#creed: next round

[keycomicbooks]

Creed: Next Round #1 (2023) Mateus Manhanini Cover / Wilton Santos Pencils / Latoya Morgan Story / 1st Appearance of Adonis & Amara Creed "The Next Round" Ten years after the events of the blockbuster Creed III, Amara Creed is on her own path, stepping outside her father Adonis Creed's shadow and training like there's no tomorrow.  https://rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/Creed%20Next%20Round.html

 #RareComicBooks #KeyComicBooks #Boom #ComicBooks

[graphicpolicy]

Creed: The Next Round #4 delivers a decent finale that expands Creed's world

Creed: The Next Round #4 delivers a decent finale that expands Creed's world #comics #comicbooks #creed #rocky #ncbd

Amara prepares for the showdown of a generation, aided by family and coaching that only the ring can bring. But winning the war in the ring can only go so far, while the war in the boardroom remains… Creed: The Next Round #4 wraps up an intriguing extension of the Rocky and Creed brand. Overseen by Michael B. Jordan and written by Latoya Morgan and Jai Jamison, Creed: The Next Round has been an…

[madameaug]

Knocked Out || Adonis Creed

Adonis Creed x Black Fem Reader (reader is described to be a stallion)

Eight years had passed since you crossed the stage with your high school cohort. Time had done some of your classmates good. Losing the round chubby cheeks, the hormonal acne, and even worse, teenage body odor. Many attend the feed-in university, just forty minutes from your old high school.

In the eight years it seems that your classmates had gotten busy. You counted four extremely pregnant bellies passing you, as you walked to the gymnasium. You didn't waste your time looking for your old high school crew. The trio broke up shortly after senior year, over a man, who was dictionary definition of 'community dick'.

The rift going so far that a restraining order had to be placed. Your lack of verbal support for either side led you to being dropped hotter than fish grease. So you gave yourself two hours max at the reunion before you were going to go home and crack open a bottle of wine.

Classic pop songs from high school played over the gymnasium speaker, and you were getting an eerie flashback to prom night. Except without the awkward bright lights and hypervigilant chaperones, at least that's what you watched from the couple of social media stories of the night.

Sitting on the front row of the bleachers, you toyed with a loose braid that must have dropped from your bun. You itched not to pull out your phone to look somewhat busy, as you noticed two figures approach you out the corner of your eye.

"Yn?"

Turning your head, you placed a friendly smile on your face.

"Oh my goodness, it is you. I almost didn't recognize you." The blonde elbowed the really uninterested man beside her. Olivia, she too had been bit by the pregnancy bug, her bump causing her to rub her back achingly.

"She is the one I was telling you that had a real talent for drawing. She won so many art competitions, she was undefeatable." She rambled off to the man the list of awards you won.

"She use to have this drawing notebook that looked to be twenty pounds, these adorable hairclips that matched the different rubber bands of your braces. I don't know if you did that on purpose,but it was super cute. I just wanted to let you know."

Stopping the middle of her sentence, she palmed herself in the forehead.

"Forgive me, pregnancy brain. Five kids will do that to you."

Your eyes widened.

"What was a saying?" She tapped her chin. You assumed the man next to her to be her husband. He seemed exhausted and ready to leave the conversation.

"Dear we should probably go, we don't want to annoy people." He spoke with a posh accent.

"Oh! I remember now." Inviting herself to the seat beside you.

"Tell me the secret girl. How did you do it?" She looked like she was on the edge of her seat.

"How did I do what?" You laughed, unsure of what she could be talking about.

"Who did it for you. Was it expensive? Do they take private insurance?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not following." You used your customer service voice to unofficially ask what she's talking about.

"The weight you dropped. How did you do it? You went from 280 to not even being 190." Olivia gently pushed your arm like you were playing, oblivious to what she was implying this entire time. Your lips curled up, failing to hide the bitter taste developing on the tip of your tongue.

Another characteristic you developed not to long after graduation was a backbone. Before you let snide or backhanded remarks about your weight roll off your shoulder. Never letting it truly bother you, but now at your grown age you could take and dish it.

"I don't know just went to the gym, and ate healthy."

"Oh, save that spill for the others. You can trust me girl. Cause when this baby drops I'm getting back into my Brandy Melville's." She threw her head back as if what she said was the hottest line from a stand-up comedian's hour.

Your face was less than enthused. Oblivious to the change of the conversation, she pestered you some more for the name of your alleged doctor.

Her husband, who was shrinking in his posture looked like he wanted to apologize on behalf of his wife. But he remained by her side, rubbing her back.

"I gotta take this, but I'll get back to you." You showed your work phone, rising off the bleachers and walking away from her sight. Calling it a night, you walked down the hall to where the parking lot was located. The walls were bare except with framed images from your senior year. With each step you took, it was like a story was being told, from different povs. The pictures were diverse and didn't just focus on the students who rose through the social hierarchy. It allowed you to see people you may have forgotten while surviving the experience called high school.

It wasn't until you saw a picture of yourself that you stopped. You remember the moment extremely well. The day you stepped out of your comfort zone and submitted for the 'If I Ruled the World' scholarship.

Your cheeks were so big that your smile caused your eyes to look like they were closed. You remember taking hours practicing your makeup. It was the first time you had ever wore eyeliner, watching countless videos on how to get the perfect wing. The neon pink rubber bands matched the butterfly hair clips in your box braids. With no true sense of fashion at fifteen, you wore a sheer top and bellbottom pants with your favorite polka-dot Converse. Your family was standing on both sides of you. Your mother and father to your immediate left and right, and your older and younger siblings beside them. You were the middle child of three, plus a bonus sibling from your dad's previous marriage.

You had no idea that submitting for this competition would allow you to compete at the state level for your drawings and land you a hefty scholarship at any school of your choosing. While drawing was a passion, you needed to turn it into a profitable career, so you double majored in Real Estate and Interior Design, with a minor in Graphic Design.

A faint smile appeared on your face. Your thoughts are tuning out your name.

"Dang girl. I was calling you for like thirty seconds. Had me thinking that wasn't your name."

Adonis 'Donnie' Creed spoke, coming out of your peripheral vision.

"Good to see you." You side-hugged him. Smelling his cologne. Not overwhelming but clean. Masculine.

"Sorry, don't know if I can hug you now. Since you are all famous now." You teased.

"So you watch me fight." His dimples popped with his smile.

"I hear some things." You left vague. Truthfully, you weren't a total fan of boxing, but one of your recent clients is a boxer himself. So you may have let a couple fights play while cleaning or cooking dinner.

The pair of you didn't speak for a couple of moments. Letting your eyes do all the catching up that it needed. Nothing much about Donnie had changed. His body filled out a little bit more to match the big head he had, but from the outside looking in he hadn't changed much.

