turns out Matt's not doing much better. For the first time, you have no idea what your future with Matt Murdock looks like.

Listening rec: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, Matt and reader are separated (Matt cheated), they’re both heartbroken at the situation, swearing, fighting/shouting/anger, throwing, Matt grabs reader (NO VIOLENCE, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen pokes out), depression (mention of the word "borderline suicidal" in reference to season three Matt), Matt being reckless, lots of crying, drinking

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 2,820

Before you can even say a feeble hello, Foggy is already speaking. “Matt’s devastated,” he breathes. 

You’re hurt. Offended, even. You left because of what he did in California, and he has the audacity to feel sorry for himself? “And I’m not?” you say, probably with more venom than appropriate. “Goodbye, Foggy.”

“Wait, hold on!” You don’t know why you don’t hang up, but you stay on the line. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to start this. How have you been?”

“I’m awful, Foggy. My marriage is done, my heart hurts, I’ve lost the man I love . . . I’ve never been worse.”

“(Y/N) . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Fog. All this is between me and Matt. It’s why you called, I’m guessing? Get all the answers for what exactly happened between us?”

“That’s between you guys. It’s none of my business or anyone’s. I’ve already ripped Matt a new one for doing what he did, and so did Karen and Frank, but he’s . . .” He stops and lets out a sigh. “Do you remember hearing from Maggie what Matt was like after Midland Circle? Despondent, depressed, borderline suicidal?”

Of course you remember, how could you ever forget? You’ve never seen him like that in your life. But the term “borderline suicidal” makes a pit grow in your stomach as you straighten up.

“He hasn’t tried to—?” you start to ask. 

“No, no, that was shitty wording on my part. But Matt’s not himself. It’s like watching a hollow corpse with a temper move about. He either doesn’t care at all, or a little thing will set him off. He’s being reckless on patrol, he’s drinking more than he usually does. I’ve been covering for him at the office, but . . . You need to talk to him.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheek. “I can’t, Foggy.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“He broke my heart, and I broke his in return. I stomped on it. I love him and I hurt him. If I talked to him . . . That’s salt on the wound for both of us.” More tears stream down your face as you think about it. “We both vowed not to hurt one another. H-He hurt me, but he wanted to fix it. I hurt him and don’t have that same courage to try.”

“Try now,” Foggy pleads. “Try now, help one another. Even if it’s for the last time.”

“O-Okay,” you say before you can realize it.

Foggy breathes a sign of relief. “Come to the loft.”

The loft. The scene of the crime.

You breathe a quiet confirmation before you hang up, taking time to mentally prepare yourself before you grab your purse and leave your sister’s place to talk Matt off whatever ledge he’s currently perched on. 

It’s a short trip, and Foggy meets you in the lobby of Matt’s building. He pulls you in for a long hug, and you actively tell yourself not to cry. 

“He’s that bad, huh?” you sniffle.

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I’ve never been for him like this before. It’s like he’s not the same person.”

“I know what you mean,” you say quietly. “I haven’t felt like myself since that day.”

Foggy looks at you with a crestfallen expression, and you give him one more hug before you make your way up to the loft. 

Your key still works—you’re afraid if you knock, he won’t let you in. Hell, he probably heard you turn the block on your way here and wouldn’t answer out of anger or annoyance. Your stomach churns when you see Matt sitting in the chair. He’s in sweats, his posture is curved, his hair is disheveled, and he’s growing a thick beard. Beer bottles are on the table in front of him mixed with trash.

“Matt?” you breathe, but he remains unmoved. As you move closer toward him, he sits there like a statue, not caring to look your way. “Matt, it’s me.” Still, he doesn’t gaze your way. 

Putting your purse in its usual spot, you make your way over to him in the chair, gently cupping his face in your hands to tilt him up toward you. You suck in a small breath when you see the bruises and cuts on his cheeks, nose, and chin. If this is what his face looks like, you can only imagine the other injuries that his clothes are hiding.

“Matt,” you breathe. “What happened?”

He just closes his eyes in shame, starting to turn. You don’t let him, though, bringing his face back to center.

“Matty,” you plea. “Matt, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“You’re not my sweetheart anymore,” he finally says, and it burns like acid. You deserve it—you gave it just as good to him when he came back from California. “And I’m not yours.”

“We didn’t sign any papers yet,” you breathe, trying to lighten the mood as you hold back your own tears. “So, legally, I am.”

Matt peels back from my touch like he’s getting out of an itchy sweater. Okay, you deserve it. You deserve all of it.

“Matt—.”

“You left,” he spits. “You left just like everyone else, even when you swore you wouldn’t.”

You sit back on your heels. It hurts, but it’s the truth. “I did.” He turns back toward you like he’s shocked you actually admitted it. “I didn’t try to hear you out, and I’m sorry. I should’ve. It was . . .”

He turns toward you, ice in his blind gaze. You’ve never seen Matt like, this, and as he starts to slowly rise from his chair, it’s the first time you can say that you’ve ever been afraid of him. 

You spring to your feet as well, trying to at least keep things on the same level posture wise. 

“Now you’re trying to make things better?” he growls low. “You’re the one that tore it up in front of us. I wanted to stop the breakage, but you readied the wrecking ball. This shit is your mess. It’s like this because of you.”

Now you start to get mad. “Oh, just me? Any breakage that was the breakage that you started. Those images and videos were circulating for two whole days before you came home. I didn’t hear a single word from you—a ‘good morning’ or ‘I’m boarding my plane’ or otherwise. You just showed up here expecting it to all be fine—.”

“You don’t get to assume in this,” he grits, the space between you dangerously nonexistent as one of his hands tightly grab on to your wrist.

