#and another few hundred from an event a few weeks ago

[california-112]

Why is EVERYTHING happening this week lol.

[helenanell]

Contempt of Court || Challengers

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Art Donaldson X Fem!Reader 

CW: 18+ MDNI. Alcoholism / substance abuse. Suicidal ideation. Mentions of car crash/ injury, infidelity (technically - Art is still married to Tashi, but they’re separated) Angst. Smut. A little toxic.

Wordcount: 10.8K

Notes: No use of y/n. Set after the events of the film. Reader is a Tashi stan (There’s too much Tashi Duncan erasure happening and I won’t stand for it.) 

Summary: Still recovering from an injury that put your tennis career on pause, your publicist has landed you a deal to be an ambassador for Nike. What she doesn’t tell you, is that so is Art Donaldson: the player who bad-mouthed you in a live, post match interview two years ago. You only find out once it’s too late. 

 (This story was inspired by the dynamic between Billy and Daisy in Daisy Jones and The Six. But…make it tennis.)

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For eight agonising weeks, your wrist has been encased in a cast, but now that it’s finally off, you feel far from relieved.

 As the doctor had sawn into the plaster, producing a cloud of white dust like he was breaking into a bone instead of revealing a healed one, you had actually felt panicked. 

After the car crash, you had spiralled into a pit dug with your own self-pity and pain. And once you’d reached the bottom, you’d staved off the encroaching darkness with alcohol and too many painkillers. 

You’d taken drugs before at parties and drunk until you wiped your own memory, the consequence being waking up with your skull practically splitting open from pain. But there was something profoundly different about becoming intoxicated in the hopes of rendering yourself numb:

 You hated yourself whilst you were doing it, and once the harmful buzz wore off, you hated yourself a little bit more. 

You had become fast friends with shame in the past few months. 

You have been desperate to play again, screaming, crying and practically tearing off your own skin with the need to get back to work- to not let yourself fall behind or your ranking suffer. 

But, amongst the amalgamation of negatives there had been a sort of relief, too. Relief, because the choice had been taken away from you. 

The accident hadn't been your fault and nor could you force your bone to heal faster, so for a brief period of time, you had convinced yourself nothing was your fault. For once, you couldn’t be blamed for your own fall from grace. 

But now your bone had healed and if you didn’t give recovery your all, it would be your fault. If there was no triumphant comeback, it would be on you. 

Another thing to fail at. 

Another thing to lose. 

All of which only added to your bafflement over your publicist’s insistence on coming over this morning, in order to discuss ‘a major opportunity’ that wasn’t related to a competition. 

You had originally tried to worm out of it, but your coach had found out and given you the third degree. 

You’re already tired at the thought of it and you don’t even know what it is yet. You don’t want to think about anything but tennis. You don’t have the energy for it. 

In all honesty…you’re hanging on by a thread.

‘Drinking too much’ is a far too casual phrase for how you’ve been living: it has connotations of casualness- a glaring lack of stakes. For you, the stakes are unbelievably high.

You know you can’t afford to become alcohol dependent because even being a functioning alcoholic isn’t an option for you. The only way to function as an athlete—to maintain your career trajectory and the attain the US Open title—is to be at one hundred percent. 

Mixing your painkillers with straight vodka isn’t one hundred percent: it’s a cry for fucking help. Except you can’t let anyone hear the cry, you need to stifle it. 

It’s bad enough that pictures of you being rolled away from your totalled car in a gurney had been plastered over the internet for weeks after the accident. The alcoholic, pill popping tennis pro was a story that would never go away. 

It would morph into an ugly sort of infamy: you’d been in the exclusive club of American sweethearts and heartthrobs who had been hounded so much by the ‘devoted’, that it had driven them to substance abuse to drown out the noise and fortify against the flashing lights. 

So, no one could know. No one.

Which is why, as your publicist pulls into your driveway, you’re rushing to hide a half full bottle of vodka inside a hideously expensive—and also just hideous—vase that had been given to you as an engagement gift.

Two years ago, when your fiancé–and fellow tennis player–had been caught in 4k, kissing a barely legal actress from a HBO teen drama, you’d almost smashed the vase. But, something about destroying a gift from Serena Williams felt like spitting out the ambrosia a god had fed you from their very own hand.

So, while your ring had been thrown into a ravine (best not to dwell on that.) the vase had remained. 

The doorbell rings much sooner than you’re prepared for. Who knew a five-foot-two woman in heels could move so quickly? 

You run over to the door, chewing down on two pieces of gum you’d hastily shoved into your mouth to cover up the scent of alcohol. When you pull it open, you’re met with the stern face of your Publicist, Rebecca. She’s tiny but terrifying, her sharp features framed by a pitch black bob.

Sometimes, it does feel a bit like you’re talking to Edna Mode, but you’d never dare say that.

“Rebecca, hi!” You’re aware the greeting is too happy, and try not to grimace.

When you step back to allow her to enter, Rebecca frowns at you as she passes.

“Why are you fake smiling?” she questions. “Your cast is off, you should be actually happy.”

 You drop the toothy grin, wincing with embarrassment as you follow her into the kitchen.

“I am happy about that, obviously.” You clear your throat, overly aware of how disingenuous you still seem. “What I’m not exactly overjoyed about, is whatever this ‘opportunity’ is.” 

You watch as Rebecca grabs bottle of water from the fridge and then pulls out a stool to sit at the kitchen island. You follow suit, dropping down beside her.

“Well, you should be. I practically had to sell my soul to get them to pick you.”

You level her with an unimpressed look. “Wow, Rebecca, way to raise me up from rock bottom.”

She waves you away. “Oh, please! You hate when I coddle you.”

You huff, dropping your chin into hand and propping your elbow on the counter. “Okay, out with it then. What is it?” 

Rebecca’s cheeks split with a blinding grin. “Nike.” She declares gleefully. 

“Nike.” 

Her smile dampens, disappointed you haven’t burst into happy tears. “Yes, Nike. You know…Just Do It.”

“Yes, I do. I’d just prefer not, you know…do it.”

Your publicist looks just about ready to slap you. “You’re kidding. It’s Nike.”

“Oh, is it? You haven’t mentioned that.”

Rebecca’s frown becomes a scowl and you think about ducking when she angrily snatches up her water bottle. But she doesn’t throw it, just waves it around as she begins to rant at you: 

“Do you know how hard it was to get this?! They wanted Naomi Osaka but I convinced them to go for you instead. And christ knows they were hesitant after the US Open meltdown-”

“We agreed not to refer to it as a meltdown.” You cut in. “My therapist says it has negative connotations that, ‘make me feel a harmful degree of shame.’”

Rebecca scoffs. “You went to one session with that therapist and then fired her because you didn’t like that she drew you a diagram.”

“It was condescending: I’m not five, I don’t need visual aids.”

“Okay, just shut up!” Rebecca barks, smoothing down her still immaculate hair and taking a deep breath. “This isn’t actually up for discussion. You’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing it.”

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Weeks Later… )

��Just Do It.’ 

It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the Nike office for the photoshoot. 

The poster from a past campaign with Andy Murray has been blown up to ridiculous proportions and framed, hanging in on the first wall that greets anyone who enters.

“If they make mine that big I won’t be able to look at it. I’ll actually vomit. ” 

When Rebecca–who is the epitome of a chatterbox–remains silent, you turn you head to look down at her. She’s already peering up at you, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “What have you done?”

Rebecca lets out a laugh laced with unadulterated fear. “Okay…so, any minute now you’re going to be super fucking pissed at me and you have every right to be, but remember that as you’ve already signed the contract, you don’t have a right to walk out of here.”

You stare her down, knowing it doesn’t take much intimidation for her to crack. 

You don’t end up needing her to blabber, however, because not even five seconds later, the door you’d just come through swings open and a lone figure enters.

 As you turn, you feel your publicist actually take a step away from you.

“Rebecca, I’m going to kill you.” 

You’re not looking at her as you spit out the threat, your eyes are already boring into the man who’s noted your presence and is lingering just beyond the doorway. 

Your history with Art Donaldson is far from extensive. In fact, while the trajectory of your careers have practically run parallel, the two of you have spoken maybe twice. 

But then, almost two years ago, the U.S Open had happened. 

Still dealing with the fall out of your fiance’s cheating scandal, you’d been in potentially the worst mental space of your life. And yet, you had still made it to the final.

 But, during the match…well you’d sort of lost your shit. And then you’d just lost. It had been dramatic and mortifying. 

Then, with the dust not even close to settling, things had gotten even worse. 

Having just clinched the men’s singles trophy for himself, Art Donaldson had sat down for his live post-match interview and one of the first questions he’d been asked, was about your ‘comportment’ during the final. 

You would never forget his answer: 

'Well, obviously it’s a massive disappointment. In so many ways the match between those two women today was legendary. But it always stings when you see someone get in their own way. Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court: it’s infantile and disrespectful to staff and to the fans. It threatens to overshadow what was otherwise a phenomenal game of tennis for both of them.'

When he had then been pressed for his thoughts on what should be done in regards to sanctions, Art had simply said: ‘I think whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’

In a few minutes, Art had made you a subject of scorn as well as unwanted sympathy.  He’d made you sound simultaneously contemptible and pitiable. 

He was right, but he hadn’t needed to sound so sanctimonious when he’d said it. And telling the world your own mental anguish was probably torment enough, was just salt in the wound.

In your own defence, you had gone into the final right off the back of the announcement that your ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend was pregnant. And the dates had made it blindingly clear, that conception had happened whilst you were still with him.

 You’d never felt so worthless or dehumanised. And then, after you’d practically killed yourself playing the match of your life, only to lose, Art fucking Donaldson had felt the need to call out your behaviour. 

‘Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court.’ 

Anger ‘like that’ wasn’t something you’d brought to the competition in your overhead luggage, it was a parasite that had been poisoning your blood.

You’d thought that sort of self-cannibalising rage was in your past, bust as Art starts walking over to you, it rears its ugly head once more.

And he has the gall to smile at you. It’s an amicable, almost anticipatory smile. 

You barely even register when Rebecca ducks away, muttering something about finding the photographer. 

Art calls out your name as he stops before you, the corners of his eyes creasing as his smile intensifies. “It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” You intone harshly.

Art’s smile doesn’t drop, it just becomes tighter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah- so you are still upset about what I said at the Open.” 

You glare at him, forcing yourself to stop gritting your teeth lest they shatter. “What could possibly make you think that I wouldn't be?”

Art laughs softly, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Well, because your coach and your publicist both assured me that you weren’t.”

Those fucking traitors. 

It looks like you’ll be going into tomorrow with only your nutritionist and your physio left on your team.

“They lied.” You reply sharply. 

Art tilts his head, his gaze becoming brazen in the way it assesses your face. “Clearly.”

“Well, obviously this isn’t happening.” You gesture between the two of you. “I’m not doing a photoshoot, let alone an entire campaign, with you.”

“I don’t see why it can’t go ahead.” Art declares casually, his lips tugging upward as he observes your indignation. 

You take a step back, not trusting yourself not to lunge for him.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have little regard for your opinion then, isn’t it?”

Art's brows draw together, some irritation beginning to pollute his easy going demeanour. “You do care.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do care about my opinion, because f you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be this pissed over something I said years ago. 

“Pissed?” You almost choke on the word. “You made me sound pathetic. Weak. You insulted my entire career!”

“I seem to recall saying that your match was ‘legendary.’ Phenomenal, is another word I used.”

If there wasn’t so much anger writhing in your gut, you might have rubbed it in his face that for something he’s outwardly dismissing, he seems to remember what he said about you very well.

You step up to him, closing the distance in two strides.

“‘Whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’ You said that about me in front of peers and fans in a live interview that was watched by thousands!”

“You’re telling me you don’t think you were out of line?” Art challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in. 

You know he’s not wrong: it hadn’t been your finest hour. In fact, the morning after, with your behaviour laid bare in the cold light and already being picked over by commentators and tabloids, you had been able to acknowledge it may very well have been one of the worst hours you would ever have. 

But you’d rather die than acknowledge that to Art.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” You hit back disparagingly.

Art’s fingers dig into his arms. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a hypocrite, Art. I watched your match against Patrick Zweig at the…what was it- Phil’s Tire Town Challenger? Someone recorded it from the stands. Tell me, what emotion were you bringing to the court when you yelled ‘fuck you’ at him across the net?” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m not proposing a thesis, Art. This isn’t up for debate. I’m just telling you what I saw. And it seems to me, that you have some fucking anger issues of your own, so quit chewing me out over mine.”

“Chewing you out–” He splutters, his cheeks flushing with outrage. “Wow, you really do have a victim complex, huh?” 

“Fuck you!” You seethe.

Your exclamation doesn’t dissuade Art, instead he gathers momentum: 

“You’re acting like I should fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness over an entirely reasonable answer I gave to a question about your piss-poor behaviour. But I didn’t make you launch your racket across the court or cuss out the line judge. You’re not a tragic woman, or some wronged heroine, you’re a grown woman throwing a tantrum because I wasn’t very nice about her in an interview, two goddamn years ago!” 

“Well, I’m a bitch and you’re a hypocrite, looks like neither of us should be tennis’ poster child.” You snap, pushing past him and heading for the door. 

There was absolutely no chance you were doing this photoshoot. Nike could give Naomi Osaka another call. 

Just as you’ve got past him, Art is following you, snagging your wrist with his hand. “Hey! I didn’t call you a bitch.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Badmouthing people in public forums is your move.” 

You yank yourself out of his hold and with his eyes burning into the back of your head, you leave Art Donaldson alone in the lobby. 

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Weeks Later… )

In the intervening weeks since your confrontation with Art, you have discovered just how airtight employment contracts can be. 

Nike should really give their lawyers a raise, because you have been assured that there is more chance of you sprouting wings, than being able to get out of the ad campaign. 

You’d been forced back to the studio a week later with your tail between your legs, but while you’d felt genuinely apologetic over the inconvenience caused to Nike’s team, your fury at Art had only compounded. 

Thankfully, the feeling had been mutual and the two of you had passed the entire shoot in utter silence. Neither of you had offered up so much as a hello or goodbye to the other, and while it had clearly been painfully awkward for everyone around you, it had worked out quite well. 

Unfortunately, you and Art had been called back for a day of what they were calling ‘action shots.’

Which is why you’re currently at a country club, dressed in all of Nike’s new gear, being forced to actually play tennis against Art. 

If it was anyone else, you would already have drawn attention to the fact that your wrist is in excruciating pain, but you refuse to falter in front of him. 

Besides, as much as you’re loathe to admit it, playing against Art is exhilarating. 

The team have just called for a break and somehow, despite the innumerable people that have been buzzing around you for the entire day, you and Art suddenly find yourselves alone at the side of the court. 

You’ve done well at remaining civil with each other, but that’s only because you only said ‘hello’ and ‘ready’ before you’d started playing.

Unfortunately for you, Art seems to be in the mood to antagonise.

“I don’t get why this is making you so miserable.” Art says, dropping down onto the bench beside you with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

You hold up the can in your hand, fingers biting into the condensation slick metal. 

“I specifically asked for Tangerine La Croix and they’ve given me Pure.” You mock. You couldn't care less about what you’re drinking.

“Funny.” Art deadpans. 

“And here was me thinking you’d jump at the chance to call me a diva.” You answer, donning a smirk of your own.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Some genuine anger colours Art’s tone and it only feeds the fires of your own.

“What?” 

Art grabs the can from your hand and maintains eye contact as he steals as a sip.

“You refuse to let go of a few critical, but very valid sentences I said about you in that interview and you’ve used them to construct a narrative about my dislike for you. I don’t dislike you.”

“Oh, you don’t? That’s good, because this amicable exchange is really making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” 

Art groans, slumping back on the bench. He manspreads so wide that his knee knocks into yours. 

“Can you not just enjoy yourself? It’s a beautiful day and we’re being paid to do what we’re great at.”

You wrinkle your nose and try to snatch back the can, but Art tightens his grip and the metal crumples as you both tighten your hold. 

“Yeah, well, not everyone gets off on having their face on a billboard.” You sneer, almost falling back when Art suddenly lets go of the can.

It’s practically empty and completely deformed, so you slam it down onto the empty space beside you.

“How do you know that I do?”

“What?”

“How do you know that I get off on it?” He repeats glibly.

“Because, you’ve clearly wanted to retire for years and now that you have, you can monopolise on the popularity that your wife built up for you and live off clothing lines and ads for the rest of your life.”

“Being great at tennis built up my popularity.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually believe that, Art? So many phenomenal players go widely unknown for their entire careers. You are only The Art Donaldson instead of just plain old Art, because Tashi Duncan made you a brand. She’s responsible for your legacy.”

“She didn’t make me.”

“Maybe not, but she did mould you into what you are. You would have been just another generic Stanford whiteboy if she hadn’t decided to give you fucking form.”

“You talk about her like she’s God.” 

“Are you telling me that’s not what it feels like when her attention is solely on you?” You challenge, but you don’t wait for an answer. “You know, I actually played her quite a lot when we were teenagers– we always ended up being us against each other in finals– and even then…it was like trying to play against an elemental force. Every time, without fail, there was a tiny part of me that just wanted to fall to my fucking knees in front of her. But I never did, instead it made my game better. She made my game better. Tashi put all she had into you after her injury, the least you could do is acknowledge what she’s done for you.

“You don’t have to tell me what I owe my wife.”

You scoff, rising to your feet. “I’m telling you what you owe your coach.” 

You don’t actually know where you’re going as you walk away, only that you need it to be far from him.

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Months Later… )

At the launch event for Nike’s new line, you’re standing in front of the massive poster that’s at the forefront of the campaign and swallowing down bile. 

It’s a great picture, you’ll give them that: Your feet are practically lifting off the ground as you throw up the ball for a serve, your expression is contorted with a ruinous passion that portends some sort of violence. And across the net, there’s Art: he’s dropped into a crouch, ready to pounce once you send the ball his way. In the face of your fury, his anticipation comes fitted out with his signature smirk. 

It’s not just a great photo, it’s phenomenal.

 You want to tear it off the wall. 

You’re on the verge of asking anyone if they have a pen so you can scribble over Art’s face, when the man himself appears beside you. In your peripheral vision you catch a glimpse of his sleek, all black suit, but you don’t turn to look at him. 

“I’m not sure you’d get away with defacing it in front of so many people.” 

Trying to suppress your eye roll would be a fruitless endeavour, so you turn to face Art, forcing him to bear witness to your indignation. 

“You should know by now that I have little regard for decorum. You certainly like commenting on my lack of it.”

“I thought you’d still be hung up on that.” 

“Yeah, well, some of us have follow through.” You give him a venomous smile. “How is retirement treating you?”

“Ah, I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“You see retirement is quitting. So, you’ll force yourself to continue well past the point you should, your game will get shittier and shittier, so by the time you’re forced to quit, people will be pitying you instead of remembering how phenomenal you were.”

There’s a compliment in there, but you’re not feeling generous of spirit enough to pluck it out of the insult. 

“I know when to stop, Art. It’s just not now.” You answer coldly.

“Okay, when? Like- give me your timeline. You must have thought about it.”

“Not yet.”

This answer seems to really frustrate him and he just stares at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he grips his champagne flute. 

“Do you think I didn’t notice how much your wrist was killing you when we played each other? Are you really going to wreck your body out of stubbornness?”

“You know, Art, what you did wasn’t bowing out at the perfect time, it was cowardice. You skipped right to the curtain call when you still had a last act left to perform. You never got that US Open trophy, did you?” 

Art sighs, his gaze moving back to the photo of the two of you. "Yeah well, something tells me you won't either. Have a good night."

Then he's backing away, his stare lingering on you even as he lets the crowd reabsorb him. 

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( One Month Later… )

Had Tashi Duncan not been one of the people in your life that you most respected and admired, you wouldn’t even have considered attending the fundraising gala for her and Art’s foundation.  

But you were, quite frankly, obsessed with her, so of course you had come.

 Sitting in an uncomfortably tight dress at a table of people you don’t know and with a fair amount of alcohol circulating through your system, is quite possibly the most painstaking thing you’ve ever gone through.

Apart from the car crash. That had been pretty bad. 

But you’re adamant you won’t think about the car crash tonight, or the fact that, somehow, your wrist seems to be getting worse; devolving to a state more dire than when the cast had first come off. 

The meal—which you hadn’t been able to stomach—had come and gone and now the auction is beginning. Tashi is up on the stage, dazzling in the way that only she can and Art is standing at the bottom of the set of stairs that lead up to the platform.

Unfortunately, your table is very close to the front and you’re positioned right in his eyeline. 

Art keeps stealing glances at you with an emotion you can’t place. You had tried to switch seats with the man across from you, but the asshole turned out to be a real stickler for assigned seating. 

If only to distract yourself, you whip out your phone, resting it in your lap beneath the table.

The moment you open up Instagram, your heart drops into your stomach. 

You thought you had expunged any remnants of your ex from your life, but it seems you’ve missed a mutual friend on Instagram, one who has just reposted his engagement announcement with his girlfriend and mother of his now one year old daughter. 

That bastard has broken your heart and wrecked your head, but while your life just keeps getting worse, the universe has seen fit to bless him with everything he’s ever wanted. 

The auction is already in full swing when you rise clumsily from your seat and weave through the tables, heading for the closest exit. 

It’s only as you push open the door and begin to sway, that you realise you’re actually quite tipsy. You might have drunk a little too much before you’d left the house. 

It’s freezing outside, but you can’t face going back for your coat, so, unsteady on your feet, you flee into the extensive gardens that surround the estate that’s acting as the gala’s venue. 

You walk well past the point where the lawn lighting disappears and clamber over a fence that has ‘restricted area’ prominently posted in front of it.

You don’t know where you’re going, but as you stagger down the hill, your sadness is alleviated very slightly by the sight of a massive pond that you’re sure is beckoning to you. 

You kick off your heels and drop down onto the bank, quick to put your feet into the water. Once you’re settled, you retrieve your hip flask from your clutch and begin to guzzle vodka in earnest.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

You turn and you find an incensed Art striding towards you. You’re more than a little delighted by the sight of mud splattered over the polished surface of his shoes. 

“I was having some time to myself.”

“You needed to walk all the way down here to get it?”

You laugh caustically, gesturing at him. “Well…no. Obviously I should have walked even further away.”

Art huffs, entirely unimpressed. He takes a few steps further down the bank and holds out a hand beckoning you over.

“Come on, you need to come back inside.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, you offered tennis lessons with yourself as an auction item and you’re up soon. You need to be on stage.”

Ah. You’d forgotten about that. 

“Why do I need to be seen? It’s not like they’re buying me.”

“You still can’t stay in there. Get out.”

“I’m not in it, Art. I’m just dangling my feet in the water.”

“Well, you can’t ‘dangle’ your feet in there, it’s a pond not a swimming pool.” 

“I can’t?” You feign a bafflement as you look at your feet, submerged in the murky water. “I sort of already am?”

Art moves even closer but falters, his bright eyes becoming an invading force: his gaze takes hold of your edges and peels them back.

He can see inside.

“What’s wrong?” He probes, the harsher edges of his previous words now nowhere to be found.

“At the moment, it’s you.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not actually, but I’m getting there.” 

Art’s eyes flick to the metal object glinting in your hand. “Is that a hip flask?” 

“What a keen eye you have.” You mutter sardonically.

“Okay, I'm serious now, get out.”

“Oh, he’s being serious!” You mock, rising to your feet.

 But you don’t move away from the pond. Instead, you turn and start walking backwards into the water you wobble when your bare feet sink into the mud, icy liquid seeping into the thin fabric of your silk dress.

Art lunges forward, closing the distance until he’s standing at the edge of the water. His hand darts out and he grabs your forearm. 

“You’re too close to drunk to be near a body of water, let alone in one. You’ll drown yourself.” 

Art plucks the hip flask from your fingers with his free hand and tosses it into the grass behind him, all without taking his eyes off you. 

Then he seems to actually register where his hand is. He’s still gazing into your eyes as his thumb brushes over the scar above your wrist. 

“Compound fracture.” You say on a bitter breath. “The bone went right through. Fucking drunk driver. Funny that, isn’t it? He crashed into me, fucked my career probably permanently and then I became a drunk to cope.”

Some of the hardness in Art’s expression melts away, but it pools into the bags beneath his eyes and the shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look almost distraught. Once you realise it’s sadness--no, pity--for you, you wrench your wrist out of his grasp and wade further back into the pond. 

You gasp, shocked as the frigid water wraps around your legs in an eager embrace. It’s like it’s clinging on, wanting to keep you forever. 

You find the thought of it quite peaceful.

You think on Art’s words from months ago: he’s right, about you being too stubborn to know when to stop. You won’t retire until you’re physically falling apart.

 But what if you just sink down into the water right now? You’d disappear and the memories would be of a great player gone too soon.

God, you didn’t realise you had such a large ego that you’d consider letting yourself drown just to save face.

Art is beyond unimpressed now. He’s furious. 

“Get out.” You just smile at him, stepping further back. The water reaches your navel and you let your fingertips skim over the water. “I’m not kidding, get the fuck out. Now.”

“Will you just back off!” You erupt. “We’ve done the campaign, we’re not friends, there’s no reason for us to be involved.” 

“None of that gives me a reason to leave you alone out here.”

“Why not?!” You protest desperately. “It’s not the ocean, I can’t be swept out to sea!”

“Get out of the water.”

“No.” 

“Get out.” 

“Get fucked.” You hit back, letting yourself sink back into the water. 

As you move to float on your back, another frantic laugh bubbles up as you're enveloped by its icy grip. Your dress becomes heavier, a five thousand dollar weight around your body, urging you to sink lower.

You turn your head to the side so that you can see the surface of the water:

This far out of the city, the stars are no longer choked by smog and so are able to tear through the darkness. The water perfectly mirrors the sky, so much so that it’s like you’re swimming in the cosmos. If you open your mouth, you could take some of it into yourself. 

You had struggled to get out of bed this morning, but now, in the quiet night, you have the chance to swallow a thousand stars–

Impudent splashing disrupts your peace. 

Your head shoots up, water running in eager rivulets off your hair as you watch wide eyed, as Art drops into the water. His jacket and shoes have been discarded on the edge of the bank. 

“What are you doing?”  

Art doesn’t answer, instead he drives through the water towards you, his strides producing ripples that disturb the reflected constellations. Shooting stars. 

You’re not very far out, so just as Art closes in on you, you plant your feet on the muddy bottom of the pond and stand up.

The fabric of your dress is dark and slick against your body like an oil spill. The breeze blows a tentative breath against you, causing your skin to pebble and your nipples to harden.

Art reaches for you but your hand flies out and you swat him away.

You push yourself further out, giggling at his expression as the water comes up to your chin. 

Then Art’s diving after you, the white material of his shirt submerged in the water. 

“Art, this is a pond, not a swimming pool.” You tease, amusement blooming.

In fact, you’re relishing the sight of his arms pushing through the water so much, that you forget to make another escape attempt. 

Before you know it, Art is right up in front of you, his breath coasting over your face as he wraps an arm around your middle beneath the water. 

You drive your feet into the mud, your smile growing as he looks exasperatedly up at sky. His fingers press into your side.

“This is so beyond funny.” He grouses, trying and failing to tug you closer.

Seeing as you’re not actually drunk, you’re not sure what comes over you, but you’re seized by a giddy, childlike urge. 

You decide to give into it.

Art’s eyes widen slightly as you rush forward, pressing your chest right up against his. Then, you place one hand on each of his shoulders and push.

There’s a brief moment, where your face rises above Art and he gazes up at you, droplets of water rolling off your face and onto him. He’s looking at you in the same way you had been gazing up at the stars. Perhaps you’ve become one of them. Wouldn’t that be something?