Meanwhile, Donnie wasn't sure where to start with you. So much about you had changed, but very little at the same time. You had grown into your looks, and what stood out to him the most was your eye contact. You held your own with his gaze, and from the slight height difference, he could see your almond eyes from the natural lash extensions you wore. A couple of skin blemishes that you covered flawlessly with light makeup. Coils volumptuous in a pineapple puff.

Clearing his throat, Donnie pointed to the gymnasium behind him.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to accompany me back there." A frown creased your lips. The scene replays in your mind, why you even left the gym in the first place.

"I would, but I think I should call it a night." Donnie looked at the diamond-crusted wristwatch, which glistened against the overhead lights.

"It's barely 9:00pm."

"I'm surprised you can tell time with that thing." You joked. He dryly laughed in return.

"But seriously, are you leaving?"

"Yeah, I have to get back to my little guy." You spoke not thinking how it sounded. Donnie's face trying to read in between what you were saying.

"This little guy." Flashing your lock screen showing your sandy brown pet.

"Gus Jamal Tucker."

The picture of Gus was him on your couch, a few hours after you had brought him home. He is the sweetest thing and a great addition to your house, since you have mastered plant mom life.

"Now why did you give him the blackest middle name ever?" Donnie leaned over, looking at the picture. He could admit that Gus was pretty cute from the limited number of guinea pigs he had seen.

"I had to embrace him in his culture. When he gets into trouble, he knows I mean business when I call him Jamal." You laughed.

"Well I don't want to stop you from your motherly duties." Part of you didn't want to depart quite yet. Even though you hadn't been speaking to Donnie for too long, it was still better than the previous small talk you were roped into.

"Walk me to my car." I believe you said, more so than asked. Donnie nodded and you both walked out the parking lot. The humid weather wipes off the light chill you developed from inside.

You were glad that you kept your attire casual. Jean shorts that stopped at your knees, and a baggy graphic tee. The weather was enjoyable. You and Donnie engaged in some more small talk, and stopped once you arrived at your midnight black sedan.

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a real estate agent."

Releasing a 'whooo' into his fist Donnie smiled at the news.

"Cmon now. That's what I'm talking about." You rolled your eyes at his exaggeration.

"Stop it."

"Im serious. I've been looking a crib in California since I'm officially signed. So that is great news for me."

"Congratulations. I can only imagine how much this means to you."

Since you met Donnie in fourth-period French, you know how much the last name 'Creed' meant to him. To continue on his father's legacy, but to also carve a path of his own. Everyone at West Valley knew that. Hell, the whole city knew that.

"This is only the beginning." Donnie looked slightly behind you, as if the words held a deeper meaning that you weren't privy to. Making the first move, Donnie took out his phone.

"Since my social media is heavily monitored, I wasn't sure if you would wanna follow me there. But I do want to keep in contact."

"I only have a work social media page." You rejected him gently. "But you can have my number."

Quietly smiling, Donnie nodded his head.

"I must tell you, I don't give my number out to a lot of people. So don't blow it. I don't hesitate to block people."

Donnie took your words as some sort of joke. "Oh really? You have changed so much Yn."

"In more ways than you know, " you typed in the final digits of your number, saving your contact information as your first name and last initial.

You unlocked your car door, slipping into the driver's seat. Resting a hand on the roof, Donnie gaze lingered on you. He wasn't sure if it was apparent how he checked you out. Noticing even the more minor details of your appearance. The increased number of piercings in your ears, even trialing up to the industrial piercing on your right ear. To the red ink tattoo across your forearm that spelled out 'qué será será' in cursive.

"Get home safe." You spoke to him.

"Same to you." He spoke, stepping back from your car, and watching your taillights as you left the parking lot.

---

You increased the volume of the speaker which was connected to your sensual rnb instrumental playlist. One of your favorite things about open house, was curating the vibe. It was vital for you to know your general audience.

Lakewood, California, was the city where you predominantly sold your houses. The city was culturally diverse a high number of your clients ethnically coming from Pacific-Island countries and others were born and raised Californians.

You waved your wand of incense throughout the house, to make it feel more cozy. The sound of your kitten's heels tapping against the tile, causing a little echo in the empty home.

It was a three-story, craftsman home, recently built in 2023. The house was 40,000 square feet, and the price was just over $900,000. The home came with the latest architectural designs, as it was an eco-friendly home that ran off a generator and solar power. A medium-sized oval pool in the backyard. An open floor kitchen, with an in-house bread maker above the microwave. The dining room was wood, comfortably seating eight guests. The second floor contained four bedrooms; two were full, one was a Queen, and the other, located in the center of the floor plan, was a California King. The basement had the perfect space for a personal fitness center or hobbies.

The doorbell rang, and you went back upstairs to greet the guest. Imagine your surprise when you notice Adonis in the back of the guest. He showed up by himself, in a all black sweatshirt. A silver cuban link around his neck, and shades blocking his eyes. But you recognized him easily. You didn't go out of your way to greet him, but started your speel on the facts about the home. There were twenty people on the tour with you, which is on the larger side, especially for a home of this value.

Besides you and Adonis, you were the only two people who could oversee the guests' height. The added inch from the baby heels made you easily 5'10. Being the tallest woman in the crowd helped boost your confidence. People had no choice but to look up at you and would have to make a fool out of themselves to ignore you. You were a tall, curvy, black woman—a stallion in modern use—and you commanded the attention of others.

Adonis still taller than you by three inches, could catch up to your stride. He kept his voice low, as if they were having a private conversation during the tour.

"Hey, Yn would you mind if we have a look of the place ourselves?" A woman asked.

You nodded, eager to keep your professionalism to the guest. As soon as you saw the guest disappear, you turned around to face Adonis.

"I didn't think million-dollar houses were your style." You sarcastically spoke. Adonis looked up at the multiple crystal chandeliers.

"Rocky always told me to expand my taste."

"Did he now?"

"I think he might have been talking about my diet. You know Five Guys is a killer for the gut. But if the shoe fits..."

Faintly amused, you walked into the kitchen, where your speaker playing R&B continued. Adonis followed behind you. It was his turn to speak.

"You know you never texted me last night."

Raising a brow, you tilted your head. "About?"

"To see if you made it home safely."

"Lol." You fanned Adonis, a laugh seeping out. "So you followed me to my open house. You could have just sent a text."

"Yeah, but I like to confirm in person."

"Well I hate to take you away from your busy schedule. But as you can see I'm fine."

Deliberately not taking the hint, Donnie walked through the home some more. Asking some basic questions about the foundation and interior. Is the couch color cream or eggshell? How many people could fit in this pool?

You answered the questions as if he was an actual prospective buyer. Deep down enjoying the company he was providing during the open house. Adonis had an aura about him that brought calmness to any situation. It was the way that he spoke, the way he carried himself. Nothing could get underneath his skin or ruffle his feathers.