“Yes, I can. There’s two people in this mess. I’m saying what it seemed like on my end,” you say, your heart thundering in your chest. Matt wouldn’t hurt you—he’d never do that. But with how his hand is on your arm and the mood he seems to have been in since you left, you’re not entirely confident in that statement anymore.

“You never really knew a damn thing about me, did you?” he frowns. “You just kept a version of Matt Murdock in your head and lived with it this entire time, huh?”

“Maybe I did. Because this isn’t the Matt Murdock I came over to talk to. This is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. So, if you’re gonna let the Devil out, let him out on me, Murdock. Do your worst.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he threatens, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. 

“No. I came here to talk, and that’s what we’re gonna—.”

Before you know it, his hand is off your wrist, wrapping around the neck of a beer bottle before he whizzes it past your head like a threat. You flinch, moving to cover your head before the bottle leaves his hand, and you remain curled as the glass hits something behind you, knocking it over as they both crash to the ground. You slowly turn to see what was caught in the crosshairs—the beer bottle had hit a picture frame, knocking it down off the side table and breaking it. You can tell by the shifts in his body language he immediately regrets it, his shoulders slumping as tears start to sting your eyes. You notice he starts to take a step toward you out of the corner of your eye, but you’re on the move toward the broken picture frame. One of the pictures from our wedding.

Huh, you think. How fitting. 

You lower yourself to your knees, carefully picking it up and looking at how your faces were beaming with nothing but joy, how you held onto one another with love . . . and now how it’s the opposite. How you’re broken. You wouldn’t look at him the day you left, and he won’t look at you know. You curl over the photo, freely weeping on the pile of glass. You just want it things to go back to normal.

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting as if he wants to put a hand on your back to soothe you, but he backs away to let you cry. Tears pour out of you like a geyser, a constant flow down your cheeks as you sit alone in the living room. Maybe it was an accident that he hit the picture, but his senses are so sharp . . . maybe he did want to hit it. Maybe he was trying to prove a point. Maybe he wanted to show you that by you leaving, you were the one who put the final nail in the coffin of your marriage.

Maybe he really doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he stopped wanting you before he went to Los Angeles. Maybe he stopped wanting you a long time ago.

You’re still crying when you hear Matt come back over toward you. Through your limited vision, you watch him clean up the broken glass from the bottle and the frame. It takes him a few trips, but it’s eventually all cleaned up. He leaves again before walking back toward you, holding out a box of tissues. With a shaking hand, you grab one and wipe at your nose, desperately trying to calm yourself. 

“This is my favorite picture of us from our wedding,” you sniffle. “This is what I would grab if I could only take one thing from the loft in an emergency. This would be it. And now . . .”

You can’t finish your sentence, just weeping uncontrollably in your little ball on the floor over your two deepest treasures—this photo and your marriage. Shattered. 

“Angel . . .” Matt says so softly, so tenderly, you almost forget that your life has essentially imploded.

“This is all my fault,” you cry, spiraling, trying to trace it all back to you, your actions. The big explosive things all seem to have their root in something you can place back to yourself. Matt slept with someone else, but it goes back to something you did— you had a short attention span and a bit of a short fuse before he left because a bunch of shit at work that kept piling up, and you knew he was frustrated . . . how much he hates planes. You egged him on. You did nothing to help, and when he left to go to California, he found someone who understood him in a way you couldn’t. You need an answer for this, and that seems to be it.

“This is my favorite picture of us, and it’s all my fault,” you sniffle, repeating what you said earlier, your chest burning from the tears and hyperventilation. 

“It’s just a picture—,” he starts to say softly.

“It’s not just a picture,” you weep. “This, us, it’s all my fault. We’re broken because of me. This is all my fault.”

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting down and taking the picture from your hands, putting it on the arm of a nearby chair before pulling you in for a hug. All you can do is sob against his shoulder as he holds onto you. 

“This isn’t because of you,” he tries to soothe, sounding like he’s about to cry as well. “It . . . It was my poor judgement, it was my shortcomings that did this. You’re in the flaming wreckage, and it’s not fair.”

“I just want things how they were,” you sniffle. “I want to come home. I want us to be okay.”

Matt’s silence is terrifying. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt rage like that. Darkness like that,” he says softly. You feel a tear fall from his cheek to the top of you head. “Shit, I grabbed you . . . Fuck, I’m so sorry. I-I would never—(Y/N), please—.”

“I . . . I,” you start. He’d never hurt you. For all his anger, for all his strength, Matt would never hurt you. But when you’re facing off with the man that patrols the streets? The man that brought down Wilson Fisk not once, but twice? You just didn't know. 

“I scared you.” Tears are flowing down his cheek. “I could hear your heart race . . . I knew you were scared and for a moment, and I didn’t care. It’s like I wanted you to be scared, and I liked it. I was glad you were scared of me.” He sounds disgusted with himself. “You really thought I was going to hit you.”

“I did. For a moment,” you admit. It catches in your throat, but there’s no use in lying if you’re trying to fix this. 

Is that what you came over to do? To fix this? 

He lets out a long breath, slumping to the floor. “What happened to us?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” you say. And it’s the truth. You don’t really know how you got to this point. Yes, you know why you walked out, but it’s like there were the small hairline fractures in glass—so fine that you couldn’t see them—and then a hammer came down on it and a million little pieces was left in its wake. But how he sounds . . . you know that tone. When it’s been a rough night on patrol, it coats his words like sap—he’s going into a dark headspace, and when he gets too far in, it’s hard to get him out, and you need to get him out. You move around to carefully sit next to Matt, putting a hand on his forearm. You can feel a thick bandage on his arm before you can process that he winces, so you move to slide your hand in his. 

“I know you’d never hurt me,” you breathe. “I know you’d never lay a hand on me like that.”