Art realises too late what you’re going to do. 

“Don’t you dare–”

You push all of your weight onto his shoulders and dunk him into the pond. His head goes under, short blonde locks floating up in the water.

You immediately let him go and when he comes up, spluttering for air, the hand not on your waist winds around the back of your neck, threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls you flush against him again.

When he speaks, it is a whisper you feel against your cheek. “You’re such an asshole.” 

Your hands fall onto his waist beneath the water. “I know.” 

You shriek as Art tips you back, his hand still cradling the back of your neck as he dunks your head into the water in retaliation. It feels like a baptism. 

When you come back up, he's chuckling as you gasp for air. 

“I had to do that.” Art defends.

 He notices you scrambling to push soaked strands of hair out of your eyes and proceeds to help you, his hand brushing over your cheeks and forehead before returning your sight to you. 

“I feel like you didn’t have to.” You splutter, fighting back a laugh of your own. 

You’re suddenly glad for his grip on you- you’re far too flustered to stand firmly on your own two feet. 

Art’s cheek’s dimple as he smiles, shaking his head at you. Your breath hitches. 

When he’s unencumbered by negative emotion…Art shines. 

He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of your ear: 

“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, sweetheart.” Your breathing becomes even more laboured as he draws away, his nose briefly dragging against your cheek. “Now…get out of the goddamn pond.” 

And then he’s pulling away, leaving you gaping after him as he moves back towards the bank.

 His touch is an absence you really wish didn’t feel so profound 

“Spoilsport.” You grumble. But you’re already moving after him. 

The alcohol you did have in you has disappeared; shocked out of your system by the frigid water and the feel of Art’s hands.

 You wade back towards the bank, your hip flask is nestled in the grass and glinting seductively in the moonlight. 

With Art’s back to you, you let yourself stare as he drags himself out of the water. His shirt is stuck to his body and entirely see through, settling into the ridges of his muscled chest. The moon’s light shines through the fabric hanging from his sleeves, making it look like the membrane of wings.

As Art kneels on the grass, you blink rapidly as if he’s a vision you can dispel from your sight. 

You can acknowledge he’s attractive- you’re not blind– but you can’t abide the yearning arising within you. You don’t have room for that in your life, for anyone, but especially not for him. 

You finally reach the edge of the bank and then Art is kneeling at the edge, holding a hand out for you to take.

You consider him for a moment and process the newfound ease on his face. He seems almost serene. 

You fight off a shiver that you blame on the cold and ignore his outstretched hand, pulling yourself out of the water unaided. 

“Really?” Art bites out irritatedly, watching as you wander over to your hip flask and sit down right beside it. You take it into your hand and unscrew the cap. 

When you bring it to your lips you look right into his eyes. “Really.” 

You throw your head back, the path the vodka burns down your throat is a welcome discomfort. You had felt far too peace just now, floating in a sea of stars with Art. 

But those weren’t stars, just a reflection of them. It was a trick. Nothing that could ever be real. 

When you drop the now empty flask into your lap, there are tears in your eyes. 

When was the last time you’d felt even close to the happiness you’d found in that water? 

It wasn’t real.

A traitorous tear is already rolling down your cheek as you drop your eyes to your hands. 

“Hey.” Art says softly. He kneels down beside you, one hand on your soaked back as the other plucks the flask out your lap. “What’s wrong?”

You make a noise that’s half sob, half laugh. “I already answered that question.” 

“Yeah, except I know you’re full of shit.” When you look up at him, Art’s frown becomes something gentler. “I know I’m not your problem.” 

You scoff, shoving his chest. He sways backwards, but drops down onto his knees, planting himself on the ground beside you. His hand is still on your back.

“Yes, you are actually.” You answer nastily. “You really are.”

“Just tell me.” Art whispers, ducking his head into your field of vision so you’re forced to look at him. His free hand settles on your cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong because this…is sort of scary.”

You lift your hands and clasp his cheeks, digging your fingers in. You’re overcome by a violent impulse to tear into his skin. 

It would be far easier to draw blood than confront how you’re beginning to feel about him. 

“Aww.” You croon. “Did I scare the poor little baby?” 

“Stop it.” He scolds. His hands move to grasp your wrists but he doesn't pull you away, not even as you press your nails further in.

But you won’t stop- can’t stop. Your feelings have become spiteful and unruly, running away from you at a pace which you can’t hope to match.

You can’t take the strain. And because Art is the contributor to that is closest to you, it’s him you’re going to lash out at.

“No, really, I didn’t think you’d be such a pussy.” You forge on, spewing venom. “I scared you by getting in a pond? Grow the fuck up, Art.”

But Art doesn’t rise to it. His jaw doesn’t clench and his grip on you doesn’t tighten. 

“This isn’t okay.” He says, tentative but assured. “You’re not okay.” 

“No, I'm not!” You snap wrenching your wrists free. “But it’s got absolutely nothing to do with you.”

You try to rise to your feet, but Art doesn’t let you. He moves so he’s kneeling either side of you, his legs pressing into your thighs as his hands fall onto your shoulders. You can feel in the way his fingers press into you that he’s fighting the urge to shake sense into you. 

You look up at him, slightly startled by his forcefulness. His back is facing the moon now and his drenched body is limned in silver. 

Before you can berate yourself for even thinking about it, you’re winding your hand around his tie and dragging him down, smashing your lips against his. 

You shouldn't be doing this, a large part of you doesn’t want to, but it feels like the only way to purge yourself of him. And what kills a bacteria faster than blazing heat?

Art lets out a warning groan, but your teeth nipping his bottom lip is all it takes to have him leaning in. Even your kiss feels like a fight, battling each other for control, pressing with bruising force.

Art crowds over you, guiding your back against the grass.

You let yourself fall. 

As your back presses into the earth, one of his hands settles on the side of your neck as he drags the other up your leg. When he peels up the sodden material of your dress, his hand exploring your thigh, the cold air bites tauntingly against your rapidly heating skin. 

Your hard nipples brush against his soaked t-shirt and the feeling is so tantalising, that you find your back arching, pressing yourself into him and chasing the sensation.

When you let out a moan into his mouth, Art draws back as if some unseen hand has pulled on him.

He’s still agonisingly close, his lips a hair's breadth away as he gazes down at you through heavy eyelids, water droplets running down his face from his hair. His breathing is ragged.

 Art’s eyes close and with his sight lost to him, his lips drift closer to you again and his teeth nip at your chin. After placing a ghost of kiss over where he’s bitten, he takes a deep breath.

Then his eyes open, and his expression is blank. It makes you feel sick.

You’re burning up with want, but you can already see the realisation of your transgression settling into the very bones of Art. He’s about to spurn you, disdain no doubt working its way to the surface. So you have to get there first. 

“Poor, sensitive Art, scared by a kiss.” You goad. The words are forced out and they feel malformed on your tongue. “Don’t worry your little head over it, it doesn’t mean anything.” 

Art drops his eyes from you, shaking his hand as he pushes himself off up. 

“Nice try, but I know what you’re doing.”  

He mumbles it and doesn't give you a chance to acknowledge it befores he’s on his feet and walking away. 

Tears prick insistently at the back of your eyes but you force them back, pressing the heels of your thumbs into them until it hurts. 

You sit up, feeling leaves and blades of grass sticking to your exposed skin.

You feel the air shift behind you, and are startled when you peer over your shoulder and find Art standing at your back. He has his shoes back on and is gripping his dry jacket far too tightly. 

You find your voice, but it’s weak: “What am I doing Art?” 

He doesn’t meet your eye, instead he opens up the jacket in his hands and settles it over your shoulders. You sit there, stunned as he tugs it around your body. Then he leans down and over your shoulders, his breath on the side of your face as he deftly buttons the jacket up. 

Art encloses you in the dry garment that carries the scent of him. 

“You’re doing the same thing as me.” He says quietly. It sounds almost painful for him to talk. “Running away. I guess we’re both cowards.”

And then he’s gone, marching back up the bank without another word.

You’re left sitting there, wrapped in his jacket and staring out at the pond. 

Not the night sky. 

Just a pond. 

  ━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Months Later… )

After your cast had first come off, Wimbledon had felt like an intimidating but still far off thing; a dark shape on the horizon, but one you had to squint to see. But then it moved closer, barreling towards you like a bat out of hell. 

You’ve made great progress in your recovery, you really have…but all your extensive physiotherapy hasn’t been able to heal the nerve-damage you’d turned out to have- at least not in a timespan that’s workable for a professional athlete. 

You’re done. Tennis career over.

And your worst fear has come true: it hadn’t been your choice. Injury has forced you out and the public discourse is rife with commiseration and useless, positive platitudes. 

Art has been proved right. Everything would be so much better had you known when to quit. You had preferred ridicule to this. 

But until you’d come to Wimbledon, it hadn’t really sunk in yet: you hadn’t had the moment of finality. 

What closure has ended up feeling like, is the final nail in your coffin.

As you had watched the first matches of Wimbledon from the stands, Rebecca glancing at you constantly–presumably to check you weren’t about to burst into tears–you had felt as though you were being buried: each serve and volley another hand tossing dirt on top of the coffin, sealing you beneath the ground for good. 

At least one part of your day has been successful. You have completed the challenge you’d set for yourself that morning, which was to not drink any alcohol until the evening.

 It has been excruciating.

Evidence of your victory lays in your trembling hands as you fit your keycard into the door of your hotel room. You’re desperate for what you know sits waiting for you on the other side. 

But then, just as the lock mechanism chirps to let you know you’ve been granted entry, someone calls your name.

Your keycard is left in the door as your fingers fall away from the handle and you turn to face Art. He’s stopped himself a safe distance from you and is gazing at you with what looks like…relief? 

Of course you knew he was at Wimbledon–you’d narrowly avoided crossing paths with him a number of times already today–but to hear his voice and having his probing stare directed solely on you, is as debilitating as you remember. 

You haven’t seen each other, or even spoken, since the night by–or rather in–the pond. 

The only place the two of you are still together in any capacity, is on the Nike billboards that are still occupying space throughout the world.

And as if Art’s thoughts align with your own, he says: 

“You pull an impressive disappearing act.” He steps closer.

“That suggests you went looking for me.” You counter, pleased with how detached you sound. “We both know you didn’t.” 

“No. I didn’t.” Art replies frankly. 

“So I didn’t disappear, did I? You just couldn’t see me.”

Art moves towards you some more, stopping an arms length away. 

“It felt the same.” He utters lowly. “You were gone.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “So were you.” 

Then you press your back into the door, fingers seeking out the handle, shaking now for a reason other than alcohol withdrawal. 

You really don’t know if you’re running away or urging him on, but when you push open the door and duck inside, you do know that you’re not angry when he follows. 

You put your back to the hallway door, expecting Art to move past you and head into the suite, but he doesn’t. At least not right away. Instead, he stops right in front of you, looking down at you as the door swings shut. 

You would barely have to lift your hand and you’d be touching him.

You hate that he looks so good. He’s in simple navy dress pants, a white shirt sitting snugly on his chest, the top few buttons undone. 

The two of you stand like that for a minute or so, and just as you realise that your breaths have practically synchronised, Art is moving away from you and wandering inside. 

It’s only then, as he ventures deeper, that you remember what you’ve been so eager to get back into the room for. You curse yourself, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

Even if he hadn’t already seen them, it would be too late for you to hide the line of alcohol minis that you’d gathered from the bar cart. 

You’d set them out earlier, the process almost meditative. It had been a promise to yourself: get through the day without drinking and you can have all of these once you’re alone.

But now they’re standing out in the open, displayed on the nearby desk like pieces knocked off a board in a game that you’ve been playing against yourself. 

You watch helplessly as Art walks right over to them, his hands in his pockets. Your face flushes with shame.

Art cranes his neck back to look at you. You’re still pressed against the wall, afraid that if you take one step closer, you won’t be able to stop yourself from taking ten more. And you don’t want to be close to him when his face shifts into pity or revilement. 

“You planning on drinking all of these?” Art asks, turning back to the bottles as if he knows his gaze is steadily undoing you and wants to grant a reprieve.

Eased slightly by the remarkable placidity of his tone, you’re able to answer calmly. But you still don’t move. 

“That was the plan.” 

Art lets out a non-committal hum. “Why?” 

You laugh awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “I don’t know, why does anyone drink?” 

“I don’t care about anyone, I'm asking about you.” His voice is firm, but the foundation of it is something less solid. His words shake on the way out. 

You’re overcome with the urge to be honest. It’s actually a lot easier when he’s not looking at you. 

“I drink because at some point in my life, every tiny thing became really difficult- like, embarrassingly difficult, to the point where I feel like a child again. And it turns out that ineptitude is easier to bear when you feel like you’ve imposed it on yourself. I drink because it makes me feel helpless…but, helpless by choice.”

The confession hangs suspended in the air, a horrifying, complicated marvel- like a beautiful butterfly now dead and pinned by its wings to a board. 

Art speaks into the silence, his back still turned to you. “Do you want to forget? Is that part of it?” 

“Forget what?” You’re struggling for breath now, his presence drawing all of the oxygen from the room.

He half-turns his head, blue eyes settling over you once more. “All of it.”

“There’s not enough alcohol in the world for that.” You say morosely.

You have learnt that getting drunk doesn’t rid you of all the thoughts that torment you in sobriety, it just pushes them further to the back. Even if you drink so much you can barely walk, the thoughts remain, banging on the barrier and demanding to be let back in. 

Art doesn’t respond to that. He turns back to the little bottles and you watch as he reaches out a hand and knocks over the one closest to him. He pushes it forward, sending them all toppling one after the other like dominos. His eyes are set on them as they roll around on the table, a couple falling onto the plush carpet. And your eyes are set on him. 

Then, he finally turns to properly face you, knocking the fallen bottles with his feet as he leans back against the table and crosses his arms against his chest. 

He’s waiting, you realise. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to make the first move. Wanting you to come to him. 

You push off the wall and start walking towards him. “Why did you follow me in here, Art?”

He sighs, the corner of his lip pulling up with a melancholy smile. “Because you make me feel helpless.” 

That almost stops you in your tracks, but you recover quickly, barely a footstep faltering as you advance on him. Your heartbeat is a warning drum in your ears.

Once you reach him, Art widens his legs, allowing you to step between them.

As you settle your hands on his thighs, his duck beneath your dress and come to rest on the bare flesh of the back of your legs. He draws you closer, making you fingers dig into his trousers to steady yourself. 

You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans forward, brushing his lips against your exposed sternum. 

You’re still flushed and sweating from the uncharacteristically blazing English sun and you shudder as Art’s tongue darts out lapping at the moisture there. 

You rock forward, placing your chin on the top of his head, inadvertently pressing his mouth further into your skin. His lapping tongue turns into kisses, kisses that travel down onto the swell of your breasts and into the valley between them.

Even when he reaches the fabric of your dress, he doesnt let it stop him: Art’s lips close around your clothed nipple, wetting the thin fabric with his saliva. You let out a breathy moan into his hair as he moves onto the next one. 

As Art works his mouth against you, you push your hands higher, letting your fingers brush the bulge in his pants before they’re settling on his belt buckle. 

He says your name, each movement of his lips searing into your flesh. 

“Do I make you feel helpless?” He asks, his hands moving up to curl in the sides of your underwear. 

“No, Art. You don’t.”

As you undo his fly, he begins to pull your underwear down.

“Why?” He closes his mouth around your breast and bites down just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

You remove one of your hands from his crotch and use it to grab the back of his neck, you pull him away from your chest, forcing him to look up at you as your other hand disappears into his trousers, palming his hardness.

Even as you step out of your underwear and kick it away, you’re starting to stroke him. His mouth falls open, sucking in a breath as gazes up at you as if you hung the moon.

“How could I feel helpless?” You goad, leaning in and resting your mouth beside his ear to whisper. “When I have so much power over you?” 

Art’s initial answer is to buck up into your hand, chasing the friction you’re moving too slowly to give him, but when you laugh at his desperation, he’s surging up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you.

In a flash, you’ve taken up his position: ass resting on the edge of the desk. 

Before you can catch your breath, Art has his hands on your knees and is spreading your legs, exposing your bareness to him.

But apparently he still hasn’t got you where he wants, because his fingers then wrap around the back of your legs and he lifts you, placing you further back onto the wooden surface. More bottles roll off the edge and drop into the carpet. 

Then, finally, Art’s eyes meet yours. His smirk makes a return. 

“So…” He begins, his hands gathering up your dress and leaving it to bunch up at your waist. “I have absolutely no effect on you? None at all?”

“No-” You can’t even finish your thought let alone the word before his fingers are running through the wetness between your legs. Your instinct is to shut them, but his hips are in the way, so you only succeed in holding him firmly in place. 

You are left to stare as he lifts his hand up, evidence of your arousal glistening on his fingers. Then, slowly enough that he can watch the realisation of what he’s doing dawn on your face, Art takes his fingers into his own mouth.

His eyes meet yours and do not shift away for even a second as he licks your wetness from his skin. 

The tightness in your belly becomes almost too extreme to bear, and a throbbing begins between your legs. 

“I want you to ask.” Art says, his fingers–now wet with his own saliva–drawing circles on your inner thigh. “I want you to ask me to fuck you.” 

“I thought you were here because I make you feel helpless?” You try to sound taunting, but your voice is ragged with want. “Now you want to be in control?”

Art leans down and you expect an abrupt, bruising joining of your lips, but instead he kisses you slowly, tenderness in every gentle movement. His mouth is is still aligned with yours as he answers: 

“It’s not about control, sweetheart. I just want to hear that you want me as much as I want you.” 

You begin to kiss along his jaw, your sentence formed with words cushioned between the press of your lips:

“I want you to fuck me, Art.” 

Art's fingers curl around your jaw, bringing your lips back to his as he frees himself from his pants with his other hand. Your kiss is languid but rapidly growing with force, passion driving pleasure ever closer to point of pain.

“Condom?” Art questions into your open mouth. 

With his fingers digging into your chin, you can't shake your head so you’re forced to gather enough of your wits to speak again:

“Birth control.” 

“Okay.” Art pecks your lips before lifting a hand and spitting onto it. Then he’s fisting himself in his hand and pressing inside of you. 

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist, hooking together to pull him in even further. 

Art lets out a shuddered breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he settles himself inside of you.

He kisses and licks across your collarbone, only stopping when he comes across the thin strap of your dress. With a little growl, he takes it between his teeth, tugging it back and then letting it ping back into your skin. 

You laugh, still adjusting to the feel of him inside of you as you move to pull down the top of your dress. But Art has other ideas. He stops you with a slow thrust, rolling his hips just enough to have your hands wrapping around his neck instead. 

“Let me do it.” He’s giving a command and yet it sounds like a grovel. 

Then, in unison, his fingers find the straps of your dress and he’s pulling them away, tugging the bodice down and exposing your breasts to him completely. His hands fall onto them immediately, palming the supple flesh and lifting them up higher so that he can kiss them even as he begins to rock into you. 

Just as your heartbeat begins to find some sort of rhythm again, Art pulls out of you almost completely before driving back in. Your breath is knocked out of you and as he begins to thrust with controlled rapidity.

Your hands fall to his still covered ass and dissatisfied with the lack of contact, you push your fingers past the waistband and dig your nails into his naked flesh. 

Art moans into your neck, clamping down with his teeth as he picks up his pace yet again. 

“Art-” You call out, lost in the press of him inside you. 

The table begins to shake so much that it’s slamming against the wall, the noise perfectly aligning with the sound of your hips slapping together.

“Tell me this doesn’t make you feel out of control.” Art pleads, his movements growing frenzied. 

By this point you can hardly think straight, so you give in, his statement going unanswered as your head is thrown back in pleasure. Art chuckles, licking up the column of your neck. 

“I think I got my answer.” 

“Shut up.” 

When Art laughs at you again, you remove your hands from his ass and grip his face instead, drawing his lips back up to yours. He opens wide, panting into your mouth before your tongues start to move together.

You stay like that, mouths joined and breaths shared as his thrusts become messier,  his hands on your back beginning to tremble.

But you’re not close yet and he knows it. He reaches between you and presses his thumb into your sensitive bud, applying enough pressure that, combined with him driving into you, has you quickly coming undone.  

You break the kiss, crying out as your body is wracked with convulsions. 

Art smiles, his eyes drooping closed as he chases his own release. And it doesn’t take long. You’re still coming back to yourself when his hips stutter and his fingers dig into you. He lets go, spilling inside you. 

You both go still. You press your face into his chest–his shirt now dappled with spots of sweat–as he places a kiss on the top of your head. 

You’re both breathing heavily, reeling in the wake of your joining when your phone–tucked into your purse that you had dropped by the door–begins to ring

Still inside you, Art shifts, pressing closer as his lips begin to kiss a path down your cheek. “Don’t answer it.” 

You lean back just enough to meet his eye and smile. “I’m not going to answer it.” 

Art matches your grin as he leans down and gives your lips a peck. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter three: A shitshow and a happy ending (alternatively, Delia goes out and buys milk)

Chapter warnings: Attempted genocide, there’s murder, and heavy implications of violent events.

You hoped your skittishness had gotten the message through. If not, the Avgin were fucked big time.

And they were.

You had made a mistake, and it cost you the life of a young boy’s mother.

It was a miscalculation on your part, because how could you not have realized that Kakavasha’s mother was alive in the date you assumed she wouldn’t be?

You shouldn’t have let her go out there to get food as you entertained her children.

It was too late to regret things, you’d have to think now.

It was rather awkward to tell stories of hope to the children who knew another one of their people had just gotten murdered, but you tried anyways, to give them hope that they can be free from living a life they didn’t deserve. Looking at their innocent little faces made you want to cry almost— you refrained from doing so.

Hundred of hours passed by, and all it’s for is a dreaded countdown to a festival and a boy’s birthday.

You had heard a discussion outside, something about the IPC again. You scowled, snorting as you knew those cowards wouldn’t do jack shit for the Avgins.

Because why would they? Your feelings towards them continued to grow sour, and you had half the mind to ask Qlipoth if you could eat some of their people— surely, by the amount of planets that corporation have consumed they wouldn’t mind losing a few of their own.

The violent thoughts were shoved to the back burner as you instead focused on the upcoming days. There’s the telltale sign of rain, the heavy smell of it lingering in the air as you knew something bad was going to happen.

“Good lord help me.”

You sighed, big and heavy as you prepared yourself for the shitshow about to unfold.

—————————

And you were right.

Thankfully you’ve managed to warn enough people that they’d run before the Katicans got to them. If you had been a human now, this experience would possibly traumatize you forever.

This event was no joke and you were close to just taking out your disguise but realized it’d be dangerous for everyone if you outed yourself. So you opted for gathering enough people in your group— some of them held into the hope of the call for help they made to the IPC, but you resorted to shouting that the IPC won’t be coming for them.

The others, those that weren’t in your group, had made it a point to scatter out into their own groups as well.

It had been particularly messy, but no one really fully objected to you once they came to the realization that there was no help coming for them at all. If you had been human, your head would have been utterly overwhelmed.

But you were an Aeon, and you were hell bent on saving at least a portion of these people if you couldn’t make do for all of them.

It would have been easier if your true physical form could interact without causing accidental harm or even death, but you have to settle for your projection, and hopefully it would be enough.

Your hope came in the form of the same rangers you’ve painstakingly summoned for weeks on end, Kakavasha being in the arms of Boothill himself. They made it just in time.

Things were taking a turn for the better.

There were casualties and quite plenty of them, but not in the numbers you remembered a lifetime ago.

There were more survivors than there were people killed, and while you knew their life wouldn’t be very easy as you wished it would be, they were alive.

Kakavasha isn’t alone anymore with his sister being alive.

It had taken some time for the news to cause an uproar; the discrimination wouldn’t be easy to erase still, but the Avgin were at least free.

Kakavasha woke up to a new dawn of the day and found a small piece of aventurine in his fingers. There were small, wooden beads strung together that accompanied it and he squinted his eyes to read what was intricately carved on them.

There, it simply said “Happy birthday”.

You were there when he had read it, and even if you wanted to stay, you had other things to do.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, and wished him a long, happy life.

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?” He asked, his grip on the beads tightening as his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I….” You hesitantly began. “I have some things to do.” You said carefully. “You remember Vertin, right?”

“Of course!” He nodded rapidly. “Wait… will you.. be going out there on a journey like her too?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come with you then?”

“No, you can’t.”

“But why?”

“It’s dangerous to stick around me.” You told him. “You don’t want to be out there yet, you’re not ready.”

“…..” Kakavasha’s lips trembled. “You’ll come back, right? The katicans wouldn’t be around to kill us anymore… you’re safe like me! Y-you don’t have to leave.”

“I know, but don’t let your guard down okay?” You ruffled his hair. “We’re safe, but we never know when this’ll last.”

“So you’re really leaving?” Kakavasha sulked, his little body leaning on to you as if a plea for you to stay. “Who’s going to tell me stories? Who’s going to play games with me and lose all over again?”

You flicked him in the forehead for his last words. “Hey, just because I constantly lose to you doesn’t mean you can rub it all over me.” You teasingly scolded him, the young boy only laughed.

“Delia.” He called out to you, shifting so he could properly see you.

“Yes?”

“Sister said you were raised by the katicans.” He said. “At least she said you were, I don’t believe it though. You look like me, and you’re nice.”

“Well, don’t let looks fool you.” You pinched his cheek affectionately and he let out a little giggle. “Oh yeah, also you know that gentleman with sharp teeth who carried you yesterday?”

“Mr. Boothill? Yeah I do, he speaks funny though.” You were tempted to tell this boy the poor cyborg just worked on a censor. “He said something about a “muddle fudger who scared everyone in my group shirtless”….. I think he was trying to say mother fucke—“ you coughed loudly as you covered his mouth.

“Where did you learn that word?” You asked, Kakavasha blinked as you removed your hand from his mouth, before looking at you straight in the eye with a certainty only a child would have.

“From you.”

You sat there and stared at him awkwardly. “Oh.” You let out not so gracefully.

He must have listened whenever you cursed under your breath.

“Don’t say any of those curse words until you’re at least as old as your sister, okay? If you want to really curse out someone, then follow after Boothill’s example until you’re old enough, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good, now go to your sister, she has something for you.” He did as you said, however, before leaving the little tent, he looked back at you.

“You’ll come back, right?”

“I will.”

And you never did.

———————————

While dipping like a cheating father on Christmas Eve was an asshole move, you knew some things were better off without you. You stirred Aventurine from a life he will never know, and for that you gave yourself a pat on the back all the while looking at the unfortunate rangers you’ve accidentally terrorized.

You’d have to apologize to them in some way, you thought to yourself as you saw the ever fading eye bags and the look of familiar terror in their eyes.

You couldn’t offer these guys therapy, but you could offer them bounty money.

You pointedly ignore the spooked look on their faces as the intercom on them kept repeating the words “bounty complete” as several notifications popped out of their phones.

Money was flooding into their account. Where that’s coming from? Best you don’t think of it much.

“I have a feeling it’s the shirtbag who sent us the SOS message that got us this.” Boothill grumbled. “Well I’ll be darned I guess. At least it was smart enough to get us to gather around that planet to stop some stupid shirt from going too far.”

“You think it could be a follower of Lan too?” One of the rangers asked.

“Nah, they’d fire a shot if they were. That one straight up went for your mental health— but I can forgive that I think, we managed to protect folks and answer their cry for help.” One of them answered.

And with that, you were satisfied, turning your gaze away from them to come back to the express.

——————————

“Bruh.” You grimaced as you were subjected to the weirdest taste of coffee you’ve ever had in your entire life. It tasted like desolation brewed into an innocent little coffee cup.

Welt paid no attention to your suffering as you entertained Himeko’s whims, choosing to read a book instead with the broadcast as white noise.