Ten minutes later you regrouped at the center of the downstairs dining room. Answering any lingering questions and being as persuasive as possible to sway any potential buyers. The woman who spoke to you earlier raised a singular finger. A sign in the real estate industry that meant she was ready to sign paperwork, in private. A smile on your face, you closed the gathering. Hand out your business card to the other attendees. When you got to Adonis, he had a mischievous look on his face.

"I can admit the place is nice. But maybe a little too big for where I am in life right now. Do you have any other recommendations?"

I understand if you're too busy; we could continue this another time. Not wanting to hold you back from your business, Donnie had a determined look in your eye. He wasn't going to leave the premises until there was a mutually scheduled time for him to see you again.

"I'll call you." You tried to make your words sound as professional as possible. You didn't want any of the other guest to hear you extend this offer, as you kept a strict divide between business and pleasure. Adonis was neither a client nor a pleasure.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I'm a woman of my word."

"I know."

-----

"I ain't ever get an ass-whooping as bad." Donnie spoke, causing you to lean over to the side. Clutching your side with laughter. You tried to catch your breath, but couldn't contain the burst of laughter.

"Wait, wait. You got a whooping cause you took your dad's truck?" You calmed yourself for a second, trying to clarify the story. The corners of your eye were producing water, you gently dabbed your eye.

"Nah, I could have easily played off borrowing the car. I couldn't explain the massive dent on the passenger side from me hitting a tree." Donnie stirred his drink, reflecting at his juvenile tendencies.

"Wow, I'm sorry." You spoke. Not even three seconds later, your armor cracked and you entered another cycle of laughter. You hadn't laughed this hard in a long time.

"I'm glad you think my pain is funny, Yn."

"Okay, I'll stop." Regulating your breathing, you pushed down any signs of you laughing. Fanning your face, you face felt warm.

Changing the conversation topic, you asked Donnie how he even discovered this place. You now showed off multiple homes and apartments in Lakewood but this spot seemed to escape you. You would have loved coming to the complex for the mini golf and wings.

"A guy who goes to my gym, talks about this place all the time. I just haven't taken the time to visit."

The waitress came to your booth, placing your entrees on the table. The smell of the ten-piece honey-chipotle woke up your stomach. For health reasons, a side of celery and carrot sticks, instead of fries. Donnie had a loaded chicken sandwich almost as big as his head.

Recording a short video of your food, you took a bite from your celery stick.

"So, how long are you going to be in California?"

"Hopefully, I don't have to relocate after this, but I know I'll be here at least for the next ten months."

"Any city in particular you wanna stay?"

"I have extended family in Long Beach, but the facility I'm training at is in Lakewood. Sorta in the neighborhood you were showing your house at."

"So you didn't just come out there to see me." You joked.

"Well I am looking for a place, but it's it is best to get an apartment rather than a house." He wiped his face, eating a little over than half of the sandwich.

"But seeing you was a highlight."

"Well I know some apartments in Lakewood that me what you are looking for. There is actually a couple vacancies in the apartment complex beside mine. It's gated with 24/7 security.

"Boujee." Donnie faked a cough in his hand. You rolled your eyes. The waitress came back to the table, refilling your glass of water.

"Is this one or two checks?"

"One."

"Two."

Looking between both of you, the young lady was confused.

"Donnie, you don't have to pay for me. I'm serious." You dug in your purse for your phone.

"I invited you out, so I'm gonna pay. No big deal."

"That only counts if it's a date."

"Consider it a friendly favor." You didn't push it any further. Donnie handed the waitress his card.

"So, what do you want in return?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. You said it was a favor, so how can I pay you back."

"Don't worry about it."

Looking around the sport complex, you saw an empty lane for bowling. You tilted your head to the lane behind you.

"After lunch let's go play."

"Alright. But I'm super competitive, so don't expect me to go easy." Donnie's chest puffed up, his ego shining through.

"Oh please." Sliding out of the booth, you stretched. "Don't expect me to go easy on you."

Getting his card again, you and Donnie walked over to the bowling lane. Starting the round, you selected the twelve-pound ball. Adjusting your jewelry, you went to the line. Assessing the pins in front of you, you walked up slowly. Releasing the ball off your fingertips, you watched the slow spin it did down the lane. The falling of the pins was almost harmonic as you knocked down eight pins.

Not satisfied yet, you waited for the ball to cycle back. Picking it up again, did the same steps. Walking up slowly, now adjusting your aim to the corner of the lane. Counting to three, you released the ball yet again. The ball appeared to be heading straight to the gutter, before curving at the final second, smacking the pin on the right. The remaining pin wobbled. You turned around to walk where Adonis stood. He folded his arms, watching the animation of the 'spare' you received. To your surprise, you heard the collapse of the final pin as it almost got swept up.

"Told you I wasn't going easy on you." You brushed her hand on his shoulder, taking a seat. His eyes twinkled, accepting the challenge you presented. Rolling his neck, his biceps flexed, lifting up the heavy bowling ball.

"Watch and learn."

For the next thirty minutes, pins clattered against the ground. If a sped-up montage replayed, it would show you and Donnie's score climbing up. If you got a strike, then Donnie would call a strike. You had met your match, working up a sweat in the process.

Approaching the final lane, you hadn't realized you were holding your breath. Adonis was two points behind you and had already knocked down half of his pins. With a hand behind your back, you crossed your fingers. Confidence laced in his stride, he rolled the ball down the lane. With quick speed, it had a spiral shape. Almost hypnotic in its movements. The ball collided with four pins, securing Adonis the win.

Folding your lips on each other, you watched the glee spread across his face. He stood an arm's distance away from you, looking at you, waiting.

"Good game." You held eye contact with him.

"Thank you."

You exchanged a couple of lingering glances at him. Not really bothered by the fact he was giving you the same look. Breaking the trance, a cellphone rang. Slow to answer, Donnie put the phone to his ear.

You collected your purse and slung it on your shoulder. Checking the time, a little over an hour had passed since you arrived at the complex. Soon enough, the traffic would start to pick up. Multitasking, Donnie spoke on the phone while following you to your vehicle.

"I hope you had fun today."

You felt like you were in the same position as when you first saw Adonis at the reunion, and you felt like you were experiencing deja vu.

"I did. Thanks."

"I hope to catch you around. Maybe you could show me some good spots here in Lakewood."

"No problem." You smiled, turning on your car. "I'll text you when I get home."

"Call me, I'm not much of a good texter."

"Your a boxer, and you aren't good with your fingers." You squinted, watching him quickly explain himself.

"I'm not saying that. But sometimes I forget to respond and respond in my head." He played off his words, smooth as silk.

"Don't be a stranger." You waved goodbye, watching his figure in your rear-view mirror get smaller and smaller.