“But I did, though. If I added more pressure, I could’ve snapped your worst. It would have been easy for me to do.” You see him swallow the lump forming in his throat, his own self-hatred inflating at a dangerous rate. “I was full of rage. You were scared of me.”

“I’m scared of all of this,” you admit, your voice small. “What’s happening to us. How it’s effecting you and me. We’re . . . We’re not ourselves. I-I don’t recognize either of us. I don’t like it. I want things back how they were.”

“But they can’t go back.” He sounds broken, hollow—just how you feel. 

“Are . . . Are we too far gone?” you ask just above a whisper, terrified of the answer. 

“I don’t want us to be.”

You hang your head. “I haven’t been sleeping,” you admit. “It doesn’t feel right without you, your arms around me.”

He places a gently hand on your chin, lifting your face up and wiping tears off of your cheeks before pulling you in for a hug. It feels like warmth. Like love. “I can’t sleep in the bed. It smells like you, and with you gone . . . I just patrol all night.”

It’s like when you think your heart can’t break any more, it does. “I still feel so upset, but, I feel hollow more than anything. Like part of me is missing.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I-I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of your head. “I should’ve listened, I shouldn’t have left like that, but I was just so upset. I couldn’t be around you without feeling like screaming or crying or both.”

“We . . . We can get through this. Can’t we?”

You think about it. Is this something you can do? You’ve been through worse— you’ve seen him near death more times than you would like, you’ve seen how the toll of Daredevil and the stress of being an attorney wear him down. Even the debate on how we should bring up our children should you choose to have them strained you both. But your happiness, your life together, it’s bigger than your low points. It has to be.

It has to be. 

Right?

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[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[siremasterlawrence]

Fairy Tale: The Nerd & The Himbo

My best friend his name is Chris Carmack he is visiting me at my house after living away for a year and after because he isso glad to see me as he comes in with that overly sized white body.My god he is so massively built like a tank I always wanted to covet him for the long term, actually for life because he is so darn fucking hot and I walk in to the kitchen to get us both a drink.

As he talks for a bit I turn my back digging in to my pocket reaching for a two packets of various crushed pills, I undo them slipping them in to a can of soda as I seal the can back up shaking it intensely.It is to my delight to see him open it quickly as it burst in to the air spilling all over him as he begins to crack up in a fit of laughter at himself and of course unfortunately for him he is left at a stand still unable to calm his own self back to reality.

“How embarrassing for me huh? Too funny “

“You seem light hearted?”

“Do I? Hahaha “

“Here goes nothing “

“What? Haha”

“Take off your clothes! You are soaking wet”

“Yeah! You are correct! Duh!”

“No duh! Obviously! You don’t need them and put them in the wash”

“Thanks man! I must be high or something “

“Or something”

“Did you say something?”

“Hurry up!”

“Sure motherfucker”

“How well do you know me?”

“We are best friends”

“True! Well! I am a dominant “

“I am a Hypnotist”

“I am super hot!”

“Well bro! Why are you reminding me?”

“Stating facts”

“You bro! You are my nerd”

“then submit to me and be mine “

“Naturally! I want to do as you say”

“Those pills do wonders! I am glad I did not give up on them “

“How may I be of use?”

“Put these glasses on and these headphones on”

“Yes bro! What ffffoooorrrr”

I am fully dedicated to taking advantage of him because according to every damn guy and girl except for the weird exceptions I am not good enough and yes is it cruel totally but whatever. I sly walk to the side do my long length side mirror across the room guiding him to follow me, be at my side as he does so effortlessly his body is towering over my with his godly physique.

His mind could never match mine at all due to his self a battle do wills could ensue if I let it but I won’t ever let him go free even again he mind now and soon he will always have been mine.No questions asked! He stares blankly in to the mirror awaiting my commands I smirk a bit admiring his body as I take my time to be able to decipher what is possible and it is not like he cares.

“Ok Chris! Are you ready for your ultimate transformation?”

“Into what bro?”

“It’s Master Lawrence “

“Sir Yes Master Lawrence Sir”

“SLEEP”

“YES”

“I want you cum what’s left of my best friend out”

“On my orders”

“Yes Master”

“You will cum when you wake up”

“Yes Master…”

“Wake up “

“Ooooohhhhh”

“Uuuuuuggggghhhh”

“Aaaaahhhhhh”

“Ffffuuuuuccccckkkkk”

“Yes yes yes”

“Yyyyyeeeesssss”

“Mmmmmmpppphhhh”

“WOAH!”

“Hey Master”

“I am not confused”

“Let me know “

“Did we use to be friends?”

“Can I be your pool boi?”

“Yeah jump in”

“Hell yes!”

“Woohoo”

“God! I feel…I feel”

“Free”

“And?”

“Alive”

“Happy “

“You took it out of my mouth “

“Literally “

“I knew we were close “

“Yes we use to be “

“I don’t understand”

“I forced this on you “

“Did you hypnotize me?”

“You are kidding “

“I thought!”

“I am sorry “

“For what?”

“I am confused now”

“I love you “

“Because I made you “

“You also helped me see the light “

“Well that is a non intended benefit”

“I was rigid “

“Awful! Kind of”

“I get it! I was a…”

“A asshole “

“A jerk “

“You saved me”

“You are my man “

“My light and my life”

The end

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 10: Jon, Jon, Jon, Trin’, Trin’, Trin’…

February 1st, 2025 3:43 AM

Jey and Rhea were sound asleep, cuddled up together, when Jey felt a nudge. Half-asleep, he assumed it was Rhea shifting beside him. But then it happened again, more insistent. Groggily, Jey opened his eyes—and let out a startled yelp when he saw Dominik standing at the side of the bed.

“Dom! What the hell, dude? Not cool!” Jey whispered harshly, his heart pounding as he tried to catch his breath.