One of Himeko’s coffees did taste good, but the majority of them tasted like they came out of Satan’s liver.

“Oh, there’s something new in the map.” Himeko said all of a sudden. “An unclaimed territory…” She glanced at you, and you innocently ignored her pointed stare as the broadcast rang through the parlor.

Hearing the words of the news and looking at the new planet— specifically Sigonia IV registered in the map of the star rail, she stared at you in semi disbelief.

“So that’s where you’ve been.” She whispered, eyes wide in surprise.

“The place didn’t have an anchor, so I couldn’t take you guys for an adventure with me.” Not that it was optimal for you to be taking them there anyway, it was better for the galaxy rangers to take over that role instead of the express.

Not because you didn’t trust the two people here, but because you simply lacked manpower.

“Besides, it wasn’t even fun.” You said. “There’s no weird monsters that looked like they came out of god’s recycling bin in there. There were just… people.” You all left it at that.

It had taken you moments to speak again.

“Anyways, where to next?”

———————————

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV (HERE), Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII….

Jesus Christ this took a bit to cook. The jokes will properly return since the more serious end of the chapters is finished (there are going to be serious moments in the future).

I am on a roll and taking advantage of the creative juices before they run the fuck out.

[stars-tonight]

hi! congrats on 100 followers!!! 🎉🥳 for the event could i do milkshakes and gossip pls? thank you! ^^

STUDY DATE (FT. SAKUSA KIYOOMI)

milkshake -> sakusa kiyoomi

gossip -> study date

synopsis: one would think sakusa kiyoomi would be decent at studying. pre-timeskip, pre-established relationship, fluff

word count: 610

“come on, ‘omi, you have to focus.” you gently tap your boyfriend’s homework, which is spread out--undone, mind you--across his desk. sakusa is mindlessly spinning his pencil around in his hand, staring out the window. he had asked you to come over to his house to help him study today. you had agreed, although you’re starting to think you definitely should’ve guessed beforehand that no homework would be done on sakusa’s part.

sakusa blinks as you bring him back down to earth. “huh? oh.” he scowls as he looks away from the window and back down at his papers. “i am focusing.”

you sigh, exasperated. he had been staring at his english worksheet for the past hour. you had already finished your chemistry lab and your history homework. you have to put your foot down. “if you don’t start focusing, i won’t come to your game tomorrow. and i know it’s an important one.” itachiyama is set to play fukurōdani, another huge powerhouse team from tokyo, tomorrow, for a spot at this year’s spring nationals tournament.

sakusa’s eyes snap over to you. “you can’t do that,” he complains. “you promised you’d come to all of my games. and we’re almost at the finals.”

if there was one thing you would never think you’d see sakusa kiyoomi do, it was puppy dog eyes. but the look he gives you right now might just count. “i’m not good at english,” he mutters. “and you’re not helping me anymore.”

you sigh again. “i gave you all of my vocab flashcards two weeks ago,” you say. “it’s your job to actually look at them. if you don’t look at them, of course you’re not going to learn anything, and of course you’re going to have trouble doing the homework.”

sakusa rolls his eyes. “japanese people don’t need to know english,” he insists. “i’m not planning on going abroad after high school. i’ll play for the japanese team. i’m not like wakatoshi-kun, he’s planning on going to europe.”

“ushijima-san is going to europe?” you set down your pencil and lean forward in interest. “to play volleyball?”

“he’s considering it,” sakusa says. “he told me he’s received some offers and is looking into a team in poland. but he’ll probably stay in japan for a few years after graduation before going abroad.”

“poland? can he even speak polish?”

“no. he’ll have to spend a few years learning.”

“see,” you say, “even ushijima-san is going to learn another language. and before you say that it’s for his career, you have to learn english for school. it’s similar. so focus. come on.” you tap his paper again.

he sighs roughly. “five more minutes,” he bargains. “tell me what you’re working on now.” he eyes your paper.

“statistics,” you say. “you know, normal distributions, standard deviations?” your eyes sparkle. “it’s one of my favorite subjects.”

sakusa definitely doesn’t know. but it’s a strategy to waste time and stall before you get on him again about doing his work. and you’re interested in it.

“oh, yeah?” he sets his pencil down. “read me some stats.”

that’s not exactly how it works, but you don’t tell him that. “hmm, let’s see. . .” you twirl your pencil around your fingers and tap your chin with it thoughtfully. “there’s a ten percent chance you’ll finish your homework on time, and a ninety percent chance you’ll get over twenty-five kills tomorrow, and a zero percent chance that i’ll miss your game. and. . .”

“and?” sakusa prompts.

you look at him slyly. “and a hundred percent chance that, even though you’re awful at studying and don’t know how to say ‘stupid’ in english, i love you.”

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 12||

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Words: 5k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Even in the middle of the night, the heat of summer in Hell's Kitchen is oppressive. It doesn't help that there is a storm rolling in and it is so humid Matt feels like he's breathing in water. Sweat is pouring off of him and he's glad he opted out of wearing his red armor - he has the feeling he would have overheated within an hour.

The only good thing about it pushing eighty degrees at two am is that only people that have to be out are out. Even though it is Saturday night/ Sunday morning, the streets are empty and Matt has only encountered people on their way back home. He hasn't even needed to scare off any muggers or stop any break ins. In fact, all he has really done all night is track people to make sure they got to their destinations safely.

There was a small surge of people around midnight coming off the trains and they had been rowdy, but hadn't caused any problems. Matt quickly worked out they were part of the protesters who have been crowding outside the courthouse for the past few days and deemed they were not a threat to his beloved city.

He's spoken to a few of them while at the courthouse and he fully supports their cause and their right to protest. Admittedly, Matt is not one to stay on top of current events, but he thinks it is suspicious that the government will not reveal what caused the massive explosion in Connecticut. It's been weeks but instead of answers, it feels like everything about the incident is being shoved under the rug and Matt knows if it was closer to home, Karen would be chomping at the bit to investigate.

Over six hundred people lost their lives and no one is being brought to justice for it. They are saying it was an attack, but no one is claiming ownership or being blamed for the destruction. It makes him angry, and though this isn't his fight, he'll do his part protecting the voices in his community who demand the truth.

Tonight, it seems like his community is safe and Matt will be able to get more than two hours of sleep before he needs to go to Mass. He needs to do a final pass around the neighborhood before he turns in for the night, so he pushes himself up from where he has been crouching like a gargoyle and stretches his limbs. His knees pop and his back screams at him and he decides that despite the heat, he will take a scorching shower to soothe his muscles. He may not have gotten into any big fights the past few nights, but that doesn't matter to his body - it's always aching and throbbing in one way or another.

He pulls his mask down over his face, hating how it instantly makes his forehead sticky and wet, and starts his loop.

He starts at the top of 10th and weaves across and down until he passes Foggy and Marci’s apartment. He pauses across the street and crouches down as he tunes his ears to their bedroom. They are both in a deep sleep and there is no threat he can detect, but still he stays for a minute just to be sure. Daredevil may have complicated his best friend's life, but Foggy has never had trouble making his own enemies. He may not be a vigilante, but his sense of justice is just as strong as Matt's and that has caused people to come at him violently. Someone breaking in is not out of the question.

Marci has her own enemies but if anyone ever tries to come after her, well, Matt will pray for their soul because not even he is that self-destructive. She once made a joke about becoming a crime lord and he still has the occasional nightmare over it.

Matt scans the surrounding buildings for any problems once more before he starts off towards Karen's place. She was still awake when he last passed her building and the odds of her still being up are pretty even. He wouldn't be surprised to find her typing away at some article - stirring up the pot as always. He loves her for that personality trait, even if it mentally puts him through the ringer with worry over her - he supposes it is nothing compared to what he does to her.

But luckily, for the collective sanity of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, more people care about Karen's well-being than care about Matt's.

He knows she has Jessica's number on speed dial - letting them meet is one of his greatest regrets in life. He is well aware of the cameras set up by Frank's computer friend and while the Marine is out of town, he's left her with another layer of protection - his dog Max.

Not that Karen can't take care of herself.

If she and Marci teamed up to take over Manhattan, Matt doesn't know if he could stop them.

Maybe he'll tell her that for her birthday - it will make a better gift than anything he'd be able to think of.

Matt lands on the roof of Karen's building, relieved to find she has gone to sleep since he last checked on her. She must have let the dog get in bed with her, because it's snoring is making it hard for him to tune into her without concentration. She's safe and seemingly happy, so he lingers only a moment before resuming the last dredges of his patrol.

He heads down to the docks next. There are people there, but they are meant to be - prepping for the fish markets and early morning cargo ships. These are good, hard working men who don't dabble in things that would make the Devil hunt them. In fact, he's got a good contact in one of the fish mongers, who will let him know if there's been anything suspicious in the wee hours of the morning. He doesn't need to check in now, as there have been no whispers as of late, and he disappears back into the shadows of the city to head towards Clinton Church.

Matt's stomach turns as he gets closer to where he grew up. His feelings about the location and the people there have been a ridiculous rollercoaster since he found out he was a father.

He deeply misses Father Lantom. Despite what everyone has told him, he firmly blames himself for the man's death and does not understand why God made that choice. It hurts that he isn't here and Matt can barely bring himself to go into the church - he's only started to re-attend Mass since learning about Minnie to seek guidance from God about this new path. He'd give anything to be able to speak to the man who mentored him in life - to hear what he would say about Matt having a daughter.

It isn't that Matt dislikes the new priest - he just doesn't like him. He's resistant to change and it should be Father Lantom giving Communion and taking his Confession.

It should be Father Lantom who Baptizes Minnie, not this man Matt has never even spoken with.

Maggie is trying to get Matt to interact with the man, but his relationship with her is going through a rocky patch and he hasn't actually spoken with her in about two weeks. She hasn't done anything wrong - he is just having an internal crisis over how learning he is a parent changed him and his abandonment issues. He's spent a lot of time in reflection and understands why she left him and his father, but he now has a renewed anger at her for not telling him the truth sooner.

Did she not love him like he loves Minnie? Was it something he did wrong?

Will she love Minnie like she loved Matt? He trusts her to care for his daughter, but will she love her granddaughter the way she deserves to be loved?

Everything is made more complicated over how guilty he is over having these feelings and so, instead of talking to his mother, he's been avoiding her. He knows he needs to eventually address it, but for the moment Maggie is none the wiser about his mini-me.

He'll tell her after he tells you about her.

It is something he needs to do still - it just hasn't come up yet. Most of your conversations center around Minnie and you are still getting to know each other. You've shared few stories about your childhood - mostly about school - and Matt isn't so sure how your anxiety will handle Maggie. His mother is a good person, but she is a lot and he knows you have your own parent issues.

Like at the docks, there are people active at the Church. A few homeless patrons are seeking shelter before the rain and there is a nun tending to their needs. The kids are safely tucked into bed, and while it sounds like a few are having nightmares, there is nothing he can do for them at the moment.

If they wake and cry out, he prays their calls are answered.

Matt practically flees the sacred grounds and his anxiety only settles once he crosses into Chelsea.

As he runs, he hones his senses to the apartment building you live in. It is easy for him to lock onto - he's already spent countless hours perched on the boundaries of the two neighborhoods listening to you and Minnie sleep. He knows it is creepy, but he cannot help himself.

Minnie’s laugh is his new favorite sound, and not far behind it is your heartbeat. Much like his daughter, he's found himself focusing on it when things get too much and it is the perfect way to end patrols - winding down while you and Mouse dream.

You mumble in your sleep and it is the most endearing thing he's ever encountered. He likes to respond to your strange statements, imagining he's right there in bed with you. There has been a recurring theme of parrots and he is thinking that the bird exhibit will be off limits during Minnie’s birthday trip to the zoo, based on what he's heard.

But it isn't you mumbling in your apartment tonight - it's Minnie.

His daughter is awake and has moved from the bedroom to the living room. The television is on - playing what he thinks is Sesame Street - and she seems to be fussing with a toy. Context clues tell him she's playing with a doll or stuffed animal - dress up is one of her favorite games and he knows it is one of her Quiet Games.

“Nexts,” she says sweetly to her toy, “we gotta do your make ups.”

Matt decides to wait until he's landed on the roof before he makes her aware of his presence. He kneels and takes a moment to center himself, taking a deep breath to do so. He focuses on calming the Devil in his chest - this is the first time he's caught Minnie awake in the middle of the night and he needs to address it as Matt and not Daredevil.

He doesn't want to scare her, after all. She'll probably be very confused as to why he's there and being scared won't help anything.

“Minnie, sweetheart, can you hear me?” He asks, keeping his voice soft as possible as he does.

To her credit, she doesn't start at all. It takes her a moment to process, but then she questions, “Daddy?”

The name makes his heart soar - everytime she says it, he breaks into the biggest smile. It is the sweetest sound and the fact she switched to calling him that all on her own means the world to him.

She wants him to be her Daddy.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. What are you doing awake?” he questions, smiling as he hears her get up and start to walk around. He wonders if she is looking for him and his guess is confirmed when he hears her start lifting things up to look under them.

“I'm watching Cookie Monsters,” she replies and Matt chuckles. He thinks it is so adorable she is also so direct with her answers. She always answers exactly what is asked.

“I don't think it is time for Cookie Monster, Mouse. I think it's sleep time. Mommy is sleeping.”

You are in a deep sleep, your breathing slow and even. He can tell you've been exhausted lately and probably need the sleep. More than once he's found you awake during his patrols. If Minnie tried to wake you up, you probably weren't responsive and she had left you to sleep.

She peters her way back to in front of the television and plops back down after checking under the dining table. Matt waits for her to respond, knowing sometimes it takes her time to form what she wants to say.

“I can't sleep,” she mumbles, upset clear in her voice, “there's a monster.”

The Devil flares up inside of him and he instantly scans the area for a threat. There are few people awake in the area and he focuses in on them - none of them appear to be any sort of danger to his daughter. At the moment.

But they could have been earlier. They could have woken her up by doing something horrible. A mugging. Domestic violence. Something worse.

He curls his lip into a snarl.

He'll find whoever upset his daughter and drive them from his city. The state.

It's a miracle he manages to keep his voice calm and gentle, “A monster?”

“A monster,” she confirms sadly. Her breathing becomes muffled and Matt figures she has shoved her hand into her mouth to self-comfort.

“Can you tell Daddy about the monster?”

She sucks on her fingers and with her free hand, pulls her toy into her lap. He wants to push her to tell him, but he knows he can't. She's not a witness or a suspect - she's his daughter trying her best. He can tell she wants to answer, he just needs to be patient.

“He ran really fast,” Minnie starts to say, barely taking her hand out of her mouth to do so, “and went eek-eek-eek and smelled like poopy-butt.”

The words baffle him and Matt knits his brows - this monster was close enough for Minnie to smell him? The monster in his chest snarls and he has to fight to keep his composure. He knows Minnie is locked onto him and if he lets his rage show, she will know and she will get scared.

He needs to protect his daughter. He needs to believe God will not test him in this.

“Minnie, sweetie, can you tell Daddy where the monster is?”

Her little head turns up to face exactly where he is standing, asking in a small voice, “are you gonna fight him?”

The Devil roars ‘yes’, but the Father in him says, “Do you want me to?”

“Mommy scares him away,” she advises hesitantly. He can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her and it makes him clench his fist.

Matt doesn't understand. This has happened before?

Then it beams him in the head like a baseball and Matt feels like a complete idiot.

Minnie is a toddler. Her monsters are shadows, creaky pipes, and the four legged creatures in the city. Those are things that no longer register on Matt's radar but she hasn't learned to tune them out yet. Of course she would be scared of those things - Matt was scared of those things when he first got his senses and he was much older than Minnie at the time.

He remembers his first phone call with you and how it ended - something about Monster Repellent.

“I can go scare off the monster - would you like that?” he asks, the Devil in him settling down now that he knows no one is trying to hurt his little girl.

He doesn't know if it's Minnie sensing his shift in mood or if she didn't want him to fight the monster and scaring it away is what she wants, but she untenses her shoulders and her hand comes out of her mouth.

“You'll scare him away?” She asks after hugging her toy right to her chest.

“I'll scare him away,” he quickly promises.

“He smells like poopy-butt,” she repeats and Matt wonders if she is making a stinky face. That is something you tell him he and Minnie share - a certain curl of their lips when they find something unappealing.

“That's okay, sweetie, I'll make him go smell bad somewhere else. He won't bother you,” he says. “Can you tell me where he went and I'll go chase him away.”

Finally, she points down towards the alleyway between her building and the neighboring one and adds, “He can climb walls. Like Spidey-Man.”

Matt resists the urge to huff over the mention of the other vigilante. He has met the kid twice before and his biggest take, besides it was a kid under the mask and that had been its own thing, was that he needed to learn how to throw a proper punch. It confirmed for him all that Avengers training and showboating really meant nothing and they really were better off fighting aliens and wizards than helping out real people.

“Don't worry, Mouse, I can climb the walls, too.” He's definitely letting his Pride show through, but if he can't show off for his daughter, who can he show off for?

He makes a quick map in his head, then goes to the edge of the roof. Minnie’s head is still angled up towards him and she ‘watches’ as he parkours down to street level. If he adds a few unnecessary flips, well, that is no one's business but his own.

Once he is on the pavement, he opens his senses to the things he normally blocks out. The city becomes far more lively around him - cats, raccoons, birds, dogs, all sorts of bugs and things he doesn't like to think about. There's yowling and chirps and suddenly so much more movement, most of it under his feet.

Mouse’s monster is easy to find. It is a disgustingly large rat that has built a nest of trash and grime under a dumpster. The thing has a respiratory infection, which has it wheezing and rattling and he very much understands why Minnie was scared of it. It is not a pleasant sound and the infection is not at all helping how the creature smells. Animals smell at the best of times, but this rat clearly enjoys the sewers and ‘poopy-butt’ doesn't begin to cover how rancid it is.

Matt starts to work out what he needs to do to make sure this sick rodent stays far away from his family. If it has a nest, it will come back, so he needs to destroy that - without damaging the animal. He doesn't have the heart to actually hurt the thing.

He pulls out his billy clubs and snaps them together to make a bo staff, then moves to crouch in front of the dumpster. “Okay, sir, I'm here to evict you,” he says, more for Minnie’s benefit than anything. “You gotta go.”

He jabs at the nest of wet cardboard and almost immediately, the rat scurries out and hisses at him. It snaps its jaws at him a few times instead of running away and Matt huffs at the display, turning his staff towards the creature and swatting at it. “Get out of here.” To its credit, it tries to fight him, biting at his billy clubs and screeching at him, but after a few good thwacks to its side, it realizes it has no chance against him and dashes toward a nearby grate.

He listens to it go down into some pipes and once it's out of range, he tilts his head up towards Minnie, a smile starting to form in his lips, “The monster has been vanquished, my princess.”

His words make her giggle and he can't help but chuckle as well. He hears her push up into standing and she toddles towards the window. There's a table in front of it, so he knows she can't see out of it, but he knows she's trying to find him.

“He's not gonna come back?” She questions and in response he starts to break up the nest. He spreads the trash around, knocking things down and away. It's not a big very big rat den, relying heavily on the dumpster.

“He's not, he's gonna go find a new home,” he promises as he works, and once he's satisfied with his destruction, he collapses his billy clubs and holsters them. He pushes up into standing and steps away from the trash can.

“Far away?” Minnie asks and his heart breaks for her. The stupid animal must have terrified her.

“Very, very far away.”

He locates the fire escape and starts to scale it back up to your apartment floor. As he does, he starts closing off his senses again. Things begin to fade into the background - the things he will need to start teaching Minnie. She's got a good handle on it already, having learned to function with it instead of needing to adapt.

He's so proud. So unbelievably proud.

She's such a good and pure child. She always wants to help and asks about other people. She may be shy, but she's empathetic.

You've taught her well.

Matt understands how Minnie is a mini-him in her abilities and mannerisms due to those abilities, but her sweet nature is from you.

He knows he's gone for you.

Foggy has pointed it out. Karen has pointed it out. God has smacked him in the face with signs.

His realization moment was hearing a man purchasing an engagement ring for a woman who shared your name. He had gotten so furiously jealous he had to go take it out on the punching bag.

Foggy laughed so hard at him.

He doesn't think you noticed at all. It is nothing against you, he completely understands. You are like him - you don't think you deserve love. You had been painfully shy your first night together, as well, and he had been charmed by it.

He's angry at himself for letting you be a one night stand.

He should have been there when you needed him most.

He's not going to fuck that up again.

He pulls off his mask before making a show off popping up in front of your window and Minnie dissolves into giggles.

“Hi, Daddy!” She waves at him and he can tell she is absolutely beaming. He eagerly waves back and he knows he's matching her smile.

“Hi, Mouse.”

“Why are you outside?”

He's planned for this. He has discussed this with Foggy and Karen at length. He did the unthinkable - he asked Frank - who apparently knew who Minnie was before either Foggy or Karen did. They had attacked the question from all sides. As the firm. As friends. As parents.

They couldn't lie to Minnie. Matt can see the signs she's picking up on what different heart beats mean. She's going to know and there's nothing they can do to hide it. She can hear all of Hell’s Kitchen just as well as he can. It may not happen until she's older, but she'll figure it out.

So, he's not going to lie to her. He thinks you would approve. You don't like lying to her - you soften the truth into something she can comprehend. He's going to follow your lead.

“I'm working,” Matt answers, crouching on the rails and resting his wrists on his knees. He's suddenly very glad he had a very boring night. “What are you doing inside?”

Mouse accepts the answer and hugs her toy to her chest, swaying side to side “I'm talking to you.”

He laughs at her utter sweetness. She giggles along with him.

He gives a fond shake of his lead, then leans forward so she can see him a bit better, “What should you be doing, sweetheart?”

She scrunches up her face as she thinks, then she falls into a pout, “Sleeping.”

“Yeah, you should be sleeping. You're going to be tired tomorrow. It's not going to be fun,” he gently warns. He knows it isn't her fault, but he knows it will eventually help her learn to push those noises to the background.

“Okay, I'll go bed. I gotta clean up first. Mommy says …Mommy says don't leave it until morning. You'll make morning you sad. Be nice to morning you,” she recites, patting her hands against her stuffed animal - it's not Scooby or Pig. (He doesn't know this one. His best guess is it's a Raggedy-Anne type princess doll. His little girl loves princesses - no specific one, just the concept and aesthetic.)

He loves the values you are instilling in her. He's going to steal this mantra and tell it to Foggy and Karen.

“Okay. I'll keep watch for any monsters,” he tells her. This is one of the reasons he wants her to know the truth. He wants her to know her Daddy will protect her from all of the monsters.

“Okay. Thank you. Love you!” She chants, then turns away.

“I love you, too, Mouse. So much.”

And he will tell her every chance he gets.

She carefully walks back to where she had been sitting and turns off the television, then goes to put her toys away. Like always, she's very methodical about what she does. He could spend hours watching her play. She fascinates him. She picks up one toy at a time and tells it good night as she puts it back into her toy chest.

She doesn't have much to clean up and when she finishes, she turns to face him.

“Will you tuck me in? Please? Thank you?” Minnie asks like he can say no.

“Of course, my love. Are you all ready for bed?” He questions as he hops down onto the fire escape - one of the screws holding it together shakes and he decides he'll come back another night with a wrench to tighten everything up.

“All ready!” she confirms and he can tell she's watching him with great curiosity.

He begins to run his fingers over the edges of the window, searching for a way in. You certainly don't make it easy - you invested in apartment security and it takes him a moment to disable it. He's careful as he slides the window up and pops out the screen. He slips into the apartment, then quickly closes the window behind him, leaving the screen on the floor.

Minnie has the decency to wait until that moment to run to him with open arms. Matt scoops her up, swinging her a little before putting her on his hip and once she is settled, he leans down to press his forehead to hers.

“We have to be quiet, okay? We can't wake up, Mommy,” he tells her and she quickly nods in understanding.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you wake up and find him in your home - but luckily you are still in a deep sleep. As long as Minnie keeps calm, you should stay lost in Dreamland.

He kisses her forehead then starts towards the bedroom. She returns the affection, planting a big kiss on his cheek before she gently smacks him in the face with her doll with a quiet, “mwah!” Then, she flops against his shoulder, using him as a pillow.

He has to fight back a pleased huff - his little angel is so sweet. He'll never get sick of getting kisses from her toys - it's so loving and innocent and he is greedy for any and all affection.

Your bedroom is a good twenty degrees cooler than the rest of the apartment - there's a fan going and accompanying it is a little window unit blowing in cold air. It feels like Heaven in the blistering heat that is the rest of the city. The chill seems to suck the consciousness from Mouse - she gives a big dramatic yawn, smacking her lips against his neck. Her body slumps into him and he rubs her back encouragingly.

He crosses the room carefully, hyper aware of any toys that may have found their way to the floor post-bedtime. It absolutely breaks his heart to have to pull her away from him and she does try to stay clinging to him - not fighting him just resistant - but she ends up in her bed and under her covers. He doesn't know if he would have had the strength to force her to let go if she really did want to stay in his arms.

He helps her adjust her sleeping headband so it is around her eyes and ears, then kisses her cheek one final time, “ready for sleep?”

The response is a barely there nod and Matt can't help but feel so much love for his daughter. Being able to conk right out as soon as she's comfortable shows how much she trusts him. His little girl is always so wary and subtly alert.

He's going to cherish this moment forever.

“Love you, Mouse.” He whispers.

“Luvo, Daffy,” is what it sounds like she says as she rolls to bury her face into her pillow. A moment later she is snoring.

Matt allows a few tears to fall before wiping them away and turning his attention to you. You have nested yourself under your blankets, breath hitching every so often. He's learned over time from various people this usually means bad dreams - not nightmares but things that can leave you shaken.

He doesn't dare move closer to try to soothe you with touch - that would certainly wake you up.

Instead, he promises, “I'll chase all your monsters away, too.”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

 @petrovafire39 @allllium

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

[oracle-of-dream]

(switch ceo!jay request!) (sub/bttm leaning) ceo!jay who was being escorted out of an event after drunk man jumped on stage while giving his speech, almost successfully attacking jay if not for the reader stopping him in time. heading home, jay felt tired and took a shower, after getting out he sees the reader on the couch and decides to sit beside him, while doing so he finds a bruise on his forearm, feeling guilty he offers to nurse it himself, the readwr refuses but after a bit of back and forth he managed to get the reader to sit sitll while he gets an icepack. and while they're sitting there, they just casually have a conversation, making intense eye contact, the readers staring at jay's lips which he notices. one thing leads to another, and suddenly they're making out.

u can decide how the smut part will go 😭 i'm not very good at it, but ik and can trust in ur abilities! pls take ur time, have a wonderful day and i hope ur not feeling pressured w all the requests coming in! :]

CEO's Bodyguard

Summary: It's your job to keep Jay safe. It's another large-scale meeting with many guests–more like potential hazards. Keep him safe, and bring him home. That's all you're concerned about.

Warnings: Male Reader, CEO!Jay, Bodyguard!Reader, Slight Violence, Blowjob (Jay Rec.), Cum swallowing, Forced Deepthroat, Begging, Control Switching/Power dynamics, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Breeding

Wordcount: 3.59k

"Welcome, and thank you all for coming," Jay said. The room gave applause to receive him. He raised his hand to silence the room. Jay led into his speech, which he'd practiced multiple times while you drove him from place to place. You'd heard it what felt like a hundred times. Your knees and back ached from standing for so long. It was necessary for Jay's safety, you're number one priority. Most of your duties were more like being Jay's secretary, even as his bodyguard he always gave you tasks to take it easy on you.