---

Adonis wrapped his hand with the tape, listening to the conversation beside him. It was after hours, meaning that the gym was open to all levels of fighters. The three young men, were engrossed in a lively debate.

"You mean that if you had a chance, Celena Johnson, you wouldn't shoot your shot? " The dark-skinned man in a durag spoke. He wore a muscle long-sleeved T-shirt and joggers. He resembled a young Morris Chestnut combined with Kofi Siriboe.

"Bold to assume she would even spare a glance at this nigga." A man with shoulder-length braids chimed in next. His breath did not even falter while warming up on the jump rope.

"Man, watch out. If Celena got to know me, she wouldn't be able to get enough of me. Stop playing."

The lighter-skinned man with pulled-up locs spoke. He was the tallest out of the group, even a couple of inches taller than Adonis.

Adonis tried his best to ignore their comments as the men debated whether they stood a chance with Celena Johson, the face of Savage Fenty and a well-known influencer. Celena also happened to be Adonis's ex from a not-too-long-ago relationship. None of which Adonis was just going to interject into their semi-private conversation. This was a gym, not a locker room.

Plugging in his wireless headphones, Adonis put on his workout playlist. The songs were a tasteful mix of East and West Coast hip-hop with a sprinkle of drill music—anything to alter his headspace so he could push himself to the limits. Hip-hop music did the trick for him. Starting with a warm-up, Adonis got on the stair master, setting the level to 9. He sprints up the stairs in five-minute intervals and rests for a minute before running again.

His heart rate increased as he reflected on his upcoming fight. He was battling Niko 'Night-Night' Guiterriez, a heavyweight from New Mexico. Adonis had watched a couple of reels from his previous fights, he too came a family of fighters. His uncle, Manny, sparred against Mike Tyson before being knocked out in the eighth round.

Niko was nothing slight of a beast himself. Well over 200 pounds and standing at 5'11, his muscle mass intimidated anyone. Despite having so much weight on him, he was light on his feet. Known for bouncing around the ring for multiple rounds without a falter in energy.

Adonis knew he wasn't going to be some pushover. Moving to the punching bags, Adonis landed powerful strikes—left, right, upper left. His combos were coming faster, and his arms were burned. Beads of sweat pressed through the t-shirt he wore. Making a conscious effort to move around the bag, Adonis punched with all his might. The counter sway of the page added more resistance when he punched harder.

He hadn't realized when his thoughts started to turn away from his training. He saw your face first, then he heard your voice. His mind went to the moment you held eye contact with him. He got to look into your eyes. In this moment, he was able to appreciate the sense of growth—from your more reserved, timid mannerisms in high school to the grown woman you were now. The small awkwardness of high school was a thing of the past. From the little game of bowling, you weren't afraid of trash talk. Something that he lived for in and out of the ring.

It was refreshing from his past relationships, something he could especially notice since Celena broke off the relationship with him. He was used to fighting to the top of the priority list, competing with brand deals, social media comments, and her overall ego. He thought he liked girls that every man was attracted to, until he realized that ego made her head too big.

Though your interactions with each other over the past week have been brief, his gut told him that you weren't like that to your core. And if he couldn't trust his gut, what could he trust?

Pushing himself in the final stretches of the workout, Donnis grunted in pain as his fist kept punching the bag. Feeling the contents inside shift with his punches. Knuckles are becoming tender from the repeated force. With a final punch, it landed on the side of the bag. Adonis stepped back, watching a small hole of sand litter onto the ground. Proud, he unwrapped his hands, observing the skin above his knuckles had torn open. Not quite raw, but if he kept training like this (and he would) a more serious wound could develop.

Hitting the showers, the hot water soothed his aching muscles. A towel wrapped around his hips, as he laid out his change of clothes. His phone rang, under the impression that you had called him he answered quickly.

"Yo."

"Adonis." Squeezing his eyes shut, Adonis regretted answering the phone.

"I knew you couldn't be mad at me for that long." Ignoring her, Adonis cut to the chase. Itching to hang up the phone.

"What do you want, Celena?"

"Don't sound so upset, Adonis. I was calling to let you know I'm in your city."

"And?"

"And? You don't wanna see me?"

"Not at all, actually."

"Mm, sassy." She quipped. The longer she spoke the more irritated Adonis found himself becoming. Getting dressed out of the locker room. Now all he wanted to do was sleep in his hotel room.

Like a horror character, Adonis was taken aback seeing Celena on the phone, standing in the center of the gym. She brushed the floor-length cornrows that rested in front of her pelvis. She was in a fiery red body-con jumpsuit. The plunge was deep showing off her sternum butterfly tattoo, and short enough to reveal the cuff of her butt. Open-toe YSL heels. She looked like she was getting dressed to an Atlanta lounge, not a professional boxing training facility in southern California.

"Wow, you can act a little more excited to see me Adonis."

"We broke up, or did you forget that part." Adonis moved to avoid her, but Celena stepped in his path. Her hand fell on his abdomen, she gave Adonis a pout.

"We can't be friends." She bit her lip. Adonis could barely recognize Celena. Switching up hairstyles, wearing new clothes, and even experimenting with new color contacts was one thing. But one too many cosmetic procedures, and the girl he dated four months ago was slowly disappearing. Adonis shook his head, stepping again to get out of her way.

Not giving up Celena inserted herself between the driver door and Adonis. Pressing her body against the door.

"Celena-"

"Why are you playing hard to get, mmh?" She raked her nails up the side of Adonis face. Adonis turned to look away from her and looked around at the spacious parking lot. A few cars were in the parking lot, but none near where he parked.

"I don't mind the chase." Leaning in to whisper in his ear. "I love it." Her tongue touched the shell of his ear. Firmly grabbing her arms, Celena's eyes were wild with wonder. Pupils pinpointed that she wasn't fully present.

"This is why we aren't together and we'll never be friends."

"You say it like I can't stop anytime. I just do it to take the edge off, you know all these cameras. It's not easy being in the spotlight."

"I wish you had come to me about that, but instead, you decided to befriend dealers who got you hooked on their supply."

Dropping her hands, Adonis's words seemingly ending whatever fictional reality she was living in. She rubbed her nose before looking Adonis up and down, her eyes were cold.

"It's because you are a fucking nobody Adonis. You don't even have a chance to operate in the same circles I do. No one would care about you if it weren't for your dad."

Striking a nerve, Adonis laughed. He could feel his heart rate pick up. A slew of insults nestled on his tongue, waiting to attack. He remembered the last time he spoke out of emotion. He spoke with his fists, beating in some mouthy man at the club. Taking in a deep inhale, holding his hands up he walked backwards from Celena.

"You got it."

Going without his car for the evening, would be the least of his concerns if he stuck around and got into an argument with Celena. The last thing he wanted to do was associate his name with hers any more than he already did.