Rhea stirred at the commotion, blinking herself awake. She frowned as she sat up and spotted Liv and Dominik standing at the foot of their bed. “Liv? Dom? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice still laced with sleep. Her eyes quickly scanned their faces, and alarm bells went off in her head. Both looked pale, their expressions drawn and shaken. Something had happened.

Liv was the first to speak. “We need to talk,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with urgency.

Jey groaned, running a hand down his face. “Can it wait? It’s almost four in the morning.”

Dom shook his head, his eyes haunted. “No, it can’t. We were almost killed tonight. We have to talk.”

Jey and Rhea exchanged a worried glance. Whatever had happened, it was serious. Rhea nodded, her tone gentle but firm. “Okay. Go downstairs to the dining table. Let us get dressed real quick.”

Liv and Dom nodded silently, their footsteps heavy as they made their way out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Rhea grabbed her robe from the back of the door and slipped it on, while Jey did the same. They moved quickly, the tension thick in the air. Once they were ready, they headed downstairs, finding Liv and Dominik sitting at the long dining table. The only light came from the chandelier, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Rhea tried to lighten the atmosphere, her voice soft but kind. “Do you guys want some tea or coffee?”

Dominik shook his head, his voice hoarse. “Whiskey.”

“Some tea please..” Liv added

Rhea raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “We have that too.” She went to the bar cart, poured a generous amount of whiskey over ice, and handed the glass to Dominik. She then went to the fridge and pulled out some sweet tea that Jey had made and poured a glass for Liv. Liv was handed her glass and she took a generous sip.

Once she and Jey were seated, Rhea leaned in. “Alright,” she said, her voice steady but concerned. “Tell us everything.”

Jey and Rhea stared in disbelief as Liv recounted the night’s harrowing events. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched her cup of tea, her voice shaky but determined to get through the story.

“We were driving,” Liv began, her eyes wide, “and out of nowhere, this big black four-by-four truck started flashing its brights at us. It was blinding. Every time Dominik tried to switch lanes, the truck would tailgate us, getting closer and closer.”

Dominik nodded, his jaw tight. “It didn’t stop. This guy was relentless. Finally, he forced us off the road, and we ended up in a ditch.”

Rhea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god. Are you guys okay?”

Liv gave a weak nod. “I hit my head against the window, but that’s not even the worst part. After we crashed, the truck came back. It rammed into our car while we were still inside. If we hadn’t gotten out in time…” Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered at the memory.

Dominik picked up where she left off. “We thought it was over when the truck drove off, but it came back again. We didn’t wait around to see what it wanted. We cut through the woods until we found a gas station.”

Liv interjected, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But the gas station clerk… he was so strange. He wouldn’t let us use the phone at first and kept saying weird things about how people have been going missing since—since ‘those people’ moved in by the New Canaan border.”

Jey tensed, his eyes narrowing. “Those people? You mean us?”

Dominik nodded. “That’s what we thought too. It didn’t sit right. But Liv begged him, and he finally let me use the phone. I called the cops, and this officer showed up. But he was just as strange.”

Rhea frowned. “Strange how?”

Liv leaned forward, her voice barely audible. “He knew where you guys lived without us telling him. He wouldn’t let us file a report at first and kept acting like this was all some joke.”

Dominik downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “And then it gets worse. When he finally took us back to our car…” He hesitated, his eyes darting between Jey and Rhea. “It was gone.”

“Gone?” Jey repeated, his voice sharp. “What do you mean, gone?”

Dominik slammed his empty glass on the table, his frustration boiling over. “I mean gone, Jey! No car, no sign it was ever there except for some tire marks. The cop just shrugged and said he couldn’t do anything about it.”

Liv clutched her arms, her voice shaking. “We’ve never been so scared in our lives. It felt like a setup. Like someone’s trying to send a message.”

The room fell silent as Jey and Rhea processed the gravity of what they had just heard. Rhea reached out, placing a comforting hand on Liv’s. “Liv… I know you’re holding back…” Liv bit her lip.

Rhea’s voice trembled as she asked again, “Liv, what are you holding back?” Her eyes narrowed, searching Liv’s face for answers. Liv’s hands trembled visibly, her anxiety climbing with each passing second.

Rhea, her patience wearing thin, stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Liv!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the quiet house.

Liv flinched and then looked up at Rhea, her eyes filled with tears. She finally broke, crying out, “Demetri!”

The name sent a shockwave through the room. Rhea’s anger evaporated, her expression shifting to one of disbelief. She staggered back slightly, her breathing uneven.

Dominik furrowed his brows, confusion written all over his face. “Who’s Demetri?” he asked, looking between the three of them.

Liv’s focus shifted to Jey, guilt etched into every line of her face. “I’m so sorry, Jey,” she said, her voice cracking. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Jey’s eyes darted between Liv and Rhea.

Liv turned back to Rhea, tears streaming down her face. “I know, Rhea. I know. I know.”

Rhea shook her head furiously, stepping back. “No. No, no, no,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Liv nodded, her sobs growing louder. “I knew she did it,” she said, her voice rising. “I just didn’t want to say it to you, Jey! You and her were finally doing so well after everything that’s happened. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that!”

Dominik, still clueless, slammed his hand on the table. “Can someone please tell me who the hell Demetri is?”

Jey, now visibly furious, slammed his own hand down on the table, making everyone jump. “Enough!” he roared. The room fell into a heavy silence. He stood, his gaze piercing everyone in turn. “No more secrets. Am I clear? How are we supposed to be a family if everyone’s hiding things from each other?”

He turned to Rhea, his voice dropping, but the intensity remained. “Rhea, I told you—I got you. But I need you to be straight with me. Right now. Did you really… kill him?”