You've worked for Jay over the last year and a half. Jay's father became unable to lead his company anymore, forcing Jay to take over. As a young CEO, more than a few people were willing to try and take advantage of him. Jay's nature, or his hate for people attempting to manipulate him, has made him enemies who would rather see him removed from power. Jay started hiring bodyguards a while ago but ended up firing each after a few weeks. The interview process was invasive and dismissive; a one-on-one meeting with Jay. Alone. He probed you with strange and meticulous questions; ranging from your family and friends to your finances. Jay always seemed to know more about everything than everyone else. He was extremely well-informed and investigated you for your interview. But the last question was the one that stuck out to you.

"Finally, y/n. This is your last question. If our lives get entangled, closer than originally anticipated, would you still be able to do your job?" Jay asked.

You tilted your head. "Entangled how?"

"...If you were to, seek a deeper relationship with me."

You straightened up rigidly. "O-Oh! I'd never dream of it, sir! I must protect you."

"But, if it were to happen, will it impede your work."

"Never! I'd protect you, in whatever situation!" You were a little desperate for a job, and more than willing to say whatever you needed to. You didn't think twice about it when you said it, but afterward, you couldn't stop thinking about the response you'd given. Or, why would he ask a question like that?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't realize someone was approaching the stage! A man, clearly drunk, stumbled as he made his way up the stairs behind the stage. Jay was so focused on his speech that he wasn't aware, not that it was his responsibility to be... There was no time to rush backstage and run after the man, you'd have to approach from the front!

You rushed the stage. Jay's eyes snapped to you, he maintained his cool but you could sense his concern. You jumped on stage, rolling cleanly, and you stood between Jay and the man.

"You don't deserve that spot!" He shouted as he swung at Jay.

You blocked the man's swing. He grabbed your other arm and twisted it, making you grit your teeth as you connected a blow to the man's head and his head slammed into your chin. The man fell to the ground and you caught him. You kept the man from hitting his head and dragged him away. Jay cracked a joke about the man having too much to drink and carried on with his speech, this time with you standing at a distance behind him on stage. As he concluded his speech, you directed him offstage.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the unconscious man. "What was that about?"

"Just someone who had a bit too much to drink. Let's get home, for now, sir. You've got an early morning tomorrow."

Jay sighed. "Of course I do..." You guided him to the exit, and your employer said their goodbyes to his business partners. He was always so good at keeping a smile, even when he was more than a bit exhausted. You'd seen him run on no sleep for almost two days, having back-to-back meetings all day, and still kept his face up. The night sky was empty, the stars hidden behind the skyscrapers. Jay looked up at the sky, searching, as you had a valet bring the car forward.

Jay spoke without looking back to the ground. "Do you ever think about what it would be like to see a star up close, y/n?"

"I don't think I have, sir."

"I think... It would be the most beautiful thing ever." You didn't know how to respond, especially when he got into moods like this. It didn't happen often in front of you, but maybe it was a sign that he was getting comfortable around you. Sometimes he'd ask you philosophical questions throughout an entire car ride, most rhetorical as he knew you didn't know what to say.

The two of you stood in silence until the car arrived. Following protocol, you scanned the inside and outside for anything suspicious. Once you confirmed its safety, you opened the door for Jay and allowed him into the car. In the driver's seat, the car was programmed to navigate you back to Jay's penthouse. You drove without a word, but the pain in your jaw kept flaring every few minutes... That bastard might've bruised your jaw or even broken a tooth. Another thing to take care of now...

"You okay?"

Jay's voice snapped you out of the autopilot you were in. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What did you need?"

"You keep touching your chin and rolling your jaw. Are you okay?"

You could see Jay staring at you in the mirror. "It's nothing to worry about. I think I just scratched myself earlier."

Jay's eyebrows furrowed but he turned and looked out the window. "I can't have my bodyguard getting banged up. If you're not able to take care of yourself, who will protect me?"

"If I remember correctly. When you hired me, you told me you didn't need me."

Jay scoffed. "Well, at the time I didn't. But things changed, and now I do. Is that an issue?"

"No, sir."

"That's what I thought." Jay crossed his arms. "If you've got an issue with our arrangement, then speak and we can have it amended." You chuckled softly. He was the cutest when getting protective over you, but also somehow defensive when you called him out on it.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Jay drifted off to sleep, softly snoring in the back seat. His soft caramel skin and slicked-back dark hair shined in the streetlights that passed. His cold expression melted away to reveal the man you knew. This was when he was the most authentic, silently sleeping. No cameras, phone calls, meetings, or clients, just Jay being alone with himself–and you, of course. Originally you thought it was weird to sleep in the same house as Jay, insisting that he'd be safe in his home alone but when he offered double your salary to move in you couldn't refuse.

As you pulled into the driveway, putting the car in park, Jay stirred from his sleep. He stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes, acting like he'd been awake the whole time. "Jesus, that felt like forever, I'm glad to finally be back home."

You nodded as you opened his door from him. "Of course sir, I apologize about how long it took to get you back home safely."

He looked at you, reaching out but hesitating. "It's not your fault. It's just traffic." He yawned. "Let's just go." You tried to hold it in, but couldn't stop your body's reaction to also yawn. As your jaw stretched open and you breathed deeply, you winced softly as your jaw faltered in pain. Jay's eyes widened. "I knew you were just trying to be tough. He did end up hurting you..." His face moved to a pained expression as his eyes scrolled over you, looking for more injuries.

"Sir, it's nothing. Just some soreness."

He held up his hand, silencing you. "You'll let me take care of that. Now. I won't have you complaining about it tomorrow." When Jay was insistent there was no turning him around from what he wanted, even as you protested. He led you inside, upstairs to his bedroom. "Sit on the bed, I have medicine in my bathroom."

As he drifted off into the bathroom, you moved near the bed obediently but awkwardly sat next to it. You knew Jay was a clean person, he would be bothered if your dirty clothes messed up his sheets. Jay's bedroom was one of the biggest rooms in the house. It was painted a dark gray with a monochrome color scheme. all of the artwork he'd made was on his walls, matching the darkly colored motif of the room. Even though it was all so dark, there was so much emotion poured into it, you couldn't help but smile slightly.

After a few minutes, Jay emerged from the bathroom in different clothes with a first aid kit. He wore a large dress shirt and flowy pajama pants, and his hair was slightly damp from rinsing out the product in it. He sat on the bed. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"My clothes are dirty."

"Then I'll come down."

"The floor isn't clean. You'll get your pajamas dirty, you can apply the medicine up there. I'll sit tall." You sat on your knees, back straight, looking up at Jay as you waited for him to begin applying medicine.

He rolled his eyes as he opened the medicine box. He started applying medicine to your jaw with his left hand while his right gently held your face in place. "You really should be more careful." He experimentally dragged his finger along your jaw until he hit the spot, making you wince away from him. "I... care about you."

"That's very kind, sir."

Jay gritted his teeth. "Y/n. The rules."

"Sorry... Jay." It was a part of the house rules that while you lived there, at home specifically. You weren't allowed to call him sir or mister. You were required to refer to him as Jay.

"It's okay. And I'm glad you're doing your job, but it's not often I see you getting injured."

"I was just a little distracted today. It won't happen again."

He raised an eyebrow. "You, distracted? By what?"

You looked Jay in his eyes. "Your speech. It was really captivating. I couldn't stop listening."

Jay's mouth parted softly as he looked away, focusing on your jaw. "Well, I'm glad you liked it."

"You're really persuasive. And your speaking voice is always so clear, it's hard not to listen closely."

"Y/n..."

You continued. "Even the way you were styled today really brought you to the centerpiece of the whole event."

"Y/n. Stop talking. That's an order." Your mouth was filled with cement, unable to speak–even breathing was difficult. "You know I'm not very good with compliments..." Jay tucked his hair behind his ear. "It makes me shy."

You blinked slowly, watching Jay's careful expression.

Jay avoided your eyes, leaning in to look closer at your chin–leaving only a few inches between you. "Is there anywhere else it hurts?"

You shook your head.

"Honest?"

You nodded.

Jay scratched his ear. "I don't believe you... I just want to–" Jay hesitated at touching your collar. "C-Can I... unbutton your shirt a little? Just to see." You reply by sitting up taller, raising your chest out to Jay. His hands slightly shook as he undid the first few buttons at the top of your shirt, sliding your tie off too. He opened it, revealing your bare chest to him. His fingertips ghosted over your skin before pulling away. "Y/n, I think I'm close to making a decision that I don't know how to make. What should I do?"

"What decision, Jay?"

"I think I..." Jay hesitated biting his lip. "I think I want to be closer to you."

"Closer to me? Like how?"

Jay rolled his eyes as his cheeks turned a soft pink. "Jesus Christ, y/n! You really need me to spell it out!?" Jay took your hands and guided them to the buttons on his shirt. "Undo them," He commanded.

"Jay–"

"Please don't make me say it twice." You focused on unbuttoning Jay's shirt, as you slid it down past his shoulders and revealed his bare torso. His hips rolled up slightly, pointing out the hard cock that throbbed inside his pants. "You've got one chance to back out. If you don't want to go further, say it and we'll pretend like this never happened," Jay muttered as his eyes dropped to the floor.

"I'm so honored you'd consider me, sir. I don't think I'm worthy of you... But if you want to have me tonight, then I am more than willing."

Jay's eyes locked with yours before his gaze dropped to your lips. "Don't call me sir," He mumbled before leaning in for a kiss.

Jay's lips were plush pillows that bounced off your lips. He placed his hands on your shoulders, fingers tensing and gripping your skin as you deepened the kiss. Your hands threaded into Jay's hair, still slightly wet, which earned a moan from your boss. He pulled away from the kiss, wide-eyed and pink-faced.

"I-I didn't– That wasn't me!"

"Then who was it?" You chuckled.

"I don't know!" Jay hit your shoulder. "Just hurry up and do the next part." Jay laid on his back with his eyes closed.

"The next part?"

Jay lifted himself on his elbows. "Aren't you going to stick it in me?"

"You wanted me to fuck you?!"

"You're getting that now!?" Jay facepalmed. "I'm not very experienced with a man, so I don't know how to do this... So, help me please." His pupils dilated as he begged for you. Jay had never been so vulnerable with you before, and you couldn't lie that it was turning you on more than you thought it would. You'd imagined having sex with Jay but imagined him as more of a dominant top, or even a power bottom. but to see him so... submissive. It was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

"Did you prepare yourself at all? I don't want to just 'stick it in' and hurt you."

Jay covered his face. "Yes... That's what I was doing in the bathroom."

He was so cute. "Oh, so you planned on seducing me tonight then?"

"Y/n, I swear, if you don't hurry up and fuck me. I'll fire you right now."

You smiled. "Oh? Jay, I thought the rules of the house were that we're equal here. Aren't we supposed to treat each other nicely?" He grunted. "Then how about some foreplay or something?"

"You can suck my dick with your foreplay," Jay spat. You smiled as you slipped his pants off in one motion, making your boss yelp as he covered himself. He was commando under his pants, and his cock was already leaking.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer." You smiled as you moved his hands from his crotch to your neck. His cock twitched in the air as you pulled Jay to a comfortable part of the edge of the bed, his legs hanging over the side. You slotted yourself in between his legs and kissed his tip. His knees twitched at your touch, brushing against your head. You kissed his tip a few more times, his pre-cum sticking to your lips.

"Hurry up already," He grunted. "In your mouth!" He pulled on your hair, pulling you down as you slowly took him into your mouth. "Ahh fuck, you're so warm!" His head fell back as he guided you to bob your head, pulling and pushing you as he liked. "Your mouth–it's warm! So wet, and tight too!" When his tip hit the back of your throat, you tensed as you felt the urge to gag which made your throat clamp down onto Jay's shape. "Oh fuck! That! Again, do that," Jay moaned as he forced your head down, forcing you to gag and gurgle on his cock. "I'll–I'm gonna cum! Please, swallow!" He grunted. You leaned forward, ready, as he spilled his load into your mouth. "Take it, swallow, drink it all!" Jay's voice got raspy and desperate as his eyes rolled back from the explosion in his head.

"I didn't think you'd finish that fast..." You wiped the spit from your mouth.

"Well, you didn't have to suck it. And you asked for foreplay..."

"I'm not complaining. Just, remember, I plan on cumming tonight too." You smirked at him. "You had your fun, but now I'll be in charge, okay?" Jay frowned but you weren't asking. Before you could give him the chance to ask any questions, you flipped him onto his stomach and slipped a finger inside him.

"Oh~ you could've given me a warning!" Jay moaned as he ground against your finger.

"You didn't need a warning. And, don't you think you should be grateful? I'm stretching you a little extra, just in case."

Jay scoffed. "Why? I said I did it, didn't I?"

A crack rang out as you spanked him. "Jay, where did your manners go?" Jay's jaw hung open, still reeling from being spanked. He'd never been spanked before, but his cock twitched from the pain.

"Again."

"Again, what?"

Jay groaned into the sheet. "Spank me again, please."

"What a nice boy," You cooed as you spanked him again, harder than before. "You're a good boy, aren't you? You just forgot your manners a bit." You spanked him again. "Beg for it."

Jay turned to look at you. "Are you loving this? Hitting and bossing me around? I'm not begging for shit." His hair was a mess, his skin glistened with sweat, and his ass was turning red.

"Jay~ don't misbehave. I'll have to punish you a bit." You reached forward and pulled Jay's hair, making him wince.

"W-Wait!"

"Manners."

"P-Please. Don't pull on it..." Jay begged softly.

You released his hair, kissing his neck as an apology. "Much better. Now, can you beg for cock? I want to hear you say it."

Jay remained silent. You gave him another smack for encouragement. "Fine! Y/n, please fuck me with your big cock!" You said nothing and rubbed Jay's ass softly. You didn't think he'd say it... "Oh fuck you! You wanted me to say it."

"Language," You warned. "If you wanted my cock so badly, that's all you needed to say." You pushed your tip into Jay's waiting hole.

"Oh, holy fuck, you're huge. It's so much..."

"Jay. That's just my tip."

Jay arched his back, waiting for you. "I know that! Your tip is just big!"

You pushed until you hilted Jay, burying your cock completely inside him. "You're squeezing like crazy, Jay."

Jay was a moaning mess under you. Even as he twitched around you, he made himself moan. "Oh, my–fuck me!" He shouted as you slid out before slamming back into him. Over and over, you pounded into him.

"Don't make me do all the work, Jay," You grunted as you pushed him forward. He held his breath as he moved himself on your cock, fucking himself into the mattress. "Can you try harder?" You pushed down on his back, making him hit that spot, making him scream louder. As soon as you found his spot, you took back cover as you fucked into it. "Wanna cum, Jay?" Jay let out a series of moans and groans, forming a semi-approving answer. "Ask for it then," You smirked as you pulled out completely, letting your cock rest on his ass.

"Y-Y/n! You can't–Please! Please! Let me cum on it, I'll cum from your cock so much. I'll even let you finish in me, just let me cum!"

"You said it, so I'll take that. Go ahead and cum then." You slammed back into Jay completely as his hole welcomed your cock with a tight squeeze. Jay's moans went high-pitched as his back arched more and his eyes rolled. He was drooling on the sheet as he came all over the edge of the bed. You didn't take much more after him, this orgasm squeezing you for everything. "I'm gonna cum in you. I'll fucking breed you into being my husband!" Your hips stuttered as your climax washed over you, your cum spilling into Jay as he moaned again. "Every drop, keep squeezing it," You ordered.

When you both came down from your highs, you took Jay into his bathroom and started a warm bath for him. Jay occasionally twitched from the sensation of you helping him wash the cum out of him, he was too embarrassed to ask you to do it but you could tell he didn't know what to do.

Your boss stroked your jaw. "How's it doing?"

"It's a little sore from sucking cock but–" Jay punched you. "It's much better. Thank you, Jay."

Jay rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to be your husband, you're going to need to call me something else."

Your mind rolled back to what you'd said earlier in the heat of the moment. "Jay, I didn't mean it like that–"

"You think you can just hit it and leave? You're stuck with me. And I'm not letting you go. So, your husband is demanding that you call him that." Jay held his head high as his eyes gleamed.

"Okay... Husband." You chuckled as you kissed his forehead.

[lieslab]

Paris twilight

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X fem reader

Summary: A joint Versace event leads to a memorable night in Paris.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This was a request from like over a month ago, so here it finally is. I made this super fluffy and kinda sicky sweet compare to what I usually write, so I hope you enjoy it!!

_ _ _

“Look over here! Over here!”

“And this way!” 

“Give us big smiles!” 

You’d never get used to it, at least, you didn’t think you would. Your head swiveled back and forth and the smile you wore grew brighter. Cameras flashed like stars and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t. 

The bright lights made it hard to see, but you had a job to do. Instead of sulking or complaining, your head remained upright. Your spine straightened and you waved out at the paparazzi lining the carpet. 

Further down the way, Hyunjin was doing his own thing in the custom outfit that Donatella made for him. It was a never-before seen thing, one that his company hesitated to agree to, but Hyunjin assured them that he was comfortable with it. 

The sheer golden shirt left nothing to the imagination and it glittered in the camera light. Tucked smoothly into black pants with a matching fierce eyeliner, it was unlike anything he ever did before. His siren eyes scanned the cameras and he shifted and posed again. 

You were in an outfit that you weren’t sure you liked at first. The black dress hung down to your mid-thighs. It was tight against your form and golden chains were used as straps. They hung loose off the sides of your shoulders and strung up along the front of your chest. They shrouded you in glistening gold to make you sparkle like a star. 

You were in gold highlighter and a matching eyeliner. Just as Hyunjin’s pants matched your dress, your makeup, jewelry, and dress straps and harness complimented his look. Donatella had purposefully coordinated the outfits to go together and the media was going to eat it up. 

You could already imagine the buzz of rumors from Dispatch. You and Hyunjin had already been questioned about your relationship before, but you always played it off as business. 

A photo of you together was taken at a cafe three months ago. You were laughing at something Hyunjin said and you were entirely unaware of the sasaeng that watched the two of you go into the building together. 

Another photo was leaked to the media only a few weeks later. Hyunjin and you were talking while consuming sushi. In the photo, he was bent over the table on his elbows. His chopsticks were posed to take a piece of sushi off your plate. 

It was somewhat true. You two had indeed been going to places because you were discussing work. You had your own thing and Hyunjin had his music. That first photo of the two of you taken together changed your life entirely. 

When Hyunjin was questioned by Donatella herself on your identity, he tried to play it off. Just work buddies. Just good friends. However, the further she pressed, the weaker he grew. How could he lie to Donatella? She gave him so much, so he caved. 

After a few meetings and measurement intakes, you were set to be Hyunjin’s plus one at her latest event. Donatella was thrilled the moment she laid her eyes on you. She had dreams of turning you into a Versace star. Whatever Donatella wanted, Donatella got it one way or another. 

You and Hyunjin tried to keep your romantic relationship hidden, but the moment that Dontella shared a back scene photo of the two of you smiling at each other and captioned it ‘Versace royalty,’ you were both screwed.

The secret was unraveling, fans were speculating, more outrageous rumors were brewing, so this was the night you were both set to come clean. Your heart had been beating a hundred miles a minute since you stepped out of the car. Hyunjin walked ahead and you followed after him, hoping the layer of makeup hid your blush. 

After bypassing security, you hit the carpet. The stars couldn’t get into the event without clearing the carpet first. Other guests could easily avoid it, but not you two. Donatella had made it very clear that she wanted you two to show off your outfits. Her team put in so much time and she didn’t want it to go to waste. 

“Are you ready?” Hyunjin mumbled as he stepped closer to you. His body was still as warm as you remembered. So many cameras and yet he was acting like this was no big deal. 

All you could do was nod. Your eyes found the ground and you blinked a few times. There were so many cameras and your vision was starting to flicker. A headache was threatening to break at any moment. You’d hate to sit through the event feeling miserable. 

He reached out and gently grabbed your chin. His dark eyes meant yours and for a brief moment, the cameras stopped. The two of you had traveled here to Paris together. From the plane, to the hotel, to car rides, you had never been alone in this adventure. Hyunjin had been right beside you and reassured you the entire time. 

Paris was the city of love. This morning, the two of you walked a few blocks to a less busy cafe. You pointed out the architecture and awed over it. Brightly colored flowers spilled over some areas. Bakeries smelled like yeast, sugar, and freshly baked bread. 

The more you walked around the city, the more you fell in love with it all. You were probably knocked as tourists by the locals, but you didn’t care. Hyunjin and you walked side-by-side and pulled bread from a still warm baguette. 

You sipped lattes and talked about dreams. Hyunjin fell for Paris almost as much as he fell in love with you. A barat sat on his head and at one point, he wrapped his arms around yours. His warm breath recited some cheesy line from a romantic poem and caused your cheeks to warm. 

He laughed at your blush as he pulled away. “Look at you, you’re just so cute!” He gently nudged your cheek with the baguette and while you complained, that teasing grin never left his face. 

That was then and this was now. The two of you didn’t kiss on the city streets. There were too many people and you were already risking your relationship with being so handsy, but it didn’t really matter because it was going to be hard launched tonight. You dreaded this moment then, but as his soft lips met yours, your heart melted. 

He was as sweet as the french pastry you had for dessert after your lunch. Your lips moved against him and the crowd gasped all at once. In the distance, someone shrieked and the camera shutters flickered faster. 

Hyunjin pulled away with a half-smirk. Beneath the lights, your pupils were dazed and your lips had slightly parted. He was away, but you still craved him desperately. You wanted more and as much as you would have loved to grab his face and kiss him again, you had a professional obligation to uphold. 

Hyunjin’s hand grabbed yours and with his other, he waved to the crowd. Your flushed cheeks stayed put as your hand gripped his tighter. All you could do was smile as he tugged you towards the event. 

You were breathless, joyous, and most importantly, you were in love. It striked your heart like a roaring match. It echoed in your ears with the pulsing of your blood. Butterflies brushed against your stomach and beneath the dwindling sunlight, it felt just how love should. 

_ _ _ 

You couldn’t remember much of the event a few hours later. Your mind was too busy focusing on Hyunjin. From the way he looked beneath the sheer top to the lights illuminating the happiness in his eyes. You wanted to photograph this photo and keep it safe forever. 

Donatella’s very own prince and princess, her Versace royalty. Hyunjin mentioned that she had more plans involving the two of you, but you didn’t mind. As long as you were with Hyunjin and he was okay with it, you were prepared for whatever she wanted from the two of you. It’s not often that someone with so much influence and inspiration catches not just one, but two muses. 

Out against an iron balcony, you sipped your glass of champagne alone. Hyunjin slipped off to go talk to a few people and he offered to bring you along, but you wanted a moment to take a breather. 

The bathrooms were full of dazzling women. They complimented your dress and the way your hair hung. They applauded your golden gloss eyelids and the way you carried yourself with such confidence. Everyone wanted to be as radiant and put together as the Versace Princess herself. 

“Would you look at that? It seems the princess ran away from her prince.” Footsteps approached you from behind. An arm wrapped around your bare shoulders. “Looks like we’re going to have to fix that,” Hyunjin teased. 

“You left me first.” 

“I offered you a chance to come along.” 

“I know, but I wanted to catch a break. Besides, can you blame me? Look at this view.” Your arm gestured out into the dead of night. 

Inside, the afterparty was full of dancing bodies. The alcohol poured and loosened everyone up. Models and celebrities were sneaking bits of conversation while circling the snack table. Donatella was making her rounds and thanking people for showing up and helping her team. 

Multi-colored lights flickered and the music turned up. A dance floor was pushed off to the side. Hired staff served beverages and even more staff kept the snack bar flowing steadily. 

On the outside, it was just the two of you alone. Across the darkness, the Eiffel Tower stood covered in golden lights. It seemed so small from where you were, so it was hard to believe it was actually pretty large up close. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hyunjin’s arms wrapped around your torso. His chin found a perch against the crook of your neck. “The Eiffel Tower is stunning at night, but it’s not as dazzling as you.” 

“Could you get any cheesier?” You playfully swatted his arm. “You’ve got to be kidding. That thing is amazing and it puts me to shame. Look at all the glittering lights. They look a lot like stars.” 

“It doesn’t make up even a fourth of your beauty and I can prove it.” 

“Hyunjin, I-” You yelped. He pushed you back and an arm moved to support you from behind. One of your heels raised in the air as he bent you down in a dip. His lips pressed against yours and he held you against his body. 

Your fingers curled weakly against your wine glass. You struggled to keep it upright as you kissed him back. Beneath the blanketing darkness of Paris, you had never felt so alive. Every nerve inside your body vibrated with glee. 

You smiled into the kiss and no matter how hard you tried to stop, you simply couldn’t. The muscles of your face had a mind of their own. You were being dipped down by the love of your life and then- 

Click! 

Hyunjin’s face pulled away from yours instantly. He glanced over his shoulder to find Donatella standing in the doorway of the balcony. He quickly pulled you upright onto your feet and tried to stutter out an explanation, but she held up a hand to stop him. 

Her cell phone sat in her other hand and a smile spread across her face. “I came to say thank you for being my prince and princess, but I wasn’t aware that you were preoccupied with romantic affairs.” 

Your brain was screaming at you. How could you be so stupid? She knew you were together, but this was an afterparty for such a grand event. The two of you weren’t supposed to be snogging on the balcony. 

“I’m sorry, I-” 

“Don’t apologize, look at this!” She turned her phone to show you the photo she took of you kissing. The flash illuminated your bodies pressed against each other. It captured everything from your smile against Hyunjin’s lips to the way the Eiffel Tower posed perfectly in the background. 

“Can I post this on my Instagram?” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of you. Her lips pressed together and she lightly bounced with excitement. 

Hyunjin glanced at you and you nodded. The two of you finally agreed and she squealed. Before you knew it, she rushed forward. Floral perfume embraced the two of you as she threw her arms over your bodies. 

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! My Versace Prince and Princess!” She squealed and pulled away. “Ugh, I love it so much! I’ve gotta go show this to my team. I can’t wait to work with this!” 

There wasn’t time to say anything as she rushed back into the afterparty. You and Hyunjin shared a glance and he shrugged. “So before that happened, I think we were in the middle of something.” 

“I believe we were.” 

He pulled the wine glass from your hand and placed it on a small nearby table. “So if you’ll just put that there, I think we can continue.” You hummed in agreement and wrapped your arms around his. 

In your head, Paris was now cemented in stone; it’d always be the city of love. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

[m13trieswriting]

Nothing new - Alexia Putellas

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time posting something I have written. So if anyone has any suggestions/improvements, don't hold back. Just be nice, please! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it like I did writing it.

Summary: You and Alexia have broken up, again... a few weeks ago. You swore it was the last time but ended up getting intimate with her. This circle is nothing new.

There's no angst on this post, just pure smut with feelings.

Warnings: +18, Lesbian sex, cunnilingus, fingering, slight praise kink.

All this situation wasn't at all new for them. They've been in this exact situation a hundred times. Of course, y/n declared, stated and even swore that it would be the last time they broke up. She should have predicted that it wasn't.

All it took was a simple explanation of the events that had led to their break up, and they returned to it. To that messy, but inescapable circle that she couldn't erase from her mind.

She knew Alexia was the love of her life, from the moment she met those hazel eyes. She knew there wasn't going to be anyone else for her, ever.

Except they always ended up fighting and breaking up. Until they found themselves again. Not that y/n was thinking of that, she was far more interested on what was happening.

A heated kiss that felt like heaven. She must have had kissed her girl a thousand times, but it felt like fireworks every single fucking time.

Her lips, soft against hers, hypocritical given the circumstances. The kiss was everything but soft.

Y/n had tried to forget her. To let her go, like she insinuated she had to. Deep down she knew she couldn't. Her love was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, the kind poets spent ages writing about, the kind governors fought wars for. Alexia was her everything.