Adonis walked down the streets of Lakewood. Evening traffic starting as cars sat in a standstill for multiple minutes. Coming from the streets of Philly the warm California weather was a nice change. The views in general were better. But there was nothing that compared to the Philly spirit. There was a certain way people in Philly carried themselves- a chip on their shoulder. The frequent weeks and months away from home made his realize that more and more.

Incoming Call... [Unsaved Number]

Hesitant to answer the phone. Who knows how creative scam callers could get, Adonis was cautious answering the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey?" You responded. Feet curled into your sofa.

"Oh it's you."

"Were you expecting someone else?" You laughed. You watched as Gus rolled around in his ball. You could hear the plastic ball gently rubbing against the tile floor.

"No, but I'm glad it was you who called."

Listening to the passing traffic in Adonis' background, you kept your words short.

"I just wanted to let you know I returned home."

Adonis was quiet on his end. His hotel now in sight.

"... also thank you for this afternoon. I had fun." Part of you was unsure why it felt like a frog was growing in your throat. It wasn't like you were confessing to him. But it was like your nervous system couldn't tell the difference. The last time you remember this nervous was back in middle school, talking to your crush on the house phone, fingers crossed one of your siblings or parents wasn't eavesdropping on the other side.

No response from Adonis still. You pulled back your phone, checking that the connection was still present.

"Hello?"

Incoming Facetime Request

Rolling your eyes, you let the phone ring a couple times. Answering on the final ring. Adonis had hoodie on his head. The lighting from the hotel lamp, created a calm environment. His full face was in view. Yours on the other hand, was off.

Unprepared for the sudden FaceTime call, you quickly turned off your camera. Not wanting to show just how comfortable you had gotten. Showering and rubbing your body in oil and sealing the moisture with your favorite scented lotion. Your breast hung in a baggy t-shirt that hid your shape well with breathable shorts. Not to mention the teal green scarf around your hairline, leaving your wispy baby hairs wild and fluffy.

Adonis looked at his phone, waiting for you to turn on the camera. Now it was his turn to question.

"Hello? Yn, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna turn your camera on? Or what." He laughed, his dimple coming out in his smile. He adjusted himself on the bed.

"Nope." You popped the 'p'. "I am very comfortable right now."

"Some things never change huh."

Intrigued by his comment, you asked him to explain.

"I mean I remember passing you in the halls. You wouldn't make eye contact with anybody. Always like you were looking above or through people. I thought you were avoiding someone, but I never considered you to be the 'shy' type."

"I'm surprised you even remember me being the halls, Donnie. You were quite occupied in those halls." Hinting at his 'fresh' antics in high school. Like most schools, there was a social hierarchy at West Valley. You considered yourself average, got good grades, and had a small group of true friends: Dominique and Faith. Not going out of your way to get involved in petty drama kept you out of the circulating drama that infested your high school. Donnie, on the other hand, was well-known. One, because he was on the varsity basketball team and was one of the few boys at the school over 6 feet.

"Don't remind me." He rubbed the back of his neck. The moment you were referring to coming to full memory. It wasn't one of his most proudest moments of his youth. Frisking up the girls he was chatting with at the moment. A couple of looks that gave 'bedroom eyes' but more so behind the football bleachers at 5 o clock. He didn't have the most wholesome reputation at that time.

A couple of beats passed, before Adonis asked another question.

"So what is your favorite color?"

Not coming off smooth at all, Adonis couldn't help but laugh at himself. You joined him of course.

"What is this 20 questions?"

"I'm tryna keep the conversation going."

"You just fighting sleep."

"Sleep is for the weak."

"But to answer your question, I don't really have a favorite color. Whatever color complements my complexion, I like."

"That's valid." Despite looking at your initials, it felt like Adonis was making eye contact with you. A part of you wanted to tap the button showing your face, headscarf and all. While another side of you enjoyed playing the mysterious role. You weren't any woman who just flocked to the name Adonis Creed.

"So you gonna ask me a question?"

"I can't believe I'm about to sit here and do this with you."

------

BITCH WE OUTSIDE TONIGHT

BITCH WE OUTSIDE TONIGHT

HE FUCKIN THAT BROKE BITCH

You were stuck in an echo chamber as you walked in the middle of your tipsy friends. All three were real estate agents, and of course being the only black women in this selling market you formed a bond quickly.

Since you all had such extensive knowledge about the hotspots in Lakewood, it was no surprise that yall were outside from the Lakewood 10th Bar Crawl. Yall were on your way to your third bar of the night, enjoying the company and wherever the night took you all.

Starting the song again, you spoke up to change the topic. Trying to save your sanity.

"If yall keep going, imma think yall are actually Natalie Nunn."

"Just wait til I hit the Saucy Santana bounce." Nearly having a wardrobe malfunction, Kiara bounced while walking. Her top nearly not enough to support her breasts, you put a hand on her chest, catching a breast before it fully came out. Taking her cue to show her ass too, Lonnie bent over bouncing her ass into your thigh. Totally bombarded with all the moving body parts, all you could do was just laugh. Watching from across the street, men passing by stopped in motion, like they were in a trance.

The three women were racially and physically diverse. Kiara is a proud Texan woman from Houston, never letting anyone forget that she is from the city of Beyonce and Megan Thee Stallion. When she wasn't in her business professional attire, she was a country-rancher at heart. Living far from the city, Kiara had a small cattle farm with her husband, Diego.

Lonnie was from California, specifically the Bay Area. A true California girl, Lonnie practically befriended most of California. Her parents ran one of the most popular med-spas in California. Initially, she had planned on going into cosmetology, but she found that real estate fed her retail therapy habit better and never looked back.

Physically, you were the tallest of the three, Dawfaring, Lonnie, and Kiara, with your wedged sandals. Your dark corset denim dress curved around your hips, making it a little short in the back, showing just the underside of your behind. Thighs on display a stack of gold anklets on your right ankle, and a red ink tattoo on your left ankle.

With every sway in your hips, you were conscious not to moon anyone behind you. Not that they would complain about the sight, but still. Calming them down in your drunken state, you all stood in line for the third bar when you spotted a group of young men with cameras out. They were slightly younger than you, maybe in their early 20s, no older than 23.

Spotting you three, the chatter in their group getting louder. One of the men, approaching you all slowly.

"Hi, I was wondering if you would be okay with us filming you all in a 'dapping up the 10s' video. It's for TikTok."

"You think I'm 10!" Lonnie has fixed her hair, pulling strands to the front to shape her face, and is reapplying another layer of gloss to her lips.

"Sure."

"Bet." Waving his friends over they started the tik tok.

One by one, they shook your hand, the camera capturing your face and outfit. You all hit an individual pose. Kiara did a 'peace sign', you blew a kiss, and Lonnie fluffed her hair. Watching the video back, you all approved. You liked the angles, and you ensured that nothing too revealing was exposed.