Rhea, without a second of hesitation, blurted out, “Yes! I did it! I did it! I saw him get put in his casket!” Her voice broke as she confessed, her body trembling under the weight of her words.

Jey immediately pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I believe you,” he whispered, his voice calm and steady. “I do believe you.”

Dominik, still baffled, frowned. “Okay, can someone please tell me who the hell Demetri is?”

Rhea pulled away slightly, her hands still clutching Jey’s shirt as she turned to face Liv. “How did you know?” she asked, her voice softer but still laced with tension.

Liv took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to Dominik before returning to Rhea. “Hunter,” she said. “He asked me if I was with you that night. Remember? I was supposed to go with you.”

Rhea’s eyes widened as the memory hit her. “I… I blocked it out,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Jey, still holding Rhea close, looked her in the eyes. “Babe, look,” he began, his tone serious but gentle. “I love you. I really do. But maybe… maybe it’s time we start taking matters into our own hands.”

Rhea nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “You’re right,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Jey then turned to Dominik and Liv, his expression serious. “We’re going to handle this. Don’t worry you will be safe here..”

Dominik, clearly frustrated, threw his hands up. “Great! Then someone better start explaining, because if I don’t find out who Demetri is in the next five seconds, I’m going to lose it.”

Liv sighed and glanced at Rhea, who gave a small nod of permission. Liv looked at Dominik and said, “Demetri… was Rhea’s ex.”

Dominik blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Okay… and?”

Rhea inhaled deeply. “And he was dangerous,” she said, her voice low. “So dangerous, I had no choice but to end things. Permanently.”

Dominik’s eyes widened in shock as the weight of her words sank in.

After about ten minutes of silence, Dominik finally exhaled, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. He had just heard the full story of Demetri, a name tied to the dark chapter in Rhea’s life called The Terrible Awful.

Liv shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her anxiety evident as she glanced between Jey and Rhea. “Should we call the cops?” she asked tentatively.

Jey leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he considered the question. “I think we should contact the detectives in Orlando,” he said firmly.

Rhea furrowed her brows. “Orlando? Why there?”

Jey shrugged, his gaze steady. “Something’s telling me we’ll get what we need from Orlando. Maybe it’s just a gut feeling, but I trust it.”

Rhea thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Actually, you might be right. We’ll start there. Tomorrow, we’ll make the calls and see what we can find out.”

Dominik let out a tired sigh, rubbing his face. “I think it’s time we get some sleep. We’ll need it. Plus, all our clothes were in the car.”

Liv’s face fell as she remembered. “And my makeup…” she said mournfully.

Rhea gave her a small smile. “Jaciyah already set up the guest bedroom for you two. It’s all ready.”

Liv stood and walked over to Rhea, pulling her into a tight hug. “We’ll be okay,” she whispered.

Rhea nodded, hugging her back. “Yeah, we will.”

As the quartet headed upstairs, Jey and Rhea detoured to their bedroom to find some fresh clothes. Jey rummaged through a drawer, pulling out an unopened pair of boxers for Dominik. Rhea did the same, finding a fresh set of undergarments for Liv.

Jey carried the clothes to the guest bedroom and knocked lightly before stepping inside. He handed them to Dominik. “Here’s some fresh undergarments for both of you,” he said. “Toiletries are in the bottom cabinet in the bathroom. Get some rest.”

Dominik gave a tired but grateful nod. “Thanks, man.”

Jey clapped him on the shoulder lightly before heading back to his own room.

Climbing into bed, Jey pulled Rhea close, cradling her against him. She rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“I love you,” Jey murmured, his voice soft but resolute.

Rhea’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I love you too.”

Jey kissed the top of her head. “Tomorrow, we’ll worry about everything. Right now, let’s rest. You and the baby need it.”

Rhea placed a hand over her small belly, letting out a slow breath. Despite the storm raging in her mind, Jey’s words were a tether, grounding her in the moment. She closed her eyes, willing herself to find peace, even if only for a few hours.

—

10:31 AM

Jey awoke first, blinking against the early morning light streaming through the curtains. He glanced over at Rhea, who was still sound asleep, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. Smiling, he carefully slipped out of bed, stretching as he headed into the master bathroom.

The sound of water running soon filled the quiet room as Jey stepped into the shower. He let the warm water loosen the tension in his muscles, his mind already shifting to the day ahead. Once finished, he brushed his teeth, styled his hair, and grabbed a Nike shirt and basketball shorts from the closet.

Fully dressed, Jey walked back over to Rhea and gently kissed her awake. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Jey said softly. “I’m heading downstairs to make breakfast.”

Rhea smiled sleepily, her voice still groggy. “Pancakes, please.”

“You got it.” Jey grinned, kissing her forehead before leaving the room.

Downstairs, the house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Jey turned on the stereo, selecting a playlist of classics. Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together filled the kitchen, setting a smooth, relaxed tone. He pulled out the ingredients for pancakes, cracking eggs and whisking batter to the rhythm of the song. He also grabbed some bacon and sausage.

As the scent of pancakes filled the air, Dominik shuffled down the stairs, looking slightly more refreshed in Jey’s black “Yeet” shirt and joggers. He made his way to the kitchen and slumped into a chair at the dining table.

Jey glanced over and smirked, grabbing a mug. “Want some breakfast?” He asked as he poured Dominik a cup of coffee and set it in front of him. Dominik nodded and Jey asked, “How’d you sleep?”

Dominik took a sip of the coffee, nodding. “Yeah, surprisingly. You’ve got a nice, firm mattress in that guest bedroom.”

Jey chuckled. “Glad it worked out.”

Dominik leaned back, taking in the music playing softly in the background. He raised an eyebrow. “How can you listen to this stuff so early?”