She consumed every fucking thought she had. Her essence had haunted her all those weeks when they were apart.

Having Alexia in her arms again, kissing her lips felt like a dream, one she did not wish to wake up from. Alexia was her dream. All she had ever wanted.

When they arrived to Alexia's bedroom, y/n cornered her girl against the door, their bodies pressing impossibly closer to each other.

It was nothing new for them. They fiercely kissed each other, trying to keep the moment locked in their memories.

Alexia's hands roamed all over y/n body, whilst hers firmly found their place on her lover's waist. Alexia's hands continued to move while their kiss became more heated, if possible.

Suddenly, y/n's lips became lower, kissing all over Alexia's neck, easily finding her weak spot. This wasn't new for them, they had done this a thousand times if not more. However, Alexia felt the same way that she had their first time, and honestly even more drenched.

Y/n was addicted to hearing Alexia's moans. It was her favourite sound in the fucking world.

-Y/n... please, I need you lower. No em facis esperar. - Alexia claimed, wanting to feel more of the younger woman.

-We have all night baby- familiar to the effect the nickname had on the catalan- and I plan to use every fucking minute of it love.

She took off the captain's shirt. Not giving a shit about where it was landing. Her wet lips explored the new area.

-Can I take it off?- always asking for permission before taking off her bra.

-Please...- Alexia was a mess of moans and whimpers.

She slowly took the piece of clothing off, maybe to savour the moment, maybe to tease Alexia even more.

Y/n loved Alexia's body, but her breasts were something else, she didn't waste any time attacking her tits. If Alexia had thought she was wet before, now with her lover's lips all over her most sensitive part she had a whole ocean between her legs.

Her clit was throbbing, not so patiently waiting for some friction anymore.

Another part of Alexia's body she was obsessed with was her abs. Fuck they were so perfect, she roamed her hand over them, while her mouth was still working on her captain's tits.

-Y/n, please, I fucking beg you- Alexia couldn't hold it any more, she craved more. Her hand now found its way to the older woman's hair, trying to guide her lower.

-I may be listening now baby- she teased.

-Please, I need you so much. Just do something.

-What do you need so much baby girl?- she was enjoying every second of it.

-I need you to fuck me so good I forget my name and the neighbours learn yours.

That's all she needed. She sank to her knees, removing the blonde's pants and underwear, not without a reassurance look, silently asking for consent. She admired her lover's intimacy.

Not wanting to make her wait more she licked her lips before attacking Alexia's clit. The first contact made the blonde shiver.

-Fuck, yes baby, don't stop.

Her girl's moans encouraged her to add a finger in her waiting hole. Feeling all the wetness once and for all. After all these years she couldn't quite believe the effect she had on the girl. It was fair to say she had the same effect on her.

After that, Alexia felt herself close to an orgasm she didn't know was building. She was a bit embarrassed because of it before she remembered it was you, whom she felt safe in every situation.

Perhaps it was the accumulated tension but she couldn't hold it much more. She kept moaning y/n's name, LOUD.

-Y/n, Baby I'm close, don't stop. - y/n's other hand moved higher reaching for one of her breasts. The captain grew even wetter if possible with that action. Y/n knew her body so well, that it was exactly what she needed to reach the climax.

-I've got you- was all y/n said while helping her ride her orgasm.

With the care you only have with someone you adore honestly, she picked up her lover's body, carrying her to what once was their bed.

Y/n dropped her carefully on the bed, before kissing every inch of her body. Despite what they had done only seconds ago, this was by far one of the most intimate moments she had ever felt.

Alexia has always felt loved by y/n, it was obvious the adoration the girl had for her. But in that moment she felt like the luckiest woman in the world. She had the hottest, most amazing and kind-hearted girl in the world adoring every part of her, all of her imperfections, insecurities.

She felt loved. Adored. Wanted.

Y/n kisses started to get higher until she reached her lover's lips. She softly kissed them.

-That was amazing, you are such an incredible woman.

Alexia's eyes started to get wet, just like her core was some minutes ago... She felt in heaven.

-Thanks for making me feel so loved. Wait, was?

Y/n gave her a knowing smirk.

-I know you are tired, I'm THAT good in bed. We can continue in the morning.

-Ugh, I hate that you know me so well, and we definitely will continue this in the morning.

Alexia took off y/n's clothes so they could cuddle naked. Y/n laid on the blonde's upper front. Her head where her tits heart was.

They didn't say they loved each other that night, it was understood what they both felt, but still, they needed time to process everything.

And their morning was, let's say... eventful.

[lipglossanon]

Urban Legend

shape shifter/wendigo!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, monsterfucking, dirty talk, mentions of cannibalism, threats, CNC, rape fantasy, rape talk, oral (f receiving), impromptu thigh job lol, biting, blood kink, multiple creampies, fingering, overstimulation, belly bulge, cum inflation, breeding kink, double penetration in one hole

not proofread ✌️ it’s all made up and the points don’t matter 😜

I literally had to stop myself from writing so sorry if the ending is sudden/lame 😝

“There’s no way that it’s real,” you scoff into your phone.

“Then why was it in the newspaper, huh?” Your friend’s voice sounds tinny on the other end, letting you know you’ll be out of range soon. 

“To sell them, duh,” you laugh, “hey listen, I’m about to lose service so I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

“Call me if anything happens!” her concern makes you smile to yourself. 

“Will do, bye!”

You lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket. A quick glimpse of a chimney in the treeline lets you know you’re almost to the cabin. It’s just a small little one bed, one bath place deep in the middle of the woods. Your parents moved and left the place to you, so you’re not able to come out as much as you like so it’s a little more rundown than in previous years. 

You have to park at the bottom and make the mile long hike up the mountain in order to reach it. There’s an ATV parked in the shed for any emergencies, but you’ve made the trek all these years without any issues so fingers crossed this will just be another year in the bucket. 

Stepping up onto the small porch, you pull out the spare key and unlock the door. A branch snaps off in the woods and you shoot a look over your shoulder. Your friend’s nervousness seems to be rubbing off on you. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to open the door. 

“There’s no such thing as werewolves anyways,” you mutter under your breath. 

She gave you a quick breakdown of the last several month’s events while you talked to her on your walk. She told you there’s been missing livestock for weeks until suddenly a few local parishioners went missing after service and were found brutally mutilated days later. Attacks have been gradually ramping up, peaking around the full moon especially (which just happens to be the weekend you decided for a mini vacation at the cabin, go figure). 

The locals believe in some old wives tales about a werewolf returning every hundred years. You think it’s kinda cute they hold onto such old superstitions, but it’s more than likely some bobcat or mountain lion that’s come down due to deforestation in the area. 

You let these thoughts wash over you as you bustle around the cabin; you get everything in place and mentally thank your dad for putting up solar panels years ago. Those paired with the propane tank and generator outside means you won’t be without hot running water or lights. 

Once you’re all settled in, you decide to make something quick and simple for dinner before relaxing in front of the fireplace. Stretching out on the beat up couch, you scrunch your toes in the thick fuzzy socks you love to wear this time of year and flip open the book you brought with you. You’ve just found the most comfortable position for reading, becoming more engrossed page by page when a loud thudding knock rings out from your door. You jump at the sound and scowl over at the door. 

Another knock happens and you close your book, making sure your bookmark is securely tucked in the pages, and raise up. Quietly walking to the door, you peek out of the peephole and see an injured man slumped against the porch railing. Your heartbeat quickens and you watch as he raises a tired hand to knock on the door again. Glancing around the area yields nothing but trees and the dusky twilight. 

You tiptoe away and grab the rifle out of the gun safe next to the fireplace. As you walk back over, the man knocks once more. 

“How can I help you?” You call out from your side of the door, gazing back through the peephole. 

The man tilts his face up, fringe falling away for you to make out a strong jawline. 

“I-I was attacked and n-need help,” he winces, arm hugging his middle where you can see blood seeping through his shirt, “some kinda w-wild animal. I just need a phone or a first aid kit. Please, miss.” 

You pause, eyes glancing down to the gun in your hands. On the off chance he’s faking, well he won’t be for long.

“What’s your name?” You call out, pulling your phone from your pocket. 

“Leon. Leon Kennedy,” he grunts, clenching his waist.

You type it out in your notes as well as a text message just to be on the safe side and lock your phone again. Unbolting the heavy door, you pull it open, gun at your side. 

He glances down at the weapon and back up to you, a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth before pain pinches his expression. 

“Promise I don’t bite.”

You gesture forward and he takes a staggering step before pausing. 

“Are you coming in or what?”

He grimaces and takes another halting step, “Yeah, just hurts to move.”

You shift on your feet, debating with yourself before setting the gun down and stepping forward. 

“I’ll help you,” you murmur, taking his other arm and placing it over your shoulders. 

You angle him in the doorway first and help him hobble over to a chair near the fire. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out a sigh of relief before groaning, “cut me pretty deep.”

You walk over to pick up the gun and move it back to the safe. Making your way to the bathroom, you pull the first aid pack from under the sink and walk over to your impromptu guest. 

“Can you take your shirt off?”

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first,” he jokes, but stiffly slips his shirt over his head. 

You smile sardonically and snap open the bag, “I usually don’t harbor strange men on my days off, so I guess I don’t quite know the protocol.”

He laughs but it ends in another pained groan, hand pressing against the clawed marks across his ribs. 

“Shit, that might need stitches,” you frown, pulling out the disinfectant. 

Once you clean off the area, you notice it’s not as deep as you thought.

“Luckily we didn’t need to use the quick clot,” you smear antibacterial ointment over the wounds and pull out the gauze. 

He hums but doesn’t say anything; his blue eyes haven’t moved from your face the entire time you’ve been ‘doctoring’ him. 

“Thank you for this, I really thought I was gonna be wandering the woods for hours,” he finally speaks as you tape a bandage across his ribs and wrap it with the gauze (to be on the safe side you murmur to him). 

“Well, tomorrow, we can ride the ATV down and call a friend or the local ranger since you were attacked by an animal,” you zip up the first aid kit and grab all the rubbish to toss in the trash. 

He nods, “Okay.”

“You’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you point to the old upholstered couch in question, “it’s not big but it’s better than the floor.”

His eyes flick from the couch back to you, “I appreciate it. Better than being outside, ya know.”

He quirks a smile at his own words and you give a tight one in response. 

Sitting down in the chair across from him, you give him a quick once over, “Are you okay though? Like I’m not doctor, but I can help you down the mountain to my car if you really need one.”

He shakes his head, a softer smile pulling at his lips, “No, I’m good. Thanks though.”

“What happened?”

“I have a place out here and decided to go for a walk and an asshole jumped out of the bushes and nicked my ribs, knocked me down. I got a little disoriented and wound up over here. I could hear it following me up until I reached your porch.”

You rub your arms and gaze over to the front door, “Did you see what it was?”

“Some kinda wolf I think,” his brows furrow as he thinks back, “big for a wolf though.”

His expression clears as he looks back at you, “You live here?”

Shaking your head, you drop his gaze to look into the fireplace, “No, just a weekend getaway. Shitty job and even shittier neighbors getting on my nerves, so here I am.”

He laughs, “You don’t love your job?”

“No, not really,” a small smile crosses your face turning back to him, “does anyone?”

Leon shrugs before hissing from jostling the wound, “Mine’s not so bad. I work security.”

“Ahh, any place I know?” 

He shakes his head, “It’s local.”

You hum in reply and glance at your watch. 

“Well, I’m going to head to bed,” you stand and make your way back to the gun safe, pulling out the rifle again, “not to be rude, but I don’t know you from Adam so if you need to get my attention, I highly stress knocking and waiting for me to reply.”

His gaze doesn’t move from your face, “Read you loud and clear, miss.”

“Bathrooms through there, kitchen is there,” you point at each in turn, but with the open floor plan it would be hard for Leon to miss any of this, “I’ll probably wake up pretty early and make coffee. Then we’ll head down, okay?”

He nods along with you, “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

You walk over to the bedroom and right before the door snaps shut, Leon calls out to you. 

“Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” you parrot, giving one last look to the stranger now sitting on your couch. 

His eyes seem to reflect the firelight making you shiver. In a blink, everything seems normal making you think you only imagined it. Closing the door all the way, you slide the lock in place and crawl into bed, leaning the rifle next to your nightstand. 

He says he lives nearby but you’ve been coming to this cabin for most of your life and have never heard of any neighbors. It’s one of the reasons why your parents bought this place, the seclusion of not having anyone around for miles. He’s just really suspicious to you, even if he is cute. 

You eventually drift off, eyes trained on the door until they’re slipping shut. A loud jarring sound from the living room wakes you with a jerk. Raising up your hand hovers over your gun. A loud muffled curse makes you deflate a little. Leaving your warm bed, you unlock and open your bedroom door a crack to see Leon kneeling over the chair he must’ve ran into. 

“You okay?” You call out making him jump, head jerking around to the sound of your voice. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I sorta tripped. Sorry to wake you up.”

You shrug and step out, making your way over to the kitchen, “Shit happens.”

Leon watches you as you grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“You seem really interesting,” he tosses out as you drink your water, “it’s kinda refreshing.”

“No offense Leon, but this is super weird for me,” you blatantly state, squinting at him, “in all my time being up here, I’ve never run into anyone else.”

“I was attacked,” he gestures to his ribs, “and I walked around for a while before finding you. It’s not like I was hiding out for you.”

He laughs suggesting it’s a joke, but there’s a ring of truth to his words that makes your hair stand on end. You eye the block of knives to your left. 

Once he realizes you’re not laughing, he tapers off, a queer little smile tugging at his lips. 

“I think I’ve spooked you,” he sighs, placing his chin in his palm as it rests against the chair, “didn’t mean to, miss.”

Using the excuse of sitting your bottle down on the counter, you side step closer to the knives. 

A grin stretches wide across his face, “Those won’t do you any good.”

Your fingernails dig into the soft meat of your palms as you level a flat look at the man in front of you. 

“And why not, Leon?”

He tilts his head, fringe shifting until only one blue eye can be seen, “Because they’re not sharp enough, silly.”

By the time your fingers wrap around the handle of a butcher’s knife, four sharp claws are wrapped around your neck, thumb digging into your jaw to tilt your head up. Your brain stutters, trying to comprehend what you’re even looking at now. 

He’s monstrous, blocking out the light completely, his body towering above your frame by a couple of feet, not including the curled ram horns protruding from his head. From what little you can see, you’re grateful for the dark. He chuckles a low warbling sound that has your heart rate kicking into overdrive. 

“You’re very interesting,” you feel a cold press of something hard and smooth against your ear, “think I’ll keep you for myself.”

He drags you closer to the fire and you catch a flash of an animal skull in place of a face before he turns away and in a blink he looks human as he did earlier tonight. 

He smiles at you, “Gotta remember not to scare you too much.”

With all the insanity that has taken place in the last few minutes, you find yourself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You weren’t even hurt, you asshole. Made me waste my first aid gauze.”

Surprise crosses Leon’s features before he’s smiling again, too wide to be human. You can see his pupils are slitted now, like a cat’s.  

“Yes, very interesting,” he chuckles, facing off against you and blocking any access to the bedroom (and your gun), “and you’re right.”

Under his breath you catch the words, “fucking Chris.”

You purse your lips, “If I go missing, they’re going to come looking for me. They’ll know your name.”

He sits you down on the couch taking a seat next to you. Leon’s excited by your words, eagerly leaning into your space. 

“You’re just full of surprises,” his teeth are longer now, needle sharp as he speaks, “and so clever. I like you already. I don’t plan on killing you.”

You snort, “Sure, and all of those locals just fell down and hurt themselves to death?”

He laughs, a sharp bright sound that makes your chest flutter.

“Oh, well they had it coming to them. Needed to eat,” his eyes reflect in the low light, “you’re such fun.”

He leans forward and breathes in causing goosebumps to race down your arms, “You make me want things. Things I haven’t thought of in a long, long time.”

Confusion pinches your brows together, “How old are you? Wait, is Leon even your real name?”

“You ask such silly questions,” he pouts, “and yes, it is. Why? Think I should have something like Cthulhu?”

You huff a laugh at how offended he sounds but bite down the smile as soon as Leon lights up from your amusement. 

“You’re a tough cookie to crack,” he presses more into your space making your skin prickle, “think I know a way to get you to like me.”

He pulls back and tugs his shirt off and with a small flex of his arms, rips the clothing in half. You can’t help but stare at him. When you patched him up hours ago, you had a fleeting appreciation of his body and now it flares back up as your eyes trace his pecs down to the happy trail disappearing under the band of his jeans. 

After tearing the shirt again, he wraps a torn piece around your wrists and ties it off. You try twisting your arms, but it does nothing except pinch the skin. Embarrassingly, your clit pulses at the feeling of being tied up like this. 

Next, Leon strips you both down quickly; his eyes hungrily raking down your nude body as he removes each piece of clothing.  Feeling self conscious, even in front of a monster, you shift your arms to cover yourself. He grabs your biceps, blue cat eyes flashing with heat, and yanks them back up. 

“Let me have my fill,” he gnashes his teeth, sharp points drawing your eye, “look at how soft you are, all that lovely unmarked skin…”

His voice trails off as he runs his hands down your arms to your breasts. 

“Sweet little nipples that need sucked…”

You shiver as he tweaks your nipples until they’re stiff and sensitive. He runs his hands over your soft stomach and hips. One hand grips the fat of your waist and the other teasingly rubs across your mound. 

“And a fat wet pussy that needs licked.” 

You shudder at those words, thighs subconsciously parting for him as he grins wickedly into your eyes. 

“Yeah that’s what she needs, huh? A sexy cunt that just needs to be stuffed full with a big fat cock.”

A whine slips past your lips and you go hot all over with embarrassment, toes curling against the soft rug. 

“S-shut up, fucking perv.”

He laughs, a distorted chime that reminds you of a bell, and leans forward to nose against your jaw, kissing your cheek. 

“Mmm, I’ll enjoy every second of this. You’re so feisty,” he kisses down to your neck, “which means this pussy is gonna taste so good. Especially when you cum.”

You glare at him but can’t stop the slick leaking down your thighs from his words and touches. It’s your darkest fantasy come true; you’ve gotten off to the thought of someone forcing themselves on you more than you’d like to admit. And now this weird creature is going to have his wicked way with you; it makes your pussy thrum in anticipation. 

His hands distort into claws in front of your eyes; the fingers are multi jointed in the strangest of ways, skin discolored and skeletal with nails long and sharp, digging into your waist roughly making you suck in a breath. His teeth and eyes are still abnormal, but so far that’s the extent. 

“What are you?” you murmur, eyes wide as they move back down to his strange hands. 

He shrugs easily, “I’m me,” grinning mischievously he presses on, “wanna see something?”

Before you can say anything he sticks out his pink tongue. It unfurls from his mouth, long and thick with a rough bumpy texture. He laughs and pulls it back into his mouth. 

“Gonna show you how fun it can be,” he kneels down in the floor, between your parted thighs, “god, you smell fucking fantastic.”

He drools a line of spit down onto the hood of your clit making your cunt throb with arousal. 

“Yeah, you may say you don’t like it, but look how fucking messy this pussy is,” he sighs happily, laying his head onto your thigh to gaze up at you, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, little human.”

He kisses your cunt sweetly making your hips jump up. 

“So sensitive,” he growls, eyes luminous as he glances back up to your face, “gonna enjoy this.”

He buries his face into your pussy, slurping and groaning as he licks into your hole. 

“Such a fat pussy,” he grunts, mouth moving up to suckle your clit, “fat little pussy that’s gonna cum all over my tongue.”

You whimper, hooking your legs over his shoulders making him laugh at you. 

“You like that? Like that I wanna eat this sweet pussy until you’re creaming my face?”

“Fuck,” you moan, head tossed back as he dives back into licking and kissing your pussy. 

It should gross you out, turn you off, anything, other than wanting to have this monster eat you out. You blame it on your brain just giving into the craziness that’s happening. Hell, maybe you’ll wake up and this will all have been some kind of fever dream. 

You grind against his mouth and his thick rough tongue fucks up into your clenching hole, fluttering against your walls and stretching your cunt wide like a cock would. Reaching down, your fingers grip into his hair, using it as an anchor as you hump down onto his tongue. 

With a rumbling purr deep within his chest, you feel his hair shift as his horns grow out of his skull. Hesitantly, you move from his silky hair to the rough texture of his horns. You gently wrap your fingers around the base and he humps the air. 

“Grip’em,” he murmurs, eyes bright, sharp teeth nipping the meat of your thigh, “think we’ll both like it.” 

A shuddering whine leaves your lips as you grasp his horns and rock against his greedy mouth. He groans, the vibration thrumming through your cunt making more slick ooze from your hole. He pulls away to lick a broad stripe up your cunt, bumpy tongue lapping slowly at your clit making your thighs shake. 

With a rumbling growl, he buries his face into your pussy lips, tongue pressing into your drippy hole. You shift your wrists as the binding bites into your skin while you grip his horns. He purrs and rubs his head back and forth so his nose rolls across your swollen clit. Whining softly, you buck upward, grinding yourself against his mouth. 

More slick oozes from your cunt and he slips his tongue into your pulsing walls before licking his way up to your pudgy clit. Leon bites your pussy lips, sucking the skin roughly before letting go. He kisses the hood of your clit and across your mound before biting down on where your cunt meets your thigh. 

Letting go, he moves back to running his bumpy tongue through your slick folds. You arch off the couch and into his warm rough mouth as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt until you’re crying out. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you pant, tugging his horns before grasping his hair. 

He hums and sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue licking over the swollen bud as you moan softly. Right on the brink, he pulls his mouth away, sticky strings of saliva connecting to your pussy lips as he denies you your orgasm. 

You narrow your eyes at him as he pulls away, his slitted pupils expanded as they move up from your glistening cunt to your pinched expression. 

He grins and the sharp teeth make your clit throb.  Gripping your arms, he slips your hands over his head to wrap around his neck. Moving up your body, he kisses you messily, tongue licking into your mouth greedily. You whimper to taste yourself on his lips. 

His claws slide down your ribs making your breath stutter, exhaling a gasp as they wrap around your waist. 

“So soft,” he murmurs, “just wanna sink my claws in you over and over.”

He slips his hands underneath your ass and lifts you up, standing to his full height where your head nearly brushes the roof of the cabin. Turning, he sits down on the couch with you in his lap.  

“You seem rather human,” you mutter, eyes taking in his body as you straddle his waist, legs tucked on the outside of his thighs. 

“Easier to enjoy a soft thing like you when I’m like this,” he laughs, clawed hands digging into the meat of your hips.

“It’s just surprising,” you shrug, arms still tied around his neck. 

His eyes gleam white before settling back into their usual blue; he shifts on the couch before a smooth cat like tail slips from behind his body to wrap around your waist. 

“Better?” A smug look crosses his face. 

You hold back the laugh bubbling at the base of your throat; maybe you’ve lost your mind, maybe this is some weird hallucination brought on by whatever you ate, but a monster trying to impress you before fucking your brains out is something you never would have dreamt in your wildest fantasies. 

“What about your face earlier?”

He rolls his eyes, “That’s so boring. Don’t you wanna see if I have two cocks or something?”

This time you do laugh, a small sound that you quickly stifle under his gaze. He jostles you as he pulls you down onto his bulge making your breath hitch from the sheer size of him. 

“The answer is yes by the way,” his grin widens at the same time as your eyes do, tail tightening around your middle in excitement. 

Burying his face in your neck, he mutters, “You seriously smell so good.”

His fingers move down and tease across your swollen clit, parting your pussy lips to drag slick up from your hole all around your bud. He lets go to remove his pants (which you’re not even sure how they’re still on), having you raise up on your knees as he shoves them down and off. 

Once you settle back down on his lap one of his dripping cocks is sandwiched between your pussy lips and the other presses against the front of your mound, uncut head smearing precum on your abdomen, making you clench around nothing. From the looks of this one, both are thick and long, definitely bigger than anything you’ve had before. 

“Eyes are up here,” his snarky tone pulls your attention back up to his face. 

You shake your head, “How—“

“One at a time, silly,” he nips your neck, “then once you’re stretched enough, we can try both.”

His voice drops a lower octave, “But you’ve also got two holes that we can try out, too.”

Your eyes flutter as your cunt oozes slick all over his cock making him laugh.

“You’re really interesting,” he sloppily kisses your neck, “never had someone so excited before. Usually have to rape their little cunts in their sleep.”

You whimper and he raises up to smirk at you. 

“Were you hoping for the same thing? Mmm, all half asleep as I stuff that pussy,” he purrs in your ear, “too tired and weak to push me off as I rape this tiny hole til I’m pulling out and covering you with cum.”

You grind down against his cocks as your nails digs into the back of his neck making him smile into the feeling. 

“You’re such fun,” he tilts his head, eyes glittering, “just for that I’ll give you a little treat.”

Your mouth drops open in shock as he changes between one blink to the next; his entire face morphs to that of a smooth animal skull, bright eyes flaring from the empty eye sockets. He bares his teeth at you in what you hope is a smile. 

“Ta da!” His voice comes out distorted and echoey, octave low and strange. 

A high keen slips past your lips as he eases the head of one of his cocks into your cunt. 

“You’re so wet,” he praises, “god, ‘m so lucky to get a little freak like you.”

You want to argue against him, but it’s hard when this monster is slowly sinking his fat dick into your spasming hole, stretching you out so good. 

He pauses when he’s only halfway inside, holding you still with his huge hands until you’re squirming. 

“Please,” you whisper, frustration making tears bead your lash line. 

“Awww,” he coos at you, “since you’ve been so good, I guess you can have it all.”

And with that, he drops you down on his lap like a stone, cock bullying all the way into your cunt until the fat tip is bruising your cervix making you wail. 

“Too rough?” He smirks. 

You nod and slump against his chest. 

“Must like it,” he mocks, “this pussy is gripping me so tight, don’t know if I can pull out.”

You shudder and drool on his pecs as his cock kicks inside your overly full pussy. His other cock drips precum all over your lower abdomen from where it’s sandwiched between you two. 

“Untie me,” you’re able to slur out, slowly tugging your arms over his head. 

He squints at you (or the skull seems to insinuate squinting) and uses a claw to slice through the tattered shirt binding your wrists. 

Sighing, you rotate your hands before placing them on his chest and dragging them down. You watch as his muscles jump and twitch under your smooth palms. Finally, you cup the base of his other cock and slowly pull down the foreskin. You drool a line of spit down onto the head and precum blurts from the tip of his dick.

He snarls and pulls out only to roughly fuck back into your pussy. Whimpering, you’re only able to loosely grip his second cock as he jackhammers into your soaked cunt. 

“Sensitive, huh,” you murmur, eyes half lidded as they gaze up into his skull face. 

He whines at your words, grinding his tip hard against your cervix making your eyes roll back, “Been so long since a pretty thing wanted to play with me.”

Your hands grip his cock and begin to jerk him off firmly, spitting down on his tip to make it wet and messy. 

His tail, which you forgot about, slips lower down on your waist and lightly teases across your clit. 

“Oh,” your eyes move from his slackened jaw down to watch his soft tail slowly tap and rub across your swollen clit. 

Your cunt squeezes around his cock rhythmically as he teases your bundle of nerves until you’re rocking against him. His claws let go of your hips to wrap around your thighs, spreading you open until he can see his cock pounding into your drippy hole.  

His tail helps you lean back some so he can leverage his hips into rolling thrusts up into your pussy. Your hands shakily keep stroking his other cock,completely  covered in spit and precum. 

His tail smacks across your clit and your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curl and spine arches as your cunt clenches down on his thick cock like a vice, milking him until it must hurt but he only groans in pleasure. Your hands go slack and he grabs them to toss over his broad shoulders. 