"Oh, we are definitely going viral with this one, " the guy said to his friends, who nodded in agreement.

"Is this how we become famous?" Kiara questioned. "Because we looked hot."

"We could get famous for worse." Lonnie interjected, and you casually agreed.

"What's the harm. Plus if that video goes viral, we can get more customers, which means more commission." In unison, the three of you jumped in a circle. Nothing like a promise of money, making you all smile.

Meanwhile, Adonis had a whole other reason to be smiling right now. Taking a break from his sparring match, he watched a video that some young boys from the gym recorded last night. The same group that was debating about Celena a couple of days ago. He thought it was viral boxing clips or some stupid meme. Adonis was pleasantly surprised when he saw you on TikTok's cover page.

Damn.

He had to control himself in front of the guys, but his attraction to you was clear. Your hair was in its natural state, a fluffy braid out. The denim dress left nothing to the imagination. Skin glowing from the moisture, makeup soft and minimalist. Adonis hadn't realized how tall you were until you stood between your two friends. You could easily wave one hand over their head.

"They were so bad. I thought they were models or something." The light-skinned one spoke.

"The shorty on the left, pressure."

"Look at the ring on her hand dumbass." The one with braids chirped.

"Fuck! That was supposed to be my wife." In fake distraught, he wiped his hands down his face.

The three quieted down the teasing, observing Adonis. He was on his phone texting, his privacy screen doing it's job. The person he was texting was obviously you. Every day we've been texting back and forth. Getting on the phone for a couple of hours here and there. Like watching a vlog, Adonis was on FaceTime while you grocery shopped. Loving how simple you life appeared. No random arguments in the middle of the night, no weird TMZ headlines feeding into outrageous rumors. He loved even more how easy he felt like he could be apart of the routine as well.

Adonis had just invited you to his upcoming fight with Niko. She read his text message, and he could see the thought bubbles. Like a lightning bolt to the heart, he saw your 'yes' in the text message, like a fire lit underneath him.

Cutting into their discussion on who they would shoot their shot at. Adonis popped up, “Who’s up to go some rounds?” Quiet. A pin drop could be heard. All three looked up like deer in headlights. Like a comedian, all three rambled off excuses as to why they were not eligible to go a few rounds with Adonis. Tapping his knuckles together, Adonis teased the group some more.

"Can't stay on the bench forever." He chucked his phone into his personal gym bag. His face said it all. He was in the zone, game on.

A/N: Finals are over !!!!!!

[honeyndsage]

HEAVY HANDS, HEAVY HEARTS

Adonis Creed X Kaila Marshall

Summary- Kaila Marshall has made it a long way from her hard upbringings in Queens, NY to her uprising boxing career. She is proud to say she did it all on her own. Her last winning match has brought quite a stir lately when her opponent dismisses her victory. Leading the media to portray her as an “angry, typical black woman.” Being the newly crowned heavyweight champion, Adonis Creed is again facing backlash and rumors questioning his loyalty and legacy after being trained by his father’s rival. When their worlds collide both parties feel a deep and unexpected connection they’ve never felt before leading to complications and maybe even confessions…

Slow burn, tension, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, maybe smut

Nova’s Notes- It’s literally 1 am and I have work at 6 lol but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head so I finally decided to do something about it and put this tumblr account to use

Chapter 1- Gloves Off

The roar of the crowd felt like a beast that filled every inch of the arena, the last bell rang and Kaila shot her hands into the air celebrating her victory with a prideful smile on her slightly bruised face. She won. Her opponent was fierce, she’ll give her that. But Kaila’s gift was even more fierce, round after round she threw sharp jabs, dodged punches, and stayed quick on her feet without fatigue. She knew she deserved that win no matter how good the opposing boxer was. But the real battle was only just beginning.

The press was waiting.

As she walked out of the arena a flood of flashing lights, fans, and reporters came through. One reporter with a microphone thrust out of the crown, “Kaila, many are saying your opponent wasn’t on her a-game tonight. What do you say to them?”

Kaila’s eyes quickly adverted to the man. “If she wasn’t on her a-game that’s on her. But don’t come and me and try to discredit my hard work. We both had the same amount of time to get prepared for this fight.” She was about to walk off but the reporter pushed for more. “Earlier she said you’re not that good, that you only won because if her off night.Thoughts?” A fire lit behind Kaila’s eyes and she had no plans on dimming it. “Like I said , she had plenty time to get on her a-game. She needs to stop making excuses and start trading better. I fought my fight and I won it, no exceptions, the end.”

Just like that, within hours, headlines flashed : “Kaila Marshall angrily calls out opponent Elizabeth Wright on training methods after her win.” “Boxing Rising Star or Aggressive Bully?”

She clenched her jaw at the posts, no matter how many times she wins there’s always something that she will lose in.

The next night….

The gym echoed with the sound of leather hitting mitts along with the laughter of kids hyped up on Gatorade and new found attention. Tonight was a charity event , but for Kaila it felt more like a circus, involuntary cameras flashing every time she interacted with a kid, reporters asking questions only to twist her words after, and of course the occasional boxer approaching her as if they knew her.

She wasn’t in the mood for it, especially after last night.

“Kaila Marshall, right?” A voice said from behind her.

She quickly turned, ready to roll her eyes. “ Yeah man, you want a picture or are you here to tell me I have an attitude problem too?” The man in front of her raised his brows in confusion, then she registered who he was.

“Adonis Creed,” she said flatly then exasperated. “of course.”

He gave her a small and careful smile, putting his hands up in defense. “Didn’t come to throw shade, just wanted to say congratulations, you held it down.” he then gave a small nod. Kaila crossed her arms, “thanks but I’m pretty sure you’re just saying that because they’re dragging you through the mud too.” She smirks a little and gives him a once-over. This time a small stifle came out of Adonis’ throat, “I’ve been getting called fake creed damn near all my life now, makes no difference. the only thing is them saying rocky made me, like I ain’t bleed for this. Trust me, I now what that heat feels like.” Adonis reacher over to her thigh.

[noirsfantasy]

𝕽𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊 | 𝖕𝖙. 2

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Jonathan Majors as Dame Anderson x Black!Plus-sized Reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Smut

𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 ➛ Creed

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛4.2k

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛After not hearing from Adonis for a few weeks, you realize that, maybe it really was just a fling. So, you decide to get your mind off of him. And the one who just so happens to be there is Dame…

𝔞/𝔫 ➛Y'all thought the first one was wild? Well, get ready for this next one, hehe.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰 ➛ @cardi-bre91

I'm out with my girls on a Saturday night, turning up in a club. I was thrown ass on my girl, Ari, and my other girl, Liyah, is recording and hyping us up. We're all tipsy, enjoying ourselves as the music bumps loudly in the background. I don't usually go clubbing, but when I do, it's to get my mind off of something. And tonight I wanted to forget about my disappointment with men.