Jey flipped a pancake with practiced ease, grinning. “Me and Rhea bond over this kind of music. It’s our vibe, man. Smooth and timeless.”

Dominik snorted, shaking his head. “Man, you’re really a romantic, huh?”

Jey shrugged playfully. “What can I say? Rhea brings it out of me.”

The two shared a laugh as the pancakes continued to sizzle on the griddle, the morning starting on a lighter note despite the weight of the previous night’s revelations.

As Jey started on the bacon and sausage, the savory aroma mingled with the sweet scent of pancakes. He turned to Dominik, who was still nursing his coffee.

“You get in touch with the rental car company yet?” Jey asked, flipping the sausage links.

Dominik nodded. “Yeah, I got off the phone with them earlier. Since I had the rental insurance and explained how that cop refused to file a report, they’re going to follow up with the police themselves.”

Jey gave an approving nod. “That’s good. At least they’re handling it. What about you and Liv’s meeting with corporate this morning?”

Dominik checked his watch. “Not till 2. We’ve got some time to breathe.”

“Alright, cool.” Jey transferred the cooked bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate, letting the grease drain.

Dominik leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his coffee. “How’ve you and Rhea been doing since the move?”

Jey shrugged, cracking a few more eggs into a bowl. “It’s been okay, I guess. We’ve mostly been busy dealing with my sons, Jeyce and Jaciyah.”

Dominik’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah? How are they?”

Jey smirked, shaking his head. “Jeyce? Man, that kid’s a handful. He got into trouble this past Monday—hit some other kid in the face with his lunchbox.”

Dominik burst out laughing, nearly spilling his coffee. “No way! He’s already got that Uso fire in him. He’s gonna be like one of us!”

Jey laughed, wagging a spatula at Dominik. “Yeah, no WWE for that twelve-year-old just yet. We’re trying to steer him straight.”

Dominik grinned. “And Jaciyah?”

Jey let out a breath as he stirred the eggs. “Still too early to tell. He just got in yesterday, so we’ll see how he adjusts.”

Dominik nodded, sensing the unspoken tension. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, man.”

Jey offered a small smile. “Yeah, but we’re getting through it. One day at a time.”

—

In Pensacola, Florida, Jon and Trinity were stretched out on their couch, basking in the comfort of a lazy morning. Tank and Marley, their two dogs, lay sprawled at their feet, enjoying the serene atmosphere. They had just polished off a hearty breakfast, and the soft hum of their relaxed conversation filled the room.

Jon glanced at Trinity, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone’s gettin’ a little pudge in their stomach.”

Trinity laughed, resting her hands on her growing baby bump. “These twins, man. All I wanna do is eat.”

Jon chuckled, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You’re beautiful, though.”

She smiled and nestled closer to him. “So, what should we do today?”

Jon tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “Hmm, how about we go stroller shopping? Gotta find somethin’ for these little ones to cruise in style.”

“That’s perfect,” Trinity replied, grinning. But before they could plan further, two deafening explosions shattered the peaceful morning.

Jon and Trinity jumped to their feet, grabbing Tank and Marley as they bolted outside. Smoke and flames shot into the sky from their driveway, where Trinity’s Escalade and Jon’s Mustang were now blazing infernos.

Jon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What the hell?!”

Trinity clutched his arm, her voice trembling. “Jon… our cars!”

The fire roared, sending waves of heat across the yard. Trinity, shielding her face, pulled out her phone and dialed 911 with shaky hands. “We need the fire department,” she told the operator, her voice urgent but steady. “Our cars are on fire. Please hurry!”

As she spoke, a neighbor rushed over, his face etched with concern. “Y’all okay? Anybody hurt?”

Jon nodded, though his expression remained grim. “No one’s hurt.”

The neighbor stood back, watching the flames alongside them. “Why would someone do this?”

Trinity leaned into Jon, her breathing uneven. “Jon, for real, what’s happening? Who would do this?”

Jon wrapped his arms around her protectively, his eyes never leaving the blaze. “I don’t know, babe,” he said, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “But whoever it is, they’re gonna regret messin’ with us.”

As the sound of sirens echoed in the distance, Jon’s mind was already spinning, trying to piece together who could have orchestrated such a bold and dangerous act.

—

“I think you two should stay with someone you trust,” the cop advised, his voice firm yet sympathetic. The smoldering remains of their vehicles still sent tendrils of smoke curling into the air behind him.

Jon nodded, his jaw tight. “We have some family here, thank you.”

The officer handed Jon an incident report and left with a brief nod, promising to keep them updated. Once the cop was gone, Jon and Trinity exchanged a tense glance before heading back inside the house.

“We can’t stay here, not with everything going on,” Jon said, already moving toward the bedroom.

Trinity followed, her face pale but determined. “You’re right. Let’s pack what we need.”

They quickly gathered clothes and essentials. Jon pulled out his phone and dialed his father, Solofa, who answered on the second ring.

“Jon, what’s going on?” Solofa’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of concern.

“Pops, I don’t have time to explain,” Jon said, glancing at Trinity as she zipped up a bag. “But is your beach house in Titusville listed on Airbnb yet?”

“No, not yet,” Solofa replied, a hint of confusion in his tone.

“Good. Don’t list it. I need it.”

Solofa didn’t hesitate. “It’s yours. No questions asked.”

Jon exhaled a small breath of relief. “Thanks, Pops. One more thing—Jey’s old Volvo still in the garage?”

“Of course,” Solofa said with a chuckle. “You think I’d get rid of that classic?”

Jon managed a faint smile. “Good. We’ll be there soon.”

Hanging up, Jon turned to Trinity. “We’ve got a place. My dad’s beach house in Titusville. And we’ll have wheels—Jey’s old ride.”

Trinity nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “That sounds perfect. Let’s get out of here.”