He presses his mouth right against your ear, low baritone making your cunt spasm and clench around his fat cock. 

“Gotta pull out, little human,” he chuckles when you whine, “mmm, I’ve got to cause if I cum in you, we’ll be mated. And you wouldn’t want that, would ya?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to pierce his skin and he purrs, “Unless you want me to fill up this sexy little pussy and keep you forever.”

You bounce what little you can down onto his dick, hands moving up to his horns to grab onto them. Feeling cockdrunk and unhinged, you swivel your hips to fuck him harder, wanting everything he has to give.

“Wanna feel it,” you sigh as he sinks his sharp teeth into your shoulder, “fill me up, Leon.”

He growls, a loud inhuman sound that makes your skin crawl and a bolt of fear spike through the arousal. Instead of letting go, you grind down even harder, pussy feeling sore and sensitive. 

“You want me to cum inside you?” He sounds pained and when he tilts back up his skull face has morphed into the one he wore earlier that night.

“Uh huh,” you pant and bring up one of your hands to cradle his jaw, hips swiveling down to prevent him from pulling out, “or are you all talk?”

In a flash, he has your back on the couch as he pins you down in a mating press, legs pressed open wide by his clawed hands. 

He snaps his teeth in your face, “You don’t even know what it means to be bred, do you? I’ll have this fat cunt stuffed so full you’re dripping my seed for days. You’ll beg for it constantly, needing me to breed your cute little hole cause you feel so empty.”

You whine, hands coming up to wrap around his horns again, “Promise?”

He growls low in his throat and smashes your mouths together, his sharp teeth  cutting your bottom lip so the taste of blood flavors your kisses. 

“Promise,” he mutters against your mouth before licking up the blood tinging your lips. 

“Gonna mate you all the time,” he mumbles against you as he pistons his hips deep into your swollen pussy, “have you cumming on my cock until you can’t even think anymore.”

You moan and pull him back in for more sloppy kisses, “Please, please, Leon, cum in my pussy.”

His second cock’s weeping so much precum, your stomach is a sticky mess, but it just makes you squeeze down on the cock inside you even more. Leon has flipped some switch in your brain because you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t spill inside you.

“You promised me both,” you pout, tears clinging to your lashes as his cock presses into your cervix, “promised to stuff me with both.”

He groans brokenly, hips shuddering as he bucks into you one last time, spilling his thick load deep into your cunt at the same time his other cock spurts rope after rope of hot thick cum all over your body, jizz shooting all the up to your chin. 

He groans like an animal you’ve never heard of as he dumps load after load into your pussy until it’s spilling out around his fat cock. 

“Mated,” he sounds happy as he sinks his teeth into your neck making you scream out.

He pulls back with bloody teeth and that’s the last thing you see before passing out. 

~*~*~*~

The warm slant of sunlight from the bedroom window shines into your eyes and you roll over with a grumble. You raise up quickly once you remembered where you were, only to see Leon lounging on the bed next to you eating a bowl of cereal as he watches the small portable tv on the dresser. 

“These movies are so dumb,” he scoffs, digging into your Count Chocula cereal, “they always go overboard on the transformations.” 

Your bleary eyes squint at the small screen and see what looks to be The Thing and you frown at him. Pushing yourself up, you slump against his side, body feeling overly sore (the same as your sensitive cunt). 

“That better not be the last of it,” you mumble against his arm, making him turn his bright eyes over to you. 

“No, but good morning, little mate,” he purrs, setting the bowl down on your nightstand so he can roll over on top of you to pin you down to the bed. 

You whimper and arch up into the soft kisses he presses against your neck. The blanket slips down to his waist as he grinds his cocks against your needy pussy. He eases the head of one of them inside your hole, making you sigh and wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Gotta fill you up again,” he chuckles, “sucking me in like I didn’t spend all night pounding this little pussy.”

“Leon,” you whine, nails scratching red lines down his back and making his hips thrust into you. 

He fucks you slow and soft, rutting into your pussy as his other cock is sandwiched between your thighs. 

“Perfect,” he sighs happily, “can’t wait to give you both.”

Eyes fluttering, you moan and pull him down fully on top of you, his heavy weight squishing you into the mattress. He growls and snaps his hips harder, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass makes you clench down on him. 

“First pussy I’ve ever got to creampie,” he coos against your ear, “so taboo to mate a human, but damn if I don’t love fucking this tight cunt. S’all mine now, I own this tight little pussy.”

His words wring your first orgasm of the day from your sore body, pussy walls fluttering as you cum around his fat cock. He moans low in his throat, hips rabbiting harder against you as he chases his own climax. 

His blunted human teeth bite down on your neck as he buries his cock as deep as he can in your pussy, pumping his load right against your cervix as his other cock spills wet and hot between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, clit pulsing as he stuffs you to the brim and paints your thighs white with his thick cum.  

He pulls away with a grunt and snuggles into your side. With a soft giggle, he nuzzles against the bite mark he left on your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait to show you off. Chris is gonna eat shit,” he crows in your ear before kissing your jaw. 

“Chris?” you tiredly ask, twisting to look at the top of Leon’s head. 

“Yeah he’s the asshole who scratched up my ribs. He’s a part of what you humans would call my pack,” he leans up to kiss you on the lips, “don’t worry, I’ll introduce you after you’re settled in.”

“What?” You frown. 

“I’ve got a place not too far from here,” he gushes, eyes shining excitedly, “you’re gonna love it. It overlooks the river and everything.”

“You have a house?” Your brain feels like it’s lagging behind. 

“Of course, silly,” he kisses your neck again, “you’ll come live with me. I’ll take care of you, never have to worry about a thing.”

“Quit my job and just move out here?”

“It’s not like you liked it anyway,” he rolls his eyes before climbing on top of you, pinning you down again. 

His cocks rub against your cunt making you whimper. 

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he murmurs before kissing you, strange tongue licking into your mouth. 

Whining, you suck on the thick muscle as he rocks against you, cunt oozing creamy slick and cum all over your thighs. 

“Keep you forever,” he groans, pulling back to prop his weight on his forearms, “got me addicted to this little human pussy already. Definitely not letting you go.”

A high pitched moan slips from your lips as he slips the head of both of his cocks into your cunt. 

“Mmm, can’t fit quite yet but we’ll get there,” he laughs, “let me just slip the tips in for now.”

Your thighs tremble as he rocks the first few inches of each cock into your used cunt. He relaxes on top of you, letting your pussy cockwarm his dicks as he bites and kisses at your neck. He moves up to kiss you, all wet and messy, making you whimper and cling to him. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re rocking against him, slowly fucking the heads of his cocks in and out of your stretched pussy.  He sighs and purrs into your kisses as he tongue fucks your mouth. You can feel as his teeth change against your lips, sharp points digging into the sensitive skin. 

He works you for what feels like hours, just slowly sinking inch by inch into your spasming hole. His precum and your slick have soaked your thighs all the way to the bedspread underneath. It’s a wet mess between your thighs, but all you can feel is the pleasurable pain of being too full. 

“Never had someone take both like this,” he rumbles happily, nosing against your jaw, “god, what a perfect fucking pussy. You’re taking me in so well, such a good fucking girl.”

You hiccup a whine at the praise, walls fluttering against the stretch of his dicks. 

“Yeah? Like being my good girl,” he nips at your earlobe, “you’re the best I’ve ever had, so fucking lucky. Can’t believe I own a slut who likes being DP’d.”

Your nails dig harshly into his back as your toes curl, his words making you burn hot all over. 

“Like that?” He mocks, “like that I own you and your pretty pussy?”

His tail slips between your bodies to spank your clit making you cry out and  rock against him harder. 

“Leon,” you slur out, tears slipping from your eyes due to overstimulation.

With a groan, he buries both cocks to the hilt inside of your clenching heat. Your pussy feels stretched to the limit, overwhelmed by the sheer size of both of his dicks. You gasp and mewl, feeling like you can’t breathe from being stuffed so full. 

“Shh, shhh, I’ve got you,” he kisses your cheek, “taking me so well. Tight little cunt just made for me, huh?”

Not able to think, you just babble out nonsensical words, feeling on the edge of another orgasm. It’s not going to take much to make you cum. 

“Aww did I fuck you stupid?” He laughs, “wet little pussy just can’t handle me can she?”

His tail smacks across your pudgy clit and your orgasm slams into you, making you squirt around his cocks, too spread open to clamp down as tight as usual. 

“Oh fuck me,” he hisses, grinding himself deeper, making you wail as you continue to gush around him. 

“Got your cute little pussy to squirt,” he moans excitedly, “fuck, that’s so hot.”

He growls and you watch as his eyes shine before his body shifts into that monstrous form you saw last night. He’s huge, caging you in with his skeletal and strangely jointed body. You whimper and move your hands up from digging into his shoulders to the horns coming out of the skull he’s wearing now. 

He pulls out only to bully his fat cocks back into your well used pussy. Eyes rolling back at the pleasure he’s wringing from your body, you moan and grip his horns tighter making him buck harder into you. A few more thrusts and you’re cumming again with a weak cry, pussy walls fluttering and milking Leon’s dicks. 

“My mate,” his distorted voice rumbles, hips fucking roughly into your spasming hole, “gonna breed your little pussy, fill you up with my hot cum.”

All you can do is mewl and whimper underneath his body, feeling as he fucks harder and harder into your cunt until he’s finally burying himself all the way inside. His tips knock and rub against your cervix which set off fireworks behind your eyes as you cum one last time. 

Hot thick spurts of cum shoot out and quickly stuff your pussy full. Your abdomen looks bloated from how much Leon’s pumping inside your body. He’s snarling against your neck as he humps your pussy, dumping load after load into you until it’s dripping out around his balls. 

You must black out cause the next thing you know, you’re leaning against Leon’s chest in the bath. Whimpering, you weakly grasp onto the hand he has trailing across your stomach. 

“Finally awake,” he chuffs against your hair, “how do you feel?”

“Sore,” you croak out, throat feeling scratchy. 

One of his hands clasps yours while the other slides across your hip to your swollen pussy. 

“Leon,” you whine, “I can’t.”

“Shhh,” he kisses the side of your head, “let me make you feel good, my perfect little mate.”

His fingers quickly tease and rub across your sensitive clit until you’re rocking your hips up with the motion. 

“There we go, good girl,” he sighs, “let me play with that cute pussy. Feels so good to have my fingers on your little clit, huh?”

“Mm hmm,” you arch back into his chest, thighs parted until they’re touching the sides of the bathtub. 

“Want me to slip inside? Want my cocks to stuff you full of cum again?”

Your body feels molten with the arousal pounding through your veins. He shifts and both cocks are pressed against your cunt between your thighs. 

“‘M always so hard around you,” he whines in your ear, “you smell too fucking good, wanna eat you up.”

You shudder as his sharp teeth press against your neck, fingers dipping into your cunt to trail back up and smear slick across your pudgy clit. 

“Come on, I know you can cum for me,” he kisses your neck softly. 

In next to no time, your thighs shake as an orgasm crests and sweeps through your tired body, making you tense all over before going totally limp against Leon’s body. 

“Good girl,” he purrs against your back, hands rubbing at your waist, “can’t wait to take you home.”

Humming, you relax, letting the warm bath lull you into a sleepy state. Leon goes off on a tangent about introducing you to everyone as soon as possible as well as moving you into his house. While you listen to him talk about your new home, you think to yourself that being mated to a monster like Leon isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

divider: @firefly-graphics

[k-s-morgan]

This is a belated post where I wanted to briefly address the outcomes of 2023!

While Ukraine mostly faded from the stage of world's news, unfortunately, the situation didn't get better for my people. Every day Russia kills, maims, and ruins everything it can touch. Every day civilians die from its imprecise missiles, random shootings and artillery, and outright executions. I often see that those living in other countries call this Putin's war, but it really isn't. This is the war sponsored by Putin and his regime, true, but first and foremost, this is the war of Russian people. It's hundreds of thousands of Russian people who arm themselves and go kill our defenders and our civilians. It's Russian people who fire from tanks and other deadly weapons to ruin the Ukrainians' homes, to scorch our land, to leave nothing but destruction instead of cities and villages. It's Russian people who build the missiles, load their bombers, and fly for 5+ hours to direct them at our cities, homes, factories, and even empty fields.

This is me during one of the latest massive attack that took place on January 2. At first, at night, 35+ Russian-Iranian drones bombed us. Then Russian people sent about 100 missiles at us, mainly at my city Kyiv.

Our air defense system managed to intercept the majority of them, but while it sounds like interception is an entirely positive thing, it might have terrible consequences. Because the parts of the missiles fall down randomly. They can kill any human or creature walking down the street; they can collapse on top of a residential building. There is no escape, no way to feel safe even with the best air defense systems surrounding the city. Here's one of many disastrous results of this attack.

Dead and injured people and animals. Damaged and lost apartments.

On December 29, another attack killed over 30 people in Kyiv alone. You can see their faces below. They deserve to be seen and remembered.

This is a short story of just two latest attacks that took place just within one week, just in one city. Imagine how many of them me and my people lived through during the entire year? How many more we will have to experience?

Actually, we lived through another one before I finished writing this post. It happened on January 8, and it killed even more civilians.

I know that there are good, sane, compassionate Russians. I have some relatives among them. One of them, my aunt, can't keep herself entirely silent: she's deeply religious, and a few weeks ago, in a church, she risked saying that killing Ukrainians is bad. Another man told her that she's scum and that if she dares to open her mouth again, he will report her to authorities. The headmaster of a school where my aunt teaches was imprisoned for 7 years for refusing to hold a Z-event among students. Living there must be a torture of another kind, where you are surrounded by zombies who openly promote terrorism and bless missiles sent to kill other human beings. The problem is that sane and compassionate Russians are the minority - the vast majority is happy to either kill us or they support those who kill us. Or they simply don't care, trying to claim that everything is complicated when in reality, there is nothing complicated about it at all. Russia is a terrorist state and the world allows its people and its government to keep being monsters.

Seeing the indifference and impotence of seemingly powerful countries makes me increasingly concerned and depressed. At this point, I don't think I'm simply affected by my experiences: the world is rapidly going to hell, with terrorist countries like Russia being allowed to revel in their blood-thirstiness and the other terrorist countries, like North Korea, or potential offenders like China, observing and taking notes. When a criminal sees that no one is punished for a crime, they escalate. More criminals appear. This is what I feel is going to start happening more and more, until half of the planet is plunged into death and destruction. I'll be so very glad to be wrong.

On a personal note, I lost my most beloved pet pigeon Daikiria in 2023. I love her and miss her so much that I still cry whenever I think of her. In turn, I acquired a red nightmare of a rabbit who eats everything, including my feet, and two more pigeons. Taking care of them brings me joy - I only hope that my effort will actually benefit them.

Here's a pigeon that I named Noveria the day I found her, in a video I made for my vet. Attacked by a cat, bleeding all over, with broken ribs and a missing piece of her wing, with no tail:

Here is she now. She is feeling much better, although unfortunately, she got sick because of her weakened immune system.

My kitties continue to be adorable dorks. Here's me sleeping with my cat Tom after one of the attacks - he's really scared of loud sounds, so he sleeps like a rock afterward, just like me.

My family stays strong, and I hope we will remain to be so.

Writing stories remains a huge source of relief and distraction to me, and your support, love, and care give me strength even when I feel like I'm about to run out of it.

Thank you to those who support me on Patreon and give me a chance to have a safety net shielding me from some of the horrors and insecurities - thanks to you, I can rest sometimes when I would have to work instead; I can afford some more distractions and to write more as a result. Thank you to those who leave comments, kudos, asks; thank you to my friends who never fail to message me with questions about my well-being. I love and I appreciate you tremendously, and despite all my fears and worries, I hope that we will get to see a better future still.

[fredwkong]

Virgo Season: Vincent

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Vincent slammed the button to close them.

Just down the hall from the elevator, he’d been able to see the door to his room, surrounded by a bunch of the freaks. Men in leather and rubber, or just rainbow underwear, all standing around casually, as if it was normal for degenerates to congregate at the door to a normal man’s room.

Vincent knew he was one of the last. Almost every man in the Astra Hotel had joined the freakshow. It was too bad Vincent’d had to fly down from Colorado, or he would have brought some of the guns from his bunker. At least then he’d be able to defend himself properly.

As a keen survivalist and doomsday prepper, Vincent had always known this day would come. The freaks and commy liberals were probably using some technology to assimilate everyone. That was why none of Vincent’s stuff was in his room. As soon as the weirdos had shown up, Vincent had put it all in his rental car for his own safety.

It was definitely time to go now. Vincent would go jump in his car, drive to some motel a hundred miles away, and wait until his flight home. While he was there, he could warn people. Post on one of the forums, tell people to stay far away from the Astra Hotel and all the men who had once been pillars of their communities.

All he had to do was get out of the lobby.

As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Vincent looked up and down the hall carefully. No one to be seen. The freaks were probably busy with some kind of orgy. He stepped out cautiously, keeping his scrawny middle-aged body as small as possible.

He came to a T intersection. He could have sworn that the way to the foyer was a straight hallway from the elevator. Still, Vincent picked the turn that he was pretty sure led in the direction of the doors.

He came to another T. Picked another direction. A third. A fourth. Even though he had turned a different way each time, Vincent found himself back in front of the elevator again, in an identical hallway.

As he continued to walk down indistinguishable hallways, losing his sense of place for the first time in decades, Vincent began to hyperventilate. They’d gotten him. When could it have happened? He hadn’t been eating in the dining hall for weeks, concerned there might be chemicals in the food. He’d never so much as touched one of the freaks. He couldn’t think of anything they could have done that would have induced this kind of mental break.

But then, he thought, maybe it wasn’t a recent event. Weird shit had been happening since the first day of the conference. That was it! The commies must have known Vincent was a threat months ago. Maybe the whole conference had been a sham, just to get him. He might have been pumped full of hallucinogens for a month or more now, being triggered into seeing all these freaks every day to break his spirit.

But then how could he escape? Vincent turned yet another one of the infinite corners and finally saw something different. A few stiff foyer chairs sat in a small alcove in the hallway, and across one of the chairs was some abandoned gear. Pleather chaps, a jockstrap, sweaty socks.

Under any other circumstances, Vincent would have been disgusted at the idea that flashed across his head, but he was desperate. Obviously, whoever had caught him could influence his brainwaves to make him see all this disgusting, horny shit. He should pretend to have been brainwashed like everyone else. If he could act the part right, maybe his captors would let him free and he could go home!

But he had to play the part. As if transfixed, Vincent stared theatrically at the gear for a moment, then started to edge towards it. He had to pretend that he was just a bit intrigued.

Getting a little closer, Vincent started to strip off his shirt, careful to make it seem as if he hadn’t realised what he was doing. The cold air of the lobby was chilly on his scrawny chest, but Vincent resisted the urge to shiver. Anyway, his lower body was feeling uncomfortably warm. He stripped off his pants. Much better.

He had edged all the way up to the chair now. With a start, Vincent realised that he was naked. He was better at this acting shit than he’d thought. Gingerly, he picked up the jockstrap. He’d never worn anything like this in his life. Slowly, with careful and deliberate movements, as if he was in a trance, Vincent stepped into one strap, and then the other.

When he pulled it up his legs, Vincent felt a sudden rush. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing past the dizziness. He opened his eyes and looked down at the jock, fit snugly over his cock and balls as if it was made for them. It made him look… good.

Vincent wasn’t used to looking good, but he realised as he looked down at his body that he had a bit of a tan. The skinny look was working for him. And despite his age, nothing was saggy.

It wasn’t hard for Vincent to make a show of checking himself out and feeling up his body. He was almost feeling excited to pull up the pants, but he knew it was just that he was really into character.

The feel of the shiny pleather chaps was incredible. Vincent didn’t know why he’d spent decades focussing on hard-wearing, cheap clothes when this stuff was available. He was careful to act it out, but it wasn’t too hard to moan a bit at the sound of the zipper, to shudder as he slipped them on his toned legs. He felt his cock chub up, starting to create a wet spot in his jock.

As he tucked his feet into the stirrups and zipped up the pants, Vincent took a moment to appreciate his lithe young body. He was never gonna be a huge guy, and he didn’t want to be. He was happy with his modest, lickable muscles and flexible joints.

Lickable? Vincent didn’t know why he’d thought that. He didn’t want anyone licking his muscles. His cock pulsed at the thought, though, and he gasped.

It was just that he was getting really into character, he reasoned. It was like having a different persona. It was just until he was out of this simulation, and then he’d go back to normal. Maybe he could call this new guy Vinny, to separate him better.

Yeah, Vinny thought. Just for now, he would really embrace being Vinny. Vinny was one of the freaks, down to fuck like a gay rabbit. Vinny was the kind of guy who wore chaps and leaked precum from his thick Latin cock into a slutty jockstrap. Vinny didn’t think about government conspiracies or any of that shit. Vinny didn’t think much at all.

Vinny paused halfway through sniffing his unwashed armpit. There was still a pair of someone’s sweaty socks left on the chair, and Vinny knew that his character would be kind of a stink pig. If he wanted to really prove that he was corrupted, like all the other guys in the Astra Hotel, he would have to prove that he really loved to sniff another man’s smelly socks.

Was it still acting when Vinny greedily snatched the socks and sat down on the carpeted floor? From the first sniff, Vinny was in heaven. The socks were ripe, like they had been worn for a couple of days, and Vinny’s mouth watered at the scent. He felt himself getting harder and harder as he sniffed and sucked, feeling the sweat drip down his body.

Had there been another reason he’d been doing this? Vinny felt like he was forgetting something. No, it was pretty normal for him to lie down in public and rub his cock through his jock, especially at the Astra. Vinny felt another guy running his hands through Vinny’s perfect brown curls, so Vinny opened his pretty mouth and let the man slip his cock between Vinny’s lips.

It was a revelation to smell and taste a cheesy cock and sweaty balls, fresh from the source. Vinny ran his tongue under the man’s foreskin, moaning around him. The guy thrust deeper, and the sensation of a big cock forcing its way into his throat had Vinny cumming right through his jock. He knew that there would be a pearly stain forming on it.

As he took the cock even deeper, Vinny felt whoever was throatfucking him lean over further and start to lick up his load. Vinny felt his spent cock struggling to get hard.

Then the cock in his throat pulsed once, twice, and Vinny felt the load flow into his stomach. It felt different than all the others he’d taken. Thick, syrupy. It made Vinny feel warm inside. As the man pulled out, Vinny watched a drop of thick amber cum spill from his Black cock.

“Dan,” the hulking Black man introduced himself, spitting Vinny’s cum into his own mouth. The taste was good, but not as good as Dan’s load had been. Vinny wanted more.

“I’m Vinny. Can I lick your feet, Sir?” Vinny's mouth was watering.

Dan chuckled. “I think you’ll make a good addition to the group, Vinny,” he rumbled.

Click here to see all of Virgo Season.

If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.

[mystar-girl57]

𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Paring: Widowed!Jake Sully x Fem!Reader

Warnings: reader has Thalassophobia (phobia of oceans/deep and large bodies of water), mentions of alcohol, reader gets drunk (they dont hurt anyone or get physically hurt themself, they do sober up pretty quick)

Comments: things are gettin’ good now >:))

Things had slowly begun to change the days leading up to the feast of the Tuklun arriving. They were small changes but they were there.

You began to see Kaiman more when working with Ronal and while walking around the village on your lonesome. You shared polite hellos while passing by but nothing too eventful. Though there were a few times when you shared glances across the way. Ronal seemed to notice this and each time he came into view she had you being pulled the opposite direction.

Jake had also started to act differently. He would sit by you now in meals rather than across on the other side of the family circle. Come time to sleep Jake would tuck the kids in after you giving you time to get settled into your space in the pallet before getting in. The two of you started to stick closer together when you were on an outing with family. He would always keep to the side of you that had water on it and if you were going through a crowded space he would keep his hand on your back to gently guide you through.

All of his actions confused you. You had no idea why he had started doing this, even when you would be pretending to be a couple he never did this. It felt so genuine and intimate. It just confused you.

The feast came quicker than you expected and before you realized it, you, Ronal, Tuk, Tsireya and Kiri were all in the tsahìk’s marui getting ready. Well more of you were trying to get Tuk ready.

“Two seconds Tuk I am almost done,” you sighed, working quickly to finish up her braids, the amber bead now resting in her hair. “You said that a hundred minutes ago!” She whined, “I wanna go to the party!” “Tuk. Manners.” Kiri hissed while Tsireya finished up her hair. Tuk huffed, crossing her arms. You rolled your eyes softly fixing her top, you couldn’t blame her, you and Neytiri were the same way with your mothers, you’d rather go out and play then spend the time getting ready.

“And done!” You announced pulling back. Tuk twirled around a grin finding her lips. She instantly went and hugged you tightly. “Thank you Mama,” she whispered into your abdomen. That was another thing that had changed, your relationship with the children. Since calling Tuk your own, versus calling her Jake’s daughter to the woman in the shop all those weeks back you found yourself more comfortable around them. No longer did you feel like such an outsider and the kids noticed it. Lo’ak and Neteyam still called you by your name but Lo’ak had a few “slip ups” where he called you mom.

Tsireya was quick to finish up Kiri and turned to you. “Are you ready to get ready?” She asked with a kind smile. You hesitated and looked yourself up and down. You had yet to change anything about the loincloth and top that you wore since coming to Awa’altu. “I figured I would just wear this. That is all I have.” You explained. Ronal and Tsireya swapped glances, a smile coming to the daughter’s lips. “You can go get it now daughter,” Ronal nodded and her youngest was quick to disappear into the back of the pod while you and your daughters stood confused.

“Come, let us get your hair done then get you dressed.” Ronal instructed, leading you to the stool that Trisreya used for Kiri. “Kiri, come help.” She called your eldest daughter and she was quick to come over. Ronal seperated your hair into sections, the ends curling in different directions, it was not much different from Kiri’s.

The two took their time putting little braids and pearls into your hair not wanting to make a drastic change to your looks and it was not long before Ronal was helping Tuk put the amber bead into your hair.

“I am sorry it took me so long.” Tsireya’s voice rang out announcing her presence as she came back to the marui. “Aonung decided to move it.” She huffed. Coming over to you all she had in her hands two articles of clothing. Crouching down she laid out the top and loincloth in front of you and your ears perked up while you looked at it. It was truly a work of art. The way Tsireya had it was woven with bits of coral and shiny rocks she had found during her swims, the brown and cream colorings reminding you of the sand of the beach.

“I hope it is okay,” she spoke with shyness as you stared. “I was not sure what you would like so I took some advice from your kids and Toruk gave me some of the stones.” At the mention of Jake’s name you grimaced slightly. The more kind gestures he presented you the more confused you got. “Come,” Ronal gently shook you out of your thoughts, “Eclipse is falling and I know your family is waiting.”

It did not take you long to swap out your clothes for the ones Tsireya made and you Tuk and Kiri to leave. Tuk skipped ahead of you two and Kiri walked close beside you. “Is everything alright Sa’nok?” Kiri suddenly asked, looking up at you. “You seem tense.” You glanced at her, your ears flicking down in response. “There is no need to worry Kiri,” you put your arm around her shoulder and she put her arm around you in response. “I am just thinking over things.” She looked at you with an unsure countenance but didn’t press.

When your Marui came into view Jake stood there watching his sons roughhouse while waiting for you. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, seeing the paint on his body that the men helped him with, the way it danced along his body, defining his muscles and scars. It told a story that you yearned to know. But no, no. You could not do this to yourself, not after three years of nothing but hatred between the two of you, you could not let yourself fall for him after a few simple touches and smiles.