See, I'd been hooking up with this guy, Adonis Creed, for the past few weeks. He's a famous boxer, but that wasn't why I was interested in him. I truly enjoyed being around him. He gave me a touch of passion that made my body quiver. But all good things come to an end, don't they?

Enough about that. Tonight is all about getting drunk and forgetting about all my troubles. As I sway my hips against my friend, giggling as we dance the night away, I feel eyes on me. Men are staring, their gazes burning with desire. I smirk and ignore them, but I do enjoy feeling wanted. Under the glow of the neon lights, I dance the night away, as Liyah and Ari cheer me on.

Taking a break, we make our way back to our table, giggling and carefree.

"I can't believe you can move like that in that dress, girl." Liyah chuckles as she slides into the booth. I laugh as I slide in after Ari, laying my head on the table.

"Girl, ion even know, but that shit was movin'!" I reply.

"You shoulda seen all the guys you had drooling over you." Ari adds and I shake my head.

"Hey, I'm tryna get my mind off of guys tonight, remember?" I remind them and Liyah rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." She takes the bottle from our table and downs the rest of it.

"Liyah, seriously?" Ari asks disapprovingly.

"What, girl? There was barely any left." Liyah raises her hands in defense. I giggle and stand up, a bit tipsy but still able to function.

"Chill out, I'll go get us some more drinks." I say, sliding out of the booth. "Be back before you know it."

"How 'bout I get you ladies another round?" I hear a deep, sexy voice rumble from behind me. As I turn around to see who it is, I come face to face with a tall, handsome man looking down at me with interest. I recognize him as the current heavyweight champion, Dame Anderson. I know he and Donnie had a bit of a falling out and that they were preparing for a title fight. I'd only ever heard about him through media, but we've never actually met. So I have no idea what he's doing here, talking to me.

"Holy shit, is that Damian Anderson?" Ari slurs in surprise and he smirks at her.

"The one and only, but y'all beautiful ladies can call me Dame." He winks at them and then his eyes shifts back to me. I have to stop myself from biting my lip at the sight of him. He's a total stud— ruggedly handsome with an intense gaze and a muscular frame. My friends look at me with anticipation, sensing the attraction between us.

"That's very kind of you, Dame," I purr, looking up into his eyes daringly. "But we can't have you paying for our drinks all night. We might end up owing you in return." Damian cracks a lopsided grin.

"That' doesn't sound all that bad to me." he says, leaning in a little closer, talking over the music. The scent of his cologne wafts over me as he continues to speak. "I'm pretty sure there are plenty of ways you could pay me back." He says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh yeah? How?" I ask with a bit of challenge, stepping closer to him. My friends giggle girlishly as they watch. A confident, yet sly grin spreads across Dame's face as he leans in to whisper a low, suggestive response in my ear.

"How 'bout a dance?" As he pulls back, his eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he glances at my friends and looks back at me. "Whaddaya say, sweetheart?"

"Sure, why not." I respond, not having to give it much thought as I move past him, towards the bar. "And it's Y/n, by the way." I correct him, looking him up and down. A flicker of surprise crosses his eyes as he bites his lip, turning to follow me.

"Y/n," He repeats, testing out the sound of my name on his tongue. Although, something about the look in his eyes says that he already knew what my name was. After we stop by the bar and order a round for my table, we head out to the dance floor, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the room.

As we get to the dancefloor, Dame pulls me close to him, wrapping his arms around my waist. Mine instinctively wrap around his neck and our bodies move in sync to the music. Our bodies mold together perfectly, his hard planes against my soft curves. As we dance, he whispers in my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck.

"You know, you really caught my eye earlier, Y/n."

"Is that so?" I ask, gazing up at him as I grind my hips against his, causing a low groan to escape from him.

"Yeah, you did." Damian replies as his arms tighten around me for a moment before relaxing again. "I know you was fuckin' with Donnie. you've been on my radar." He smirks, leaning in a bit closer. I raise an eyebrow at him, somehow not surprised he's known about me.

"So what? You just been stalking me?" I inquire, causing Dame to chuckle at my response.

"Nah, just keeping an eye on who's eyeing my rival." He says, his eyes not leaving mine. "I had to know for myself what the fuss was about." I roll my eyes and turn away from him, feeling him press against my back as his hands migrate to my hips.

"It ain't like I'm his girl or anything," I say as I grind my body against his, feeling his grip on my hips tighten. His eyes follow the movement of my body, appreciating the way my curves fit against him.

"Good. Cuz I ain't really the sharing type" Damian smirks down at me.

"So, you only want me cuz he had me at some point?" I turn in his arms and he pulls me in closer.

"Oh, there's plenty of reasons why I'd want you, sweetheart." His eyes trail over my body for a moment before meeting mine again. "And if it happens to piss off my rival, that's just the icing on the cake."

His words send a spark of excitement through my body. Damian wants me and he isn't afraid to show it. This man, with his intense gaze and powerful presence, is hungry for me, and it makes my desire for him grow stronger. I can't help but bite my lip as his gaze pierces through me.

A part of me wants to at least be offended by him basically using me for his games. Although, the other part of me, the part that likes to live on the edge, doesn't give a fuck. I do what I want and who I want. And who I want right now is Dame. I smirk as I place my hands on his chest, pulling him close enough for me to whisper in his ear.

"You're gonna get me in trouble." A sly grin spreads across his face as I speak.

"Oh, I think you can handle it." He responds, his hands running up my sides, lightly touching my soft skin through my dress. "In fact, I bet part of you likes a little bit of trouble."

"Mm, you think you know me?" I ask teasingly as I lean in close to his face, looking at him through my lashes. He leans his face even closer, our lips nearly touching.

"I know enough." He admits with a smirk, his hands gliding over my hips. "And I know you like that I want you, even if it's to get under Baby Creed's skin." He chuckles softly. "But that doesn't mean I don't actually want you." His eyes lock on mine, a mixture of desire and challenge burning in his gaze. The world seems to slow around us as our bodies sway to the music.

"What exactly is it you're proposing?" Dame slides one hand around to the small of my back, using the other to gently tilt her chin toward me. Our faces are inches apart, and his eyes hold a mix of hunger and playfulness. A cocky smirk crosses his face as he answers my question with a low, gravelly voice.

"How 'bout you come find out, sweetheart?" He challenges. I decide not to waste any more time on words and I pull him towards me, crashing my lips into his. As our lips meet, it's as if a spark ignites between us. Dame responds to the kiss with a fierce intensity, our mouths moving against each other hungrily.

His large hands roam over my body, pulling me closer as he devours my lips. The sounds and lights of the club fade away as I lose myself in the moment, the taste and feel of him fueling my desire. My breath hitches as he bites my bottom lip, demanding more.