They finished packing and loaded up what they could. As they prepared to leave for the airport, Jon glanced around the house one last time, a mixture of anger and determination flashing in his eyes. The dogs on leashes stood by their side.

Jon thought about whoever was behind this wouldn’t get away with it. As the taxi driver opened the door to let them in, they knew they were on there way to safety… seven hours away.

—

The figure stood hidden in the bushes across the street, watching intently as Jon and Trinity loaded their bags and their dogs, Tank and Marley, into the taxi. A malicious grin crept across its face as the car pulled out of the driveway.

“Run, little birds,” the figure whispered. “But you can’t hide.”

A quiet laugh bubbled from its throat, filled with venom and satisfaction. The plan was coming together perfectly. Their partner had already succeeded in forcing Dominik and Liv off the road, leaving them shaken and vulnerable. And now, with Jon and Trinity’s cars reduced to charred heaps, their confidence would be shattered.

The figure reached into their pocket and pulled out a burner phone, dialing a number.

“It’s done,” they said once the line connected.

“Good,” the voice on the other end replied, cold and calculating. “The distraction worked. They’re running scared.”

“Everything is in place,” the figure continued. “What about New York?”

A dark chuckle echoed on the line. “Don’t worry. Damian and Kayden won’t know what hit them.”

The figure’s grin widened. “Keep me updated.”

[mercurymacaroons]

arrives 15 min late with a latte

......sup

[evenmorecrows]

hi excuse me i got carried away. these were originally tags but uhhhh it got. long. so into the reblog proper it goes. i ended up just fully describing my modern au.

for the record this is all off the top of my head so its not all entirely fleshed out

origins protags:

hiram amell would be in college to be like. a neurosurgeon and play warhammer with whatever time he can scrounge up. meets loghain there and they beef especially because hiram keeps finding stupid ridiculous ways to beat him when loghain is like. the most decorated player in their community. that guy is a warhammer 40k legend.

i feel like he doesnt have the time or energy to really get fast food enough to have a favorite, ironically. he lives off of tv dinners and the cheapest + strongest coffee he can find.

ive also been turning around the idea of modern hiram having been a foster child to duncan (this doesnt really come up here but i do imagine duncan being a military veteran) in his later teens which is what gives him the financial ability to actually pursue college. meets alistair that way who was also taken in as a foster and then officially adopted a year before hiram entered the picture. i dont know if i want duncan to die early on i want these boys to have a dad.....

anyway alistair and hiram are probably roommates while hirams in college? idk if alistair would be in college too. maybe try it bc of the expectation but end up having to drop out? hm.

gunnr brosca is younger daughter to her norwegian immigrant mother who came to america for a man only to be left when she became pregnant with rica. this began their mothers downward spiral into both poverty and alcohol and soon enough there was no chance of her getting home. so both rica and gunnr were born in america.

gunnr works under the table to not bring attention to their family. not always taking legal jobs. really just whatever she could get to keep them afloat despite the hole in their saving from their mothers drinking habits. gunnr feels a lot of disdain towards their mother for the situations she's put them in (put rica in especially) and the life they live

rica does sex work and hopes to marry rich so she can lift them out of poverty. gunnr hates that she has to. hates the men that leer at her sister. pretty 1-to-1 translation of ingame brosca origin.

a job gunnr takes goes wrong and lands her in hot water and her best bet is to take the money she has to her own name and get the hell out of dodge. she doesnt want to leave rica alone but rica encourages her to go.

and so she goes on over to britain. she takes less risky but still under the table jobs from there out because im deciding she somehow got in through criminal means and definitely does not have the papers or documentation to be there. god knows what their mother did with their birth certificates or social security numbers but i think neither gunnr or rica has ever seen hide nor hair of either document so like yknow. gunnr barely exists.

also im calling it that duncan is just not important to gunnr's whole story or existence. if hes there its only by proxy of alistair.

hey speaking of alistair. idk how they meet. something casual like outside a bar or through a friend of a friend of a friend when something like. breaks in the apartment he has w hiram and the landlord wont fix this and one of alistairs friends is like. i know a guy who knows a guy who knows this woman. ill put you in contact. and alistairs like. Ohhhkay. kinda shady but. alright.

she comes over to fix it. he gets himself a little crush almost immediately. shes neutral about him at first but when he kinda stumbles over himself to exchange numbers she teases him like. oh in case this breaks again huh? but is kinda begrudgingly endeared and goes along w it.

strangely enough in this modern au i think hiram and gunnr's influences on alistairs college career (equivalent to the king choice) are swapped from what theyd normally be. hiram would be resistant to alistair quitting college and kinda hammer in duncan's expectations (which i mean i keep mentioning but hes Not gonna like. disown them or something. like hed be disappointed, to varying degrees, but this is something that hangs over hiram like a specter. like it would impact things but hiram kind of makes mountains out of molehills over it. probably because he's felt severely unwanted his entire life and feels that any mistake is The End.) and put the weight on his own shoulders onto alistair in that moment.