“Dad!” Tuk grinned, getting his attention. When he saw her running to him he crouched down catching her into his hands and pulling her up into the air. “Well don’t you look pretty.” He chuckled as she hugged his neck. “Mama helped me! She got us matching beads from an elder in the shops!” “Did she?” Jake smiled, turning to look at you. You did not meet his eyes, looking at some random object behind him. Jake’s smile faltered slightly before he picked it back up and bent down to set Tuk on the ground. “Are we ready to go Sully family?” His question was followed by cheers from the kids and the four of them were quick to take off by the beach leaving you and Jake following behind side by side.

“It was nice of Rona and Tonowari allowing us to come.” Jake said as you walked, “It’s good for the kids to get out and be kids.” You nodded slightly, trying to ignore the way your hands were brushing and you brought your hands up crossing them over your chest. “I cannot remember the last time I saw Neteyam genuinely laugh. I forget sometimes that he is only fifteen.” Jake sighed, “He comes by it naturally unfortunately.” This got you to chance up at him with a soft frown wondering what he meant by that.

The music grew louder as you drew closer and you could see the fire glowing, its orange tongues reaching up and licking the skies trying to eat the stars. Everyone was dancing and singing, drums pounding in your ears setting the tone for the evening. Tonight was a night of celebration, the Tulkun were home and everything was well. “Well, I shall see you later I suppose.” You muttered once you made it to the clearing knowing that the crowd would be too drunk to notice that the two of you were not together. Not waiting for a response from Jake you slipped into the crowd leaving him confused.

Your brain was fuzzy and confused as thoughts of Jake swirled in your mind. It bothered you, angered you even that he was suddenly acting so nice as if nothing had happened and you could not help but wonder if it was because of you meeting Kaiman. How did he find out? And why were you so worried nothing had happened between the two of you and you were not sure if you really wanted anything to happen to the two of you, Kaiman was just a distraction. “Just a distraction.” You muttered coming up to the table that continued shell cups full of drinks meant for the adults.

The man sitting there handing you a tiny shot glass which you downed instantly and set the cup back down. “Want something to sip on?” He offered and you croaked out a “please” as the alcohol burned in your throat. When you had a bigger glass in your hand you muttered a “thanks” and went back out into the crowd sipping on the drink.

It did not take long for your cup to be empty and the drink started to take its toll. Your senses were nulled and it felt like your pain was gone. You started to laugh, why were you mad in the first place you wondered you could not seem to remember. Soon you bumped into someone’s shoulder and you stumbled back. “Sorry,” you mumbled looking up to the victim of your attack and your eyes lit up when you saw Kaiman. “Kai!” You cheered and instantly hugged his arm. The man (who was also a bit tippsy) let out a nervous chuckle. “Hello to you too,” he gently lifted your head up with his fingers under your chin. You looked up at him with droopy eyes and a dopey grin and he understood instantly, this must have been your first time drinking Metkayinan alcohol which was known for its powerful taste and its quick affects to the body in comparison to the alcohol the clans in the forest made. “Drank a little too much?” He asked and you grinned rolling your eyes. “Just a cup or three, and a few shots.” Kaiman sighed, shaking his head. You pulled away from his arm and grabbed his hands, “Come let us go dance!” Your voice grew loud and giddy but Kaiman did not move. “I need to get you to your husband.” He said holding onto you so you would not leave as he looked around for Jake hoping it would be easy to spot his blue body over a sea of green.

You groaned at the mention of Jake. “Why does everyone keep speaking of him!” You spat, “He does not love me! I have never been touched by anyone and I am certainly not mated in front Ewya to him. His kids are not even mine! They are my best friend's!” With every proclamation your voice grew louder and Kaiman was thankful that everyone was too drunk to hear you and if they did they would not remember it by morning.

As Jake walked by Kaiman waved his hand getting the man’s attention and pointed to you now pissed standing there. Jake upon seeing you was quick to make his way through the crowd. “Our alcohol is much different from yours,” Kaiman explained, taking his hands off you so Jake could look you over. “Stronger.” “Yeah I figured,” Jake nodded having only had half a glass. “Plus she’s a lightweight.” He put your arm over his shoulder and bent down, getting your legs standing up with you in his arms. “Thank you.” He said to Kaiman and the man nodded, “Take care of her.” Kaiman responded looking at you worriedly.

Jake carried you through the crowd as you squirmed, he managed to find Tonowari and Ronal and explained that you were not feeling well and if they could let the kids stay with them for the evening, which they agreed.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You growled looking at your knees. Jake looked down at you as you continued. “You take my best friend from me, have her killed, then you take my freedom away and force me out of my home! I hate you.” You hit his chest. “Ewya I hate you!” Your feeble attempts did not hurt Jake in the slightest but your words did. He knew that you were drunk but drunk words were just sober thoughts that you were too scared to say. He knew you right though, he had taken so much from you and it took him too long to realize it.

You continued to struggle as he walked into the marui and he gently set you down on your pallet. In an instant you curled up your tail wrapped around you as you hugged yourself. Soft sobs began to rack out of your throat as the alcohol continued to work on you, giving you a flood of emotions. “I just wanted her to be safe.” You sniffled, “she loved you so much.” Jake sighed softly coming over to you with a shell glass filled with water and he sat down on his knees by you. A low growl rumbled from your throat and your tail flicked in warning. “I am not going to hurt you,” he whispered, “or I will try to not hurt you any more at least.” Jake knew his words were worthless compared to all that he had done to you over the years, even now when he dragged you to the one place that you feared.

“Can you take a few sips of this and then I’ll leave you be?” He coaxed. It took a few moments of you angrily eyeing him before you weakly sat up and took the cup from him. The cool water was an instant relief to your throat and you chugged it. “Easy, easy,” Jake whispered, not wanting you to choke and when the cup was empty you pulled it away from your lips with a gap, wiping the water off your lips.

You were not completely sober but the buzz had started to slowly wear off. You wiped your nose with a sniffle. You refused to cry in front of him. He hated you and you hated him, that was how it was always going to be. But you started to find yourself not wanting that any more. You wanted to be able to wake up in his arms to see him smile, go on date nights every once in a while, look at him and be happy. You hated yourself for that.

But you didn’t know that he wanted it too. Jake was mad at himself for how much pain he had caused, he knew that if Neytiri was here she would hit him on the head and call him a Skxawng. He deserved it, that and more, for hurting you, for lying to his kids.

Jake watched as you glared at him one last time before rolling over and curling up. He pulled the blanket up over you, your body tensing as he did and he could not help but wonder, was there any way to fix what he did?

© 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫-𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝟓𝟕 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬

🏷: @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @newjeansbonnie @cleverzonkwombatsludge @atxara @jakesully-sbabygirl @ducks118 @ssc7514 @squidalapobre @anxietydrogz @myheartfollower @misscaller06 @itzyahgirllkita1 @saltedcoffeescotch @eskamybeloved @agustdeeyaa @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @julijal @supercoolusernamesblog @iamparou @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @idcalol

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, mentions of drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have no idea what being a personal assistant entails, or what London Film Festival is actually like, but we can all pretend that this is accurate shit, right? Enjoy!

Wordcount: 3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Have you got any–”

You were already holding a hand out to him. Joe saw, grinned, opened his hand to receive a piece of gum from you and looked out the car window, hand on the door handle but not quite stepping out just yet.

Then he turned in his seat, back towards you a bit, but stared into the space in front of him.

“I’m not sure how I...” Joe trailed off, then looked at you, not finishing his sentence, but hoping that his eyes would do the talking for him.

“Could thank me? Have ever managed to function without me? Will go on living your life without me?” they were all jokes, and you were smiling, but Joe just nodded and went, “Yea,” with a crazed sort of look in his eyes. “Exactly all of those things.”

Joe stalled, looked at you, until you nudged him with a knee.

“Go on, the people are waiting,” Not just the people you could see from the car, but you imagined also all the important people, actors and actresses alike, in the cars queueing up behind you.

“Come with me,” Joe suddenly said.

“I will, I’ll see you right after the–”

“No, come with. Let’s do the whole thing together,”

You hesitated. This wasn’t in the job description. Lots of things hadn’t been, sure, but those things had been, you know, not quite so out in the open. Not like red carpets were, anyway.

“I think we’ve been spotted together enough as it is, I don’t want you to-”

“I kind of don’t want to get out without you.”

And you frowned, but only slightly, because there was that smile again. Fuck, that smile had gotten you into enough trouble as it was, and Joe fucking knew it too.

You checked the time. There was over twelve hours left still, technically speaking. That was over ten per cent of the entire job – quite a few too many hours to screw everything up and risk not getting paid. You had said you were reliable. Professional. You couldn’t, really...

“Please?” Joe opened a hand, presenting you with his palm.

But, ugh.

Fuck it. Why not?

You grabbed Joe’s hand and silently wondered if this was breaching the NDA you’d signed. Maybe not. You knew exactly who it was going to piss off though...

Stepping out of the car with Joe, you were met with girlish screams of adoration. Well, Joe was met with girlish screams of adoration. Then cameras flashed brightly, blinding you almost instantly, and you thought back to how precisely one hundred and six and half hours earlier, you would’ve never envisioned that this is where you’d end up.

Doing a red carpet with Joe.

In a slutty dress. With slutty high heels on. Without the engagement ring on.

Not even a full five days had passed...

Not even a full six days had passed, since you’d phoned your friend and she had told you about the vacancy. The whole thing felt like a vague fever dream now, like it had happened years ago.

“Please tell me you have nothing going at the moment,”

It was a weird way for your friend to answer her phone when you called to ask her if she had time to go for drinks that week. Because, consequently, you had all the time for all the drinks, you see, because you had absolutely nothing going at the moment.

No professional things. No personal things. Zero job. Zero fiancé – you really had to remove that ring, but you couldn’t yet. It used to belong to your grandmother before, after all, so it kind of felt like if you just wore it on another finger, it’d be fine.

Still adjusting to life as a single woman - with big bills that belonged to single women - working as a temp and having a best friend work at a temp agency, the two of you seemed a match made in platonic heaven. She always kept all the good stuff back for you, called you on her breaks to slip you information she definitely wasn’t meant to be giving you, so you could officially apply for the right jobs at the right times and use the right words to actually be invited to the interviews. It was perfect.

Sometimes, the good stuff would be going through PowerPoint presentations in stuffy conference rooms in deeply exotic places, like Belgium. Or you’d manage an entire office for two weeks, a holiday-cover that would start Christmas eve and left you in charge of a lot of empty desks because, didn’t everyone take time off around Christmas and New Year’s?

But then, other times, the good stuff was actual good stuff and had you help run huge music festivals, unexpectedly brushing shoulders with the likes of The Wombats and Liam fucking Gallagher backstage wearing knee high wellies, covered in mud.

“Oh my God, what have you got?”

No dillydallying. As a temp, there was never time. All jobs came fast, and all jobs went fast.

“It just came in, this phone call is unbelievable timing because I’m allowed to recruit for fucking once, finally, and you’d be so perfect for it!”

She had said that too when you’d been hauled off to dog-sit a poodle for some CEO of a company you had never heard of for two months, so you held off on the jumpy excitement your friend seemed to be exuding down the phone.

“It’s very short term and the money is amazing – I need a personal assistant for a high-profile client.”

“How short term, how much money, how high-profile?”

Like you said, no dillydallying.

“We’re talking not even a full week, just five days, all expenses covered and the salary’s generous. Very generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.”

Temping meant everything was short term, but this was the shortest a possible job had ever lasted you.

“Okay,” you said, knowing things were always too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“If this is for a tory politician, or like, actual royalty, I’m out,” you warned, earning a huffed laugh from your friend.

“Don’t let this put you off, but there’s nothing else I’m allowed to tell you. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London for the interview as soon as possible, like, today? Could you do today?”

Oh, she was serious serious.

Okay, so... what was five days, really? If it was shit, it’d be over quick enough. You could really use the money too if it really was as good as your friend was making it out to be. And maybe you’d meet Meghan Markle, you know, if it was actually going to be royalty.

“Are we... are we talking like, Hugh Grant or whatever? Adele, maybe?”

Your friend laughed heartily.

“I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA, but, I’m being so honest with you right now, you’re not going to want to pass this one up.”

And so, you’d given her the go ahead. Sure. Try get me in for an interview, why the fuck not? She said she’d make a call, get your CV into the right hands, and would call you back in a minute. When she did, not all but 11 minutes later, she’d already e-mailed you the NDA to sign. The interview wasn’t that day, but the day after – still too soon, but ok – and if successful, you’d start immediately too.

“Don’t worry, I think the interview’s just a formality – they love your CV, and from the sounds of it, they’re desperate. You’re a shoo-in. Get that NDA back to me and I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

She ended the call letting you know to reach out to her if you had any problems, and you said you would, knowing very well that you wouldn’t. You didn’t have problems. It was part of your charm. You carried solutions. You were dependable, reliable, one hundred percent guaranteed to make everyone’s life easier.

The only person you ever made things difficult for, was yourself. The proof of it was around your ring finger – on the wrong hand now, but still there.

From the names mentioned in the e-mail, which you’d immediately googled, you became none the wiser. They really kept you in the dark about who you were going to be working for, and the job requirements list was a lot. But you were good at job interviews. You knew the right things to say, the right energy to exude, the times to smile, the times to frown in serious thought – you could sell yourself better than you could sell anything else.

And you were competitive to a fault. No matter how arrogant of a celebrity was going to need someone handling their business for five days; you were going to get that job, and you were going to excel at it. Watch me, you thought, as you packed a carry-on with enough underwear to last you five days in case you were right. And if you were wrong, you could just spend money you didn’t have and maybe stay in London for a few days anyway. Visit old friends and old familiar places, because you kind of missed the place if you were being honest.

The next day your train had been late, and the tube had been packed, and you’d almost been run over three times, but you didn’t care. London was gritty and grimy and perfect. The London-shaped hole in your heart could really only be filled with the smell of searing, hot dust that lingered underground and became thicker and more prominent the deeper down escalators would take you.

You aced the interview. Of course you did.

Every question you were asked felt like they were trying to find reasons to not give you the job. They were all questions about what you thought about certain things, what your opinions would be about certain situations, what you really wanted, and you’d rudely interrupted. You’d said that none of it mattered, did it? It didn’t matter what you thought about anything, what your opinions were or what you really wanted in any situation – what mattered was that you would do your job. What mattered is whatever the client wanted.

They’d congratulated you. Said you got the job. And then, right on cue, the door had opened behind you.

“Joe, come in, meet your new PA who’s going to be with you for the rest of the London Film Festival.”

Joe mother fucking Quinn walked in, smiling, looking at you, like you were an actual person that people could actually perceive.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

It was only a brief introduction before Joe was off again, called out of the room by someone else, and he said he'd see you later. Smiled again, and God, it was the kind of smile that could defrost the coldest of hearts. Joe's expression was objectively neutral, this was just his face, but his eyes exuded kindness in its purest form. Almost dreamily so.

You cleared your throat as the door shut behind him. All right. Back to business.  

You were talked through the things you had already read the day before; the things you'd received in your e-mail. Things that didn't really need further explaining, but you listened politely anyway. You got a long explanation of how NDAs worked and it was almost laughable. Yes, they'd sue you if you broke it. You got it. But they were very adamant, needed to make sure that you really did in fact get it. Having to drag you to court wouldn't just be an awful thing for you personally, they also didn't want to do it because it was a lot of work on their end which they didn't have the time for.

Noted.

"All right. Get your things and meet us downstairs, your car is waiting."  

"Car? Where are we going?" 

"We're not going anywhere. You are. The itinerary, his full schedule, you'll find it all in your e-mail."  

And when you looked at your phone screen, you saw you'd just received it, mere seconds earlier. Man, these people ran a tight ship. 

Opening your e-mail in the car, you were greeted by a digital calendar that had all of Joe's days planned out, down to the literal minute. You could see past the five days that you would be working for Joe too, and although less busy, Joe had things happening nearly every day for at least the upcoming three months it seemed.  

"Wow,"  

This was... a lot.

It had everything on there. Wake-up calls, car pick-ups, lunch time, phone calls, coffee breaks, fittings... 

There were several film screenings scheduled every day, obviously, that was how film festivals worked, and you wouldn't get to go to any of them. You weren't hired to sit and watch films with Joe, unfortunately. You were hired to haul Joe from one place to the next. Accompany him. Get him coffees. Check for schedule changes, because, “Everything is always up for change, so you better keep an eye out!”. Things could be delayed, or be postponed, or switched around – times, or locations – and it'd be up to you to sort things out. Make it all run smoothly. It was your job to make sure Joe would get to the places he needed to be on time.  

"And he needs close eyes on him, because he tends to wander. Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him. A family member, a friend, but none were available for this. So, now he'll have you."   

So... you were a luxurious babysitter, if you really thought about it.  

"What other things are important? Anything that’s not been mentioned yet that needs special attention?" you had asked, and were met with a fast answer. 

"Networking."   

This whole week was all about Joe being seen and being spoken to by industry giants. Joe was invited to see many films, just about all of them, but it wasn't necessary for him to actually watch all of them. As long as he went to meet the directors, he'd be solid. 

There were other obligations too. Besides the screenings there were screen talks, in depth-interviews, panels, debates, workshops, partner events (Joe wouldn't be going to those, no worries) and networking events (Joe had to absolutely be going to those, worry a lot). The industry happy hours were where it all happened, you'd been told several times. 

Then, on Monday, day four, there was Joe's film screening - not his film, but the one he starred in. That showcased him. It'd be followed up by a Q&A, and then of course, happy hour after.  

To make things even easier, more simple, not at all hectic or stressful: Joe also had studio photoshoots, two of them, and phone interviews to accompany the shoots. They were scheduled, slotted tightly in between all the in-person events and to be honest, it all seemed a bit much. Too much. No wonder they hired a PA for the week. This was overwhelming to say the least. 

Your duties would end after the most important day. The awards ceremony. Film Festivals were a competition, and there were awards up for grabs. You'd need to make sure that after five extremely busy days, Joe would make it to the ceremony in one piece, in the right outfit, and at the right time, because people had already been talking, and Joe was meant to give a little speech up on stage if his film was to win.

"Remind him of that. Maybe help him with the writing, too?"  

Sure. Why not?  

"And there'll be two boxes delivered, not huge ones, it'll only be about 5000 copies, but they all need signing,"  

Delivered where? Copies of what? 

"Copies?" you asked, deadly afraid of sounding stupid. 

"Photographs."  

Oh. Alright. Of course. Yes. Fine. 

In the backseat of a car, on your way to wherever they were taking you - they hadn't been clear at all - you saw that the signing of the photographs hadn't been added into Joe's schedule yet. You put down a few options and would check with Joe later until what time he minded working before you'd set it in stone. First task done. Your job had officially started. 

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours of this. You checked the time. One hundred and eighteen still to go, technically, but, who was counting?

The car stopped and you heard the ratcheting of the handbrake being pulled by the driver. You'd arrived. 

"Um, where are we?" you asked, undoing your seatbelt and gathering your things, but before the driver could answer, your door was opened from the outside. 

"Hey, welcome," it was Joe, and he held out a hand to help you out of the vehicle. What a gentleman. That warm smile, there it was again. 

"Are you ready?" Joe asked, taking your suitcase from you with an excited glint flickering in his eyes, and you weren't sure exactly what you were meant to be ready for. The whole week, was the correct answer.

Joe walked ahead of you, up the steps of a beautiful South London terraced house. Quite the mansion, by London standards. Joe stopped and turned as he reached the door. "I've only just moved in, so please, don't mind the boxes and, um, the lack of furniture. It's a mess. The only room properly done up is yours, so don't worry about that! They've made sure that at least one of us has a nice bed to sleep in,"  

 Oh.  

"They made it look like a proper hotel room, I'm kind of jealous of it,"

This was Joe's home. His actual place, where he... you know, lived, and stuff. And where apparently, you were going to be staying too.  

"This is your house?"  

Joe stood in the door opening, and beckoned you in.

"It's just easier to have you close, come on in,"  

Oh, this was going to be an interesting couple of days. 

"Wonderful, thanks."

---  

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 5]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

words: 4.4k

It has been one week since you saw Matt Murdock on the evening news, and it feels like it has been a complete whirlwind. First, you reintroduced yourself to him and let him know he was a father, then you had a nice little outing, and to tie it all up, a trip to the doctors to confirm what you already knew. 

Matthew Murdock is the father of your daughter.

It is nice to have an official statement from a doctor and now you can start the process of changing Minnie's paperwork to include his name. You have to go to the courthouse to file for an updated birth certificate. Matt has very kindly offered to take that task on for you - he goes to the courthouse often for his job and he knows the ins-and-outs of navigating legal paperwork. You just have to go and drop off the right documentation. 

You had a brief call last night, after Minnie had been put down, and decided that you would visit his office today to do just that. You are going to kill two birds with one stone - hand over what needs to be filed and give Matt more time with his daughter. 

To your great surprise, your timid little Mouse absolutely adores him. She was not happy to have to be at the doctor's office yesterday and was on the verge of tears before he showed up. Her whole mood shifted, and she had spent the brief time you were in the waiting room and exam room telling Matt about different things around them. 

You have a feeling, when you sit down and tell her the truth, she is going to be thrilled. 

You told her that you are going to visit Matt at work today, and all morning she has been hunched over her sketchbook making pictures for him while you try to get in some hours at work. Try being the key word, as you've been thoroughly distracted by today's news cycle. 

You were half listening to a puff piece about something or other when breaking news flashed across the screen. A neighborhood in Connecticut has been leveled by some sort of explosion, killing hundreds. They don't know if it was an accident or some sort of attack - the epicenter of the blast was a school, so it could potentially be either. You pray it was a freak accident, some faulty pipeline or a weird meteor, because the world doesn't need any more horribleness in it. 

The idea that it might have been an attack makes you nervous. You've been through two horrible attacks on New York, and you didn't realize another big event so close to home would shake you so hard. 

It scares you that you have to raise Minnie in such a harsh world, where monsters of all kinds are very very real and you don't know who you can rely on. The police and government have been shown to be all kinds of corrupt and people who can shoot laser beams fight each other in the skies. 

You end up clocking out and going to sit with Minnie to get yourself to stop your doom-listening. She's got a few drawings scattered around the table and you pick up the one closest to you, smiling at her handy work. 

You recognize the shapes as her interpretation of people - oblongs with stick arms and noodle legs. Unknowingly, she's made her first new family portrait. There are three blob-people all holding hands: you suspect you're the big orange one with a smile, Minnie is the little pink one in the middle with what you guess are pigtails, and Matt is the black one with red eyes, who is also holding a stick. To confirm, you ask her.

"Is this one Mister Matt?"

Her head shoots up and a big grin spreads across her face, "Yeah!  And that's you and that's me and we're gonna go to the zoo!" There is a little flurry of motion and suddenly you are getting a picture show. She holds up the paper she was working on - there's another family drawing, but this time there's green scribbles all around you and a blue square with zig zags all over it. You guess that is some sort of animal. 

"You want to go to the zoo with Mister Matt?" You ask, examining her masterpiece.

"Yeah!" She says, pulling over another picture that you know are her versions of flowers, even if they are all different colors. "And the park!"

"And the park? Wow, that's a lot of things to do. Do you want to ask him if he wants to go to the zoo with us when we see him today?" Minnie eagerly nods at the question and that makes you smile. "Okay, we can invite him to the zoo. When are we going to the zoo?"

The question makes her bounce in excitement, "My birthday!" 

You laugh at her enthusiasm and give her a little back rub, "Exactly. We're going to go for your birthday. And get a big cake with whatever you want on it." That makes her a giggly mess and you temporarily forget all the bad things in the world. 

You hand her back her drawing before kissing the top of her hair, "How about you finish this one up and we get ready to go see Mister Matt? We can only visit for a little bit, because he's working, but I bet he'll love everything you made him."

Greedy little hands take back the paper and instantly Mouse is hunched back over her zoo scene, purple crayon in hand. You get up and go to make sure that you have everything you need to bring to Matt in order. You are extremely lucky that the doctor has the ability to print out things in Braille, so you don't need to make an extra stop to get things translated. 

You debate bringing Matt lunch, but ultimately decide against it. You don't want to push too much too fast, and you think it might be a little weird for his coworkers, to see a random person bring him homemade lunch. You know he hasn't told anyone yet about yourself and Minnie - he had shyly admitted it didn't feel real until the test results were given and you completely get it. 

You tidy up until you spy Mouse dropping her crayons into her bucket and cleaning up her drawing area. You let her do her thing, then approach, "Let's put your drawings with the other things we need to give Mister Matt. That way they won't get lost or wrinkled."

She nods like you've just said something very wise and gathers up her stack of papers before handing them over. There's five in total; the three she showed you and two more full of colorful lines. You decide you'll listen in on her explanation to Matt on those two, as you're curious as to what goes on in her little mind. 

Once everything is safe and ready to go, it's just a matter of getting shoes on. You go with your sensible sneakers while Minnie opts for her frog themed Wellingtons. The plan is for both of you to walk to the office, and after one final wallet-keys-phone check in your purse, you head out hand-in-hand.

It's mid-morning, so foot traffic is decent, but not heavy - nothing that makes Minnie too uncomfortable. Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon, and it makes you wonder if the rain that has been promised in the forecast will be coming sooner than expected and you are glad this outing is the only one you have planned. Taking Minnie around in the rain is never fun. It always seems like everything becomes more bustling in the rain and trying to navigate that with a crying toddler just makes you want to cry as well. 

But the promise of her new favorite person and mild weather has her walking like the born and bred New Yorker she is - a determined little pout with no nonsense steps. No one will be trying to sell her things on the sidewalks once she gets bigger. If she had a different personality, you'd want to teach her to say "Hey, I'm walking here" just to hear a toddler say it. 

As you spy the building Matt's office is in, you realize you should have sent him a text to say you were on your way. You did let him know vaguely what time you planned to stop by and he had assured you that they had no appointments - it was catch up on paperwork day - but that didn't mean walk-in clients hadn't come by. You're so close to already being there that you think the gesture is pointless, so you just keep walking until you get to the building.

"This is where we are going," you tell Minnie as you approach. You scoop her up to show her the business directory on the outside of the building. There aren't very many plaques to begin with, so it's easy to find the Nelson, Murdock, and Page one. "That is where Mister Matt works with his friends."

She leans out and feels over the embossed sign, running her fingers over the different letters. "'M'! For Minnie!" She says, pointing out the letter with a big smile. 

"Exactly. Mister Matt's last name starts with M, too. That word is his last name - Murdock."

That gets her to turn back to the sign, fingers dancing over the letters, brows knitting with curiosity, "How is it spelled?"

You spell out Murdock for her and Minnie repeats each letter after you. You do this a few times until she's able to say it out loud on her own. You don't know how long she'll retain the information, as spelling isn't really on the board yet, but you're happy she's interested. You set her back down and she makes a beeline up the steps, grabbing and pulling at the door with all her three-year-old strength. 

The lobby to the building is sparse, with basically only an elevator and staircase, with a door to what you suspect is a supply closet. "We're going up two staircases," you tell your daughter. 

"Two!" She confirms before taking off towards the stairs. You have a brief moment of panic that she's going to zip up both sets faster than you can catch her, but to your great amusement, she grabs a hold of the banister with both hands and pretends to use it like a mountaineering rope to climb the stairs. She even adds little fake huffs and puffs. You follow behind her, ready to catch her if she slips. She doesn't, and when you get to the floor Matt's office is on, she turns to beam at you, clearly proud of herself, "We did it!"

"We did it," you parrot, offering out your hand again. She takes it and you lead her to the correct door. The same plaque that was on the exterior of the building also hangs beside their door and Minnie astutely points to it.

"Murdock!" 

"That's right, it says Nelson, Murdock, and Page."

"Can I knock?" Mouse asks, raising her fist to do just that.

You hum, then gently explain, "This is business, which means work. For work, we don't have to knock. We can go in if it is open."

As soon as you say that she's opening the door and marching inside and you quickly follow her. 

Matt's law partners, Foggy and Karen, are in the reception area with a man you assume is a client of theirs, talking in hushed annoyed sounding whispers. He radiates intimidation, with a huge black eye and what looks to be a makeshift cast made of duct tape around his right wrist. The three of them turn to look at you and you get the sense Minnie had the right idea in asking if she should knock first. 

Your little one quickly latches onto your leg, turning timid in the space of a second and you can't really blame her. Part of you wants to turn and run. 

Karen recovers first, breaking away from the two exasperated men to step towards you and going into receptionist mode, "Hi. You were here last week to meet with Matt, right?" 

"Uh, yes, that's right. Is he, uh, available?" You ask, feeling like you no longer know how to speak English. The energy in the room is not a pleasant one and you very much feel like you've interrupted something important.

"He's on a call currently but I'll let him know you are here," Karen replies in a voice far kinder than what she uses to address the men behind her a beat later. She turns to them and points to the office you know is not Matt's. "In there. Now."

Foggy throws up his hands, like he's frustrated with whatever is going on and disappears into the other room. The man you don't know doesn't follow, eyes on you and your daughter as Karen crosses the room to knock on Matt's door before opening it and slipping into the office. You quickly decide you are not going to make eye contact with him, instead ducking your head and putting a comforting hand on Minnie's head. She's practically hidden herself behind your legs, clinging to your pants so tightly you fear they might rip.

"I like your boots," the man says into the quietness. You expect him to sound like gravel, but his gruff voice is rather soft, and you get the feeling he understands how to talk to children "My daughter used to have boots like those."

 Part of you wants to tell the man to not talk to your daughter, but that would be rude and just because he looks like he's been through the ringer doesn't mean he's a bad man. You decide to let her determine how she wants to proceed.

You feel Minnie poke her head out from where she's hidden herself. At first, you don't think she's going to reply, as you know how she is, but she surprises you yet again by mumbling out, "They're froggies." 

"Yeah? You like frogs?"

Mouse somehow tightens her grip, "I like animals." She presses her face against your leg, then admits, a little louder, "we're gonna to the zoo for my birthday."

That makes the man smile, and that changes his whole demeanor. Suddenly he looks friendly and kind and not like he's likely to stab you, "That's a good place to go for your birthday. How old are you gonna be?"

Before she can respond, the door to Matt's office swings open and Karen stalks out, followed by Matt, who seems much less agitated than everyone else. The blonde points to the unknown man, a little scowl on her face, "What did I say?"

The man holds up his hands defensively, stepping away from Karen and towards the office he was previously told to go in, "Alright, alright, I'm going. I'm going." That doesn't seem to help soothe her at all, as she grabs the man by the bicep and frog-marches him to join Foggy, closing the door behind them. 

"They didn't make you wait long, did they?" Matt asks, bringing your attention back to him. There is a cut on his lip that wasn't there the last time you saw him, and your instinct is to ask if he is okay, but you don't know if you are at that level with him yet.

So instead, you address his question, "No, no, we just got here."

He motions back to his office, a smile spreading across his face, and you almost forget about the cut, "Come on back and we can review everything." 

Minnie lets go of your pants only to take your hand again and you lead her into the other room. As you pass Matt, she looks up at him and gives a tiny wave.

"Hi, Mister Matt."

Matt's shoulders visibly relax at her greeting, and you can't help but start to smile, "Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing today?"

"Good! I maded you pictures," she says proudly. That causes him to pause as he starts to follow you into his office. You can tell he is surprised by the news - his voice gets a little choked up when he responds.

"You made me some pictures?"

"They are very good pictures," you advise, squeezing Minnie's hand slightly before letting go, "Do you want to tell Mister Matt what you drew for him?" She nods eagerly, so you point to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Go sit like a big girl and you can tell him."

She makes a dash for the chair, and you take the time to address Matt, "I'm sorry, I should have called ahead."

He shakes his head, and as he walks past you to go behind the desk, he reaches out and brushes his hand along your arm. A little shiver runs up your spine at the touch and you tell yourself the action was so he could orient himself. "Not a problem, I knew you were coming. How is everything?"

"Everything is good," you reply, a little shyer than you intend to. "I, uh, have everything for you. Is there anything else I need to fill out?"

Matt shakes his head, "Just a signature and date. You've done all the work for me already. I don't think I've ever had to file where I don't need to actually do anything but sign the document. It's a refreshing change."

"Do you know how long it will take to process?" You ask as you move to join Minnie in sitting. "The website gave multiple timelines and I just want to be realistic."

Matt takes his seat with a cocky grin, "Not long at all, I know a few judges I can ask to push it through."

You flush at the idea of him asking a favor to a judge on your account, "That's not necessary, Matt, I don't mind waiting."

He shakes his head, getting that soft look again, "I don't want to wait. I want it to be official in the eyes of the government."  

His words make you feel even warmer, and you distract yourself by pulling the file with all the paperwork out of your purse and pass it over to him. "Minnie's additions are at the bottom of the stack. The last five pages"

His fingers twitch slightly, and you wonder if he wants to flip right to those. You get your answer quickly.

"Minnie, is it okay if I go over the paperwork with your mom before you tell me about your pictures?"

"It's okay!" She replies, her voice much more cheerful now that you are alone with Matt. "Do you needs help?"

Her sweetness makes Matt smile more and he shakes his head, "Not right now, sweetheart. I need to read, and I can do that with my fingers, but after that you can help with some other things."

"Okay," she says happily, kicking her feet a little bit.

You catch her attention and motion to your purse, "Do you want a toy while you wait?" 

She shakes her head and beams up at you, "No thank you, I'm a big girl!"

Both you and Matt chuckle at her declaration and he moves to open the file. 

"There's multiple copies of everything," you tell him as you move onto business, "One printed text and one in Braille for the courts and the same for you. I have the same at home, as well. They are bundled in packets. The court papers are on top, Braille first."

He thanks you then begins to read the forms. Mouse sits up straighter in her chair to try and see what he is doing. She can just peek over the edge, and she watches in fascination as his fingers move over the pages. You wait quietly, not wanting to distract in any way. 

"Everything appears to be in order. We will just need a signature," Matt says after a minute. 

"Should I do that now?" You ask. The response is him offering you a pen, so you lean in to sign the various forms. As you set each document aside, Matt adds his own signature. It is silly how giddy you feel just having the forms finally completed. You don't know how long you've had just blank copies, waiting to be filed. 

"And done," Matt says with a final flick of his pen on the last page. "I'm going to the courthouse on Tuesday, so I'll get it processed then. I'll push to get an updated certificate as quickly as possible."

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling like a crazy person. This isn't some dream or far off fantasy. Matt isn't just saying he wants to be Minnie's father. He is following through, with urgency. This is something he wants and it's almost surreal for you - you are so used to promises being broken and no one being on the same page as you in your desires. Even if this is all for Minnie and not for you, it is still on the edge of overwhelming for you. 

You never thought you'd be so happy over paperwork. 

"Thank you, Matt," you whisper, leaning back into your seat to sit properly.

Immediately, Minnie parrots you, thanking Matt even though she has no idea what is going on.

"No, thank you. Thank you both," he says, and you wonder if he is also holding back from smiling. He gathers the papers and sets them aside before running his fingers over the folder you gave him and addressing his daughter. "Okay, sweetheart. Do you want to come tell me what you drew?" 

You expect Minnie to stand on the chair and even prepare yourself to balance her, but that does not happen. She hops down and scurries around the desk to be at Matt's side and a moment later, he is pushing his chair back and she is climbing up into his lap. Embarrassment rushes through you - she's only ever behaved like this with you. She actually used to fuss and cry if anyone else tried to hold her. You haven't seen her sit in anyone else's lap since she had a say in who gets to hold her.

"Minnie!" You scold but Matt quickly shakes his head as he helps her up.

"It's okay, I don't mind," he tells you even though he looks completely shocked. If he wasn't her father, you wouldn't allow this, especially with someone so new to her, but he is her father, even if she doesn't know, so you don't tell her to get down.

Instead, you give a stern frown, "Minnie, you still need to ask before climbing on anyone, okay? Can you apologize?" 

Your little girl nods, then looks up at him, "I'm sorry, Mister Matt."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Like I said, I don't mind, but your Mommy is right, and you should ask so I know you are there. Next time, you'll know. Now, your Mommy said there were five pictures. Which do you want to start with?" He asks, scooting his chair back to the desk while wrapping one arm around Minnie's waist to keep her secure. 

Once she's able to, she leans in and picks up the first drawing in the stack. It is the family portrait, and you quickly get your phone out so you can record this interaction as Minnie lays out the picture. She then takes Matt's free hand and guides it to the paper before letting go to point at the circle that represents him.

"This is you," she tells him. He quickly finds where she is pointing and begins to trace the figure. 

"That's me?" And there is definitely more than a little bit of emotion in his voice. 

"Uh-huh, and that is me and Mommy and we're gonna go to see the duckies. Mommy said we can go again. But we're gonna get ice cream too. And a balloon," she says, moving her little finger all over the page. 

You watch Matt's finger follow hers - first over the doodle of himself, then Minnie's, and finally yours. Then, he traces back to the center figure. "We're holding hands?" He asks tentatively.

"Yup!" She answers, popping the p. "Mommy says we gotta hold hands if we go outside." 

Matt licks his lips a little and you see his muscles flex under his jacket as he holds Minnie a little more firmly to his chest, like he doesn't want to let go of her. "That's a good rule." 

"Mommy makes good rules," your little one replies wisely. That makes your ego sing a little. Mouse has always been good at doing what she's told, and you are proud that she understands your rules keep her safe.

Before she moves onto the next picture, you gently prompt her. "Sweetie, was there something you wanted to ask Mister Matt?"

Matt's head jerks up at that, looking right to you with brows slightly knit. Minnie bounces in his lap just a little, squirming so she can turn to look up at him, "I'm gonna go to the zoo! For my birthday! Do you wanna go?"

His lips part in surprise at the question and before you know it, he has both his arms wrapped around Mouse, hugging her to him. She instantly responds, looping her little arms around his neck and squeezing back. He rests his cheek against her head, and you see him slightly rock her from side to side. "I would love to go with you to the zoo, sweetheart."

Minnie giggles into his neck and you one hundred percent know that the transition to suddenly having two parents is not going to be hard for her at all. It might be confusing because Matt won't be living with you, but you have never seen her so comfortable with someone who isn't you. You know it's not just because he gave her a toy. They just click together so well.

You switch from video to your camera so you can sneak as many pictures as you can of Matt and Minnie hugging. They've completely forgotten about you and that is a-okay. 

In this moment, nothing else matters to you - not the strange man in the other office or the devastation a few states over or all the other trivial things that nag you and make your stomach turn. 

Your world is right in front of you and for the first time in a very, very long time, you really, truly believe everything is going to be just fine. 

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 31

Summary: You could swear it was just another ordinary day when the world fell apart—except for the fact that being late to class might have saved your life. In the present, Daryl’s gut twists with unease; Randall is missing, and the sinking realization that he hasn’t seen you for hours sends him into a panic.

warnings: walker deaths, violence

x flashback x

The thing was, it had been such a normal morning. You were running late to class, but you stuck to your usual routine despite the ticking clock. Coffee in one hand, keys to your used Camry jangling in the other, you knocked softly on Dana’s door. Every morning, especially after a weekend party, you followed the same pattern. Opening the door just a crack, you peeked in. Dana’s head lifted up from beneath the large, muscled arm of her latest hookup. She smiled lazily and winked, and you rolled your eyes, smirking and blowing her a teasing kiss in return. She must’ve brought this one home after last night’s bonfire—the school’s traditional homecoming event. You pulled the door shut with a soft click and headed out of the apartment, mentally checking your things—keys, phone, bag, coffee... check. You rushed down the corridor, feeling the pressure of time as you headed outside.

Your ears rang at the sound of sirens passing, and when you got to the bottom of the stairs, you saw two ambulances flashing past, a couple of police cars with them. You briefly thought of Shane, wondering if he was with them. But you knew he might not be, not since his partner and best friend Rick went into the coma a few weeks ago. Shane had been avoiding your calls, but you didn’t blame him. He was probably trying to support his partner’s family through this awful time.

You were cursing yourself as you pulled out of the parking lot at 8:15. Screw 8 AMs—what kind of sadist thought cramming a hundred sleep-deprived students into a room at this ungodly hour was a good idea? As you drove down the street, you hit a roadblock. A cop was directing traffic, waving you through slowly. You craned your neck to see what had happened and caught sight of an overturned car. A person sat slumped against the wreck, blood pouring from a gash in their neck and chest. You shuddered, the horror of the scene sending a chill up your spine. No one could survive something like that.

But just as you started driving away, something made you glance back. The person who should have been dead—opened their eyes.

Your stomach twisted in a knot of nausea. No– No way. You must have imagined it. Just over tired or an illusion in the early morning light, you told yourself, shaking it off as best you could. You took a couple more sips of coffee to wake yourself up more.

Finally, you pulled onto campus at 8:30, grabbing your things and scrambling out of the car. You hurried across the quad, the usual hustle of students milling around, earbuds in, texting as they rushed to classes. You barely paid attention until you caught sight of someone stumbling across the lawn toward you, their gait unsteady, their head lolling forward like they were struggling to stay upright. There was a girl in front of you, blocking part of the view, walking towards them. You frowned. God, they looked awful. Hair astray, dead purple circles and bloodshot eyes you could see from across the lawn. Either hungover or really, really sleep-deprived.

When you turned down the lawn to the path your building was along, you heard the scream behind you. Usually, at that busy time in the morning, loud yelling and calls across the grass never jostled you. But this was different. This scream was blood-curdling. As you turned around to see what happened, you froze, the scene playing out in front of you like some kind of nightmare. Blood sprayed from the girl’s neck as the figure’s teeth ripped into her flesh. You watched, your body paralyzed in horror as the girl’s scream pierced the air, turning to just a gurgling moan.

The guy had yanked her down to the ground, sinking his teeth into her again, tearing away chunks of her skin.

He wasn’t just biting her—he was eating her.

You stood rooted to the spot, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. The person came away from the girl’s throat with her skin dangling from its mouth, blood oozing from the bite marks as it chewed, swallowing down pieces of her.

Finally, your brain clicked into survival mode, and you turned on the spot and ran as fast as you could. Just get to class, just go. Get to safety. You burst through the glass doors of the building, your hands shaking as you flung them open. Inside, you could hear the faint, frantic sounds of yelling from classrooms. You glanced down the hall—people were scattering, but you couldn’t make sense of the chaos. What the hell was going on?

Your classroom was just ahead. You threw the door open, only to be greeted by absolute carnage. People were screaming, running, crying as you took in the scene. Students were biting into each other’s arms, necks, faces and pulling away with flesh in their mouths, swallowing them whole. You watched as one girl’s face was ripped open by someone who looked so blue they could be dead. Suddenly, a guy who had been bitten came flying toward you, clutching his arm where blood soaked through his sleeve. His eyes were wild, panic overtaking him. You stepped aside as he shoved past you, screaming as he ran out of the room. You looked back into the room, and saw someone coming for you now. A girl, her eyes glossy, blood dripping from her teeth, was coming straight for you. Her steps were slow and clumsy, her arms outstretched, hands gnarled, veins bulging beneath her pale, gray-blue skin.

“Are you okay?” you asked her, but she didn’t reply. There was a low rasping coming from her as she clumsily came over to you, tripping over her own feet. She didn’t slow as she approached, and her blue, veiny hand reached out to you. Then, she lunged for you, teeth bared, a horrendous stench coming in her wake. You lurched away, shutting the door and turning to run. By the time you reached the lawn outside, the scene had completely unraveled into madness. People were running, bodies piling up as the sick swarmed over the fallen, tearing into flesh, ripping apart anything they could sink their teeth into. The distant wail of sirens blurred into the chaos as blood stained the grass, screams and growls filling the air like a living nightmare. Your breath came in fast, painful gasps as you sprinted your way back across the lawn. There were more sirens now, utter chaos happening outside. How it was so calm just minutes ago was beyond you.

You practically threw yourself into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys as your hands shook uncontrollably. Get home. Just get home. Get Dana. The thought pounded in your mind, the only thing keeping your body moving through the haze of panic. Your chest burned as you floored the gas pedal, tearing down the streets toward your apartment.

The sirens were louder now, almost constant, and you swerved past cars that were haphazardly abandoned along the road. The... the sick... the dead? Were the people even alive anymore? The memory of the way they looked almost like they were decomposing brought bile to your throat. They were out there, out on the roads now. You could still see them in your rearview mirror, staggering through the streets, dragging their mangled bodies as they closed in on anyone unfortunate enough to be in their path.

Your heart raced faster as your apartment building came into view. All you had to do was go in, get Dana, and run. You weren’t sure where you’d go, but you had to get out of the city– now.

You slammed the car door shut as you scrambled out, sprinting toward the entrance. The eerie quiet of the building set your nerves on edge. Normally, you'd hear the hum of TVs, distant conversations, the shuffle of people going about their day. Now—nothing.

The silence was suffocating as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You reached your apartment, your fingers fumbling with the lock before you threw the door open. Home. Safe. You had to believe it.

But the second you stepped inside, a heavy, metallic stench hit you like a punch to the gut—blood. It was thick in the air, clinging to your nostrils, souring your stomach. You froze in place, dread pooling in your gut as your eyes swept the apartment.

“Dana?” Your voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper.

No response.

Your legs moved on their own, carrying you toward her bedroom, where the sick, wet sound of chewing grew louder with every step. The door was ajar, just a crack, and your heart plummeted as you pushed it open.

The sight before you made your entire body seize.

Dana was on the bed, or rather, what was left of her. Her body lay motionless, torn open from the stomach, her intestines spilling out onto the sheets in a grotesque display of red and pink. The boyfriend from last night—the guy you swear you had just seen her cuddled up with—was hunched over her, his teeth sinking into her side. His face was smeared with her blood, flesh hanging from his mouth as he chewed with a sickening squelch.

Your knees nearly gave out, a scream rising in your throat, but you choked it down, stepping back, eyes wide with terror. Your brain struggled to catch up with what was happening—what was real. Dana was dead. He killed her. He was eating her.

The boyfriend’s head snapped up, blood dripping from his chin, his dead eyes locking onto you. His movements were jerky, unnatural, as he slowly rose from Dana’s body. You watched in horror as he let out a low, guttural growl, stumbling toward you, his hands twitching, bloodied fingers stretching out as if he was about to grab you.

Panic took over. Run.

You turned and bolted out of the room, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you raced down the hallway. Behind you, you heard him crashing through furniture, clumsy but relentless, his footsteps heavy and uneven as he pursued you.

Your mind was a blur, your body moving on instinct. Get out. Get out. Get out. But before you reached the door, your foot caught on something, sending you sprawling to the floor. Pain shot through your palms as they slapped against the hardwood, but you didn’t have time to process it. You pushed yourself up, scrambling into the kitchen.

Your eyes darted around frantically, searching for anything—a weapon, something. Your fingers brushed against the handle of a knife, and you grabbed it, clutching it tightly as you turned to face him. He was still coming, staggering toward you, his dead, bloodshot eyes never leaving you.

“Stay back!” you screamed, raising the knife, but the words were useless. He didn’t even flinch.

He lunged at you, arms outstretched, and you reacted on pure adrenaline. You thrust the knife forward, aiming for his chest, but he hardly seemed to notice. He was stronger than you expected, and before you could get away, he was on you, knocking you backward onto the floor.

Your back hit the ground with a painful thud, the air knocked out of your lungs as his cold, bloodstained hands gripped your shoulders. His teeth snapped at you, so close you could smell the rot on his breath.

With a surge of desperation, you thrust your hips upward, trying to knock him off balance, but he barely budged. His weight pressed down on you, crushing, and for a moment, you thought it was over.

But then, you remembered Dana’s playful wink, the way she kissed the air at you. No.

With a scream of raw terror, you brought the knife up again, aiming for his head this time. You drove it into his temple with all the strength you had left. The blade sank in with a sickening squelch, and he went rigid, his body jerking once before collapsing onto you.

Panting, you shoved him off, his lifeless body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You sat there for a moment, your entire body shaking uncontrollably as the reality of what just happened washed over you. Dana was dead. Her boyfriend—no, that thing—was dead.

You dropped the knife, your hands slick with blood, your mind reeling, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

But the blood on your hands, on the floor, said otherwise.

x flash forward x

Daryl

Everyone is panicked as they search the barn for the kid. He’s nowhere to be seen, save for the strip of fabric that was around his eyes and the discarded duct tape crumbled on the ground.

The group gathers quickly, tension buzzing through the air like static. Rick’s barking out orders, his voice sharp as he directs people to spread out, to search the perimeter, but Daryl’s mind is already somewhere else. His chest tightens with every passing second as they scour the barn, overturning crates, looking for any sign of what happened.

T-Dog keeps shaking his head, muttering under his breath, “I swear, he was here. Ain’t no way he could’ve gotten out by himself.”

“Door was secure from the outside,” Hershel states, closing the door to show the lock.

“I had left the keys in em’” T-Dog says, clapping a hand over his face, “but still–he wouldn’t of been able to get out,”

Rick crouches by the opened chains, his face dark, eyes scanning the ground of the barn “These weren’t broken,” he says, his voice low, more to himself than anyone else. “Someone let him out.”

Daryl’s standing off to the side, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, but his mind isn’t on the prisoner anymore. A gnawing feeling digs deeper into his gut, a tightness in his chest he can’t ignore. His eyes scan the yard, the trees, the paths leading out from the barn. Something’s off. 

And then his heart skips a beat– You. Where the hell were you?

He swallows hard, his gaze sweeping over the group. Everyone’s accounted for—Rick, T-Dog, Andrea, Hershel, Glenn—but not you. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you…this morning, maybe? Had it been that long? No, he saw you going into the house this afternoon to help pack things into the rooms. But after that, he can’t remember seeing you again.

“Rick,” Daryl’s voice comes out rough, sharper than he means, but the panic is starting to claw its way up his throat. “You seen Y/N?”

Rick pauses, glancing over at him with a furrowed brow. “She was around earlier, right?”

Daryl’s jaw tightens. He already knows the answer. You’re not here. He can feel it in his bones, that gut-deep instinct that something’s wrong, that you’re not just off doing some chores. The realization hits him like a freight train—if Randall’s gone, and you’re not here...

Without waiting for a response, Daryl strides out of the barn, his heart racing, his breath coming faster as he starts scanning the woods. The panic rising in him feels unfamiliar, out of his control, but he can’t stop it. The thought of you out there alone—especially with that kid, maybe trying to gain your trust, get you to come with him—makes his skin crawl.

“She’s gone too,” Daryl mutters, half to himself. The words taste bitter, each one twisting tighter in his chest.

Rick is behind him now, his voice tight with concern. His eyes widen as he looks to the woods, “you think she…?”

Daryl doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. His mind is racing, piecing together the only thing that makes sense. You must have gone after Randall. Maybe you thought you could fix things, stop all this from blowing up. But that only means one thing: You’re out there with him. Alone.

Daryl’s blood runs cold. “ Damn it ,” he growls, hands gripping his crossbow tighter, his legs already moving as he starts toward the woods. “I’m gonna find her.” 

The group exchanges glances, the weight of the situation sinking in for all of them. They’ve lost track of both Randall and you, and the realization that you might be in danger has Daryl on edge in a way no one’s ever seen before.

Rick steps up beside him, hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Daryl. Where’s Shane? Someone go get him. We’ll get her back.”

Rick hurriedly tells Glenn to go with him, it’s too dark to be out there alone.

But Daryl barely hears Glenn running behind him. His mind is locked on one thing— finding you before it’s too late.

[autumn-crush]

The Mists

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: The Doctor (11th) x Reader

Words: 808

Time Lord Reader has a moment on an isolated planet with The Doctor.

A breeze rustled the grass of the endless field of purple grass. Golden orbs of light danced through low-hanging grey mist and twisted around the swaying blades of grass. A blanket of dark blue stretched across the sky. The silver glow of stars speckled the dim sky. 

You pulled your legs to your chest and cast your eyes upwards. Sadness pressed on your chest as the names of the stars filled your mind. 

There was a deep, unplaceable dread at the desolation that followed their names. Stars without any planets. Stars in a galaxy so far from the center of the universe that you’d have to travel millions of lightyears to be able to reach its closest neighbour. A galaxy that wouldn’t hold a shred of intelligent life for another few billion years. Intelligent life that would spend their achingly short lifespan isolated from the greater universe.

You ran your fingers through the grass. You stilled as one of those golden orbs brushed against the back of your hand. You turned your palm upwards, and the orb landed on your hand. It warmed your skin as it rolled across your palm. It vibrated with life and untouched energy. 

The orb would evolve into one of the creatures that would wander the planet. For now, it was merely a bundle of energy. It’d take hundreds of millions of years for it to turn into an animal.

You blew onto the orb, and it floated off into the distance.

Footsteps crunched in the grass behind you. You looked over your shoulder as The Doctor stepped out of his Tardis. He settled onto the grass beside you, his eyes stuck on the field.

Your eyes lingered on the side of his face.

While his face was softer and younger than you’d ever seen it, the heavy weight of age was unmistakeable. The droop of his shoulders, the shadow in his eyes, the slight downturn to his lips. The stress had always been there, but it had become overwhelmingly obvious since the Time War.

You tried to not let his low mood effect you, but there was no way it couldn’t. Not after he brought you to the most isolated planet in the universe. 

You swallowed and followed his gaze. You breathed in the air, enjoying the diverse layers of chemicals. The sweetness of the grass, the cool weight of the mist, the clarity of the fresh air untouched by corruption.

While you were a Time Lord, you’d lost your Tardis long ago. It had broken down beyond your ability to repair and had burnt up in a supernova. Luckily for you, that event had immediately turned into a set point in time. Something that you couldn’t touch, couldn’t undo, or else the fabric of the universe and time itself would crumble. 

At the absence of your own Tardis, you had resorted to using The Doctor as your personal time-taxi. He was always there when you called, no matter what version you found yourself in front of.

The Doctor broke the silence, “Why don’t you travel with me?” He looked to you, the darkness that had been shining in his eyes pushed behind a glimmer of child-like wonder. “There’s this festival in Tarvosh. Great big thing. Fireworks. Paint.” His voice lightened into a laugh. “Lots of paint. Good food. I’ve been dying to find someone who would go with me.”

You shook your head. The joy in his expression fell, and your heart tightened so much it ached. “I have a dinner to get to.” You tilted your head towards him and forced a faint smile. “And I’m about eighty million years late.”

He nodded and dropped his eyes to the ground.

You swallowed and added, “It’s not polite to keep a Time Lord waiting.”

He smiled, that light returning to his eyes. “No,” he said and returned his attention to you. “We can go to Tarvosh later.”

“Yes,” you said, your words holding the warmth of promise.

You wanted to tell him that you’d already gone. You wanted to recount the week you’d spent there with him, carousing and exploring and taking pleasure in the cultural traditions. But you couldn’t. Time was too washy, too strange. One wrong word and everything could fall apart. Your relationship could get so ripped apart that you would have to spend the rest of eternity traipsing around the universe, making sure you never crossed his path. The time you had with him was precious. You couldn’t risk it.

He nodded, a brown tuft of hair falling over his eyebrow. He jumped to his feet and clapped his hands, a goofy smile spreading across his lips. “Let’s get going. If we’re quick you might get there in time for appetizers.”

You smiled to yourself as you got to your feet and followed him into the Tardis.