(to expand more on that ^ i think hiram holds alistair to the same standards that he feels he himself has to conform to. and it scares him to see alistair consider Not going through the hell of college because it solidifies that as an Option. it give hiram an out, one with consequences, And it leaves him alone in his burden. they patch it up later down the road but needless to say things get Very Turbulent.)

meanwhile gunnr would be like hey listen. you dont need college to make something of yourself. if it sucks hit da bricks. and i think that ultimately wins out and him and hiram have a big falling out because of it and alistair goes to stay with gunnr in her shitty little apartment (? if it could be called that. debatable.)

im not rushing their romance here at this point bc the end of the world isnt upon them so. they have time to just be friends for a while while alistair's squishy feelings grow and gunnr finds herself more and more endeared to him. its absurd to her and she doesnt know What to do with that so she just. acts normal

messes with him a bit more maybe. yknow to do Something. maybe he starts working with her on some jobs. hes not thrilled about that part but work is work. and its not Bad stuff so. i just think hes a bit of a goody-two-shoes and doing things in a Not Super Allowed way makes him squirmy.

also i need zevran to be in here SOMEWHERE for hiram but i honest to god dont know. how. i have to think on it auuugh. they probably meet sometime during him and alistair's falling out. hiram needs someone there for him besides that old man he antagonizes at warhammer and duncan

ok so hiram and morrigan. i have actually thought about this previously and i have notes but i dont want to look at them right now. we're freeballing.

morrigan is a friend he made at a small school he went to with one of his previous foster families (he was shuffled through a lot of homes). she has an abusive mother and hiram becomes really her only friend. everyone else avoids her and if you listened to her shed say 'good' and that she liked it that way but ultimately she is Not immune to being lonely. and she finds genuine companionship in hiram.

soon enough hiram is shuffled out again but he goes through hell and highwater to make sure the two of them stay in touch.

well eventually around the time hiram is preparing to start college morrigan calls him and talks about her mother's pressure for her to have a child and that she thinks she'd actually like to but far Far away from flemeth. she doesnt want her mother having any part in the life of this child. she also asks if hiram would be the one to father it and hes a ride or die kind of friend so he agrees.

they meet up. the event is kinda awkward considering he is gay and neither are attracted in any way sexually to each other but they put in effort and thats sweet in its own right. afterward she tells him that she has to cut contact and that she plans to skip country. she cant tell him where and he knows this. he doesnt ask. he tells her to be safe and good luck. they hug and then she leaves.

a lot of impulsivity on display here but theyre both like 18 so. yknow. also shes lucky this actually Does take. neither of them had enough sex ed to have had it occur to them that one night Might not be enough to conceive a child.

also hiram does not mention this night to anyone for a very long time. no one knows he has a son and most of the time he forgets until he wakes up in a cold sweat with misplaces guilt over being an absent father. anyway

my baby my beloved. renard hawke. he's a farmer who's family had to move to the city after too many years of negative profit and debt.

the farm had been on a decline for a long time, but a few years after the death of malcom hawke, it finally caught up to them.

hawke family tragedy speedrun: bethany dies a bit after they settle into the city in a car crash. im not really sure what happens to carver. he doesnt die. joining the military seems likely. im also not sure what happens to leandra. her being the victim of a serial killer seems a Little bit unlikely but it could still happen. she could also grieve herself to death, the stress finally getting her.

renard is actually the person ive thought about the modern version of the least! so im not settled on a lot for him or his friends.

he ends up with fenris of course. he forms a lot of connections really quickly in the city. hawke in every universe is just a guy ppl gravitate towards. i think him and gunnr would get to be really good friends actually, and through her he'd eventually meet the rest of the origins gang. well besides morrigan, as previously stated shes off and away, and people connected only to hiram would be slower to meet renard until things were better between hiram and alistair. no da2 companion is left out here i just dont have concrete ideas as of right now.

what i DO know. is that he eventually goes missing (here lies the abyss). he doesnt tell anyone that he's going, where he's going. he leaves a six word note for fenris, gets in his car in the dead of night, and drives. the last person on record to have ever seen him is Islanil Lavellan, at a diner in the early hours of the morning. renard and islanil did not know each other prior to that meeting, but varric knows islanil as he works with varric's publishing company.

fenris will not stop until he finds hawke. it doesnt matter how cold the case becomes or how many try to dissuade him, he Will find hawke.

ok thats where im stopping right now because i need to brainstorm the da2 stuff more and i havent actually played inquisition with islanil yet. and i have some ideas for faustus mercar (rook) but i havent finished veilguard yet.

ATTENTION ALL DRAGON AGE PPL!!!

Describe any of your DA OC's as if they were regular modern people.

Favorite songs, fast food they would like, favorite movies etc.

[blessedmoonsoul]

ok might be my third world privilege but if i had the option to vote for someone who I agreed with 30-40% of their policies i won't be excited or pleased abt it but I'd be in that polling booth doing my part idk

[toxifoxx]

fighting the urge to make a rant post . but once you notice you really never stop noticing!!

[waywardsalt]

probably going to rework my human bellum design again

[graham--folger]

*through gritted teeth* what the fuck do people want from a resume

[future-dregs]

*whispers* I think Dan should grow his hair out a little bit, let the curls really go, that would be hot. Phil too, I know he just got it cut short again but can you imagine?

[amazingdeadfish]

I... I keep forgetting that your fanfics aren't canon, I can't read any other fanfics because I'm like "why do they ignore the whole macaque and mayor's story? It's so important, it shows the motivation of the characters and- oh yeah, that's not canon."

Well, if this isn't one of the greatest compliments of all then I don't know what is XDD. Besides from being able to make people allegedly cry (or, somewhat make them feel emotional), the fact that I must have accidently brainwashed you into thinking what I have written is canon, and not just a jumbled mess of my self indulgent headcanons is single handedly enough of a compliment to make me exactly 1% stronger than previously.

Because it simply means that what I have written is enough to align with canon. So thank you :DDD. I guess this means I am using the source material faithfully after all. Deep down in my heart, I know that Macaque and Mayor must have some sort of beef with each other, and Macaque being handed the Skeleton Key could not have been as easy as LBD just 'handing it to him'. Because how does that even fit on the LMK timeline??? It makes no sense, she should be imprisoned when Macaque died, right?

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

I really wish some of the actresses who have voiced Disney Princesses would stop comparing their princess to the previous ones and claim how she was the "first" one to have *gasp* independence and strength *gasp*. Have they ever watched a Disney movie outside of their own?