We break the kiss after what feels like both seconds and an eternity. I look into his eyes and they're dark with desire and a bit of challenge. Damian leans in close to my ear and whispers with a chuckle, "Let's get out of here. I want you all to myself."

I don't need any more convincing. Taking his hand, we make our way out of the club, waving to my girls as my heart pounds with anticipation. The night air is cool on our skin as we walk, the city lights illuminating our path. During the ride to his place, he keeps a firm, possessive grip on my thigh that sends tingles to my core. As we arrive at his luxury apartment building, Dame guides me inside, our bodies feeling electrified with desire.

As we step into the elevator and the doors close behind us, he gets a ravenous look in his eye. He presses me against the wall, my back coming in contact with the cold metal as his large frame presses against me. His mouth crashes into mine in a hungry kiss, his hands traveling to grasp either side of my ass. I ball my hands into the fabric of his shirt, moaning into the fiery kiss.

A low groan escapes Damian's lips as I pull him deeper into the kiss, our tongues tangling in a dance of desire. My body is on fire, the tension between us palpable. As the elevator reaches his floor, he reluctantly breaks the kiss, leading me into his penthouse apartment.

Our lips aren't parted for long as he lifts me up by my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist, claiming my lips in another heated kiss. The feeling of being manhandled by this ruggedly handsome man sent sparks of excitement through my body. My heart races as he walks slowly towards the living room, his lips never leaving mine. He lays me down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, the dancing flames casting an erotic glow over the room.

Dame gazes down at me, chest heaving. "Damn, baby. You feel even better than I imagined." He growls, his fingers tracing my curves. His eyes are dark with lust as he takes in the sight of me sprawled out beneath him.

I run my hands up his muscular arms, biting my lip coyly. "Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet." I purr, rolling my hips against him. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he dips his head, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck. His large hands slide up my thighs, bunching my dress up as he goes.

"I plan on seein' and feelin' a whole lot more." He murmurs against my skin, teeth grazing my sensitive neck. I shiver with anticipation, my hands moving to grip his shoulders as he continues his sensual assault.

Damian's fingers hook into the delicate fabric of my panties, his intent clear. I arch my back, silently begging him to take what he wants. This is what I came here for - to be devoured by this confident, powerful man. And I have a feeling he's more than ready to oblige.

His eyes darken with pure lust as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties, slowly dragging them down my legs. "That's it, baby. Let me see all of you." He growls, voice thick with desire. His gaze rakes over my exposed skin hungrily, drinking in every inch.

With one swift motion, he tugs my panties all the way off, tossing them aside. His calloused palms glide up the silky smooth skin of my thighs, parting them slightly. "Fuck, you're gorgeous." He murmurs, pure want radiating from him. Lowering his head, his stubble-lined jaw grazes the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me.

"Dame..." I breathe, fingers threading into his short hair. He pauses, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna take real good care of you." He promises in a low, raspy tone before burying his face between my legs. I gasp with pleasure, my back arching a bit as the feeling is more intense than anticipated.

Damian's expert tongue swirls and licks, sending electric shocks of pleasure through my body. I let out a desperate moan, my fingers tightening in his hair as I arch into his mouth.

"Oh fuck, Dame..." I gasp against his talented ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations sending tingles through my core. One of his large hands grips my thigh, keeping me spread open for his voracious appetite.

Just when I think I might come undone, he pulls back slightly, gazing up at me with lust-filled eyes. I whine as I gaze down at him.

"You taste so goddamn good, baby girl." He growls, voice rough with desire. Before I can respond, his mouth is on me again, creating a suction of pleasure around my clit.

My toes curl and my back arches as the coil of pleasure tightens within me. Dame's skilled tongue and lips push me higher and higher, the world fading away until all I can focus on is the mind-numbing sensations he's drawing from my body.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" I exclaim as I come undone faster than I intended, squirting forcefully into his mouth. I had expected to make a huge mess all over the carpet, but Dame laps up every last drop eagerly, savoring my sweet taste. His eyes flutter shut as he drinks me in, relishing the sounds of cries of ecstasy.

When I've finally ridden out the last waves of my climax, he pulls back slightly, gazing up at me through hooded eyes. His lips and beard glisten with my arousal, and he licks them slowly, not letting a single drop go to waste.

"You taste so fucking good, baby." He growls, his voice raspy. His large hands caress my trembling thighs as he repositions himself, settling between my legs. "And I'm just getting started."

With that, he leans back down, his face disappearing between my thighs once more. His tongue delves deep, stroking with a single-minded focus on my pleasure. One of his hands moves to my sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing in firm, sensual circles.

I squirm and squeal under his touch as he holds me in place, keeping me from fleeing. "You can't run, sweetheart. I'm gonna make you come again and again and again." His words only serve to fan the flames of my desire and I know I'm in for a long night.

I can't make an intelligible response as I'm overstimulated, my hips bucking and my nails digging into his harms, drawing blood.

"Damian-" I gasp, my mind clouded. "It's- It's too much!" I manage to say, my body no longer under my control. Dame pauses, his intense gaze shifting to one of mischief.

"Too much, huh?" He murmurs, his strong hands stilling my shaking thighs. A devilish smirk spreads across his lips. "Don't worry, babe. I know just how to take care of you." With that, he shifts his position, strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me up onto his lap. Our bodies are pressed flush together, his clothed length evident against my sensitive flesh. One hand tangles into my hair, tugging my hair back gently.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby," he whispers, his warm breath fanning across my neck. "Just let me take control." His lips find mine in a searing, consuming kiss, swallowing any protests I was about to make.

As the kiss deepens, his other hand caresses my body, igniting sparks of sensation. A guttural groan rembles ing Dame's chest as he feels my arousal soaking through the fabric of his pants. He breaks the fiery kiss, dark eyes smoldering with desire as he drinks in the sight of me flushed and panting in his arms.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet for me." He husks, one hand trailing down my side to grip my hip possessively. "I bet you're lacking to feel me inside you, aren't you?" His hips roll up, pressing his hardness against my slick heat.

Unable to form a coherent response, I whimper and nod desperately, my body betraying just how badly you crave his touch. Damian lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm gonna give you exactly what you need." With that, he pulls his shirt off, exposing his large, defined muscles. I don't get much time to take him in as he quickly unbuckles his pants and lifts me effortlessly, positioning me over his throbbing length. Slowly, torturously, he lowers me down, stretching and filling me in one smooth motion.

The feeling is indescribable, a perfect blend of pleasure and sweet, delicious pain. I let out a strangled moan, my nails sinking into his broad shoulders as I savor the sensation of being so completely and utterly full.

"Shitttt~ Take me just like that, baby. You're doing so good." Damian praises, his voice strained with restraint. His hands grip my hips, guiding my movements as I start to ride him with desperate, rhythmic motions. I whine with desire as I stretch around him. This feels different than with Adonis. Donnie could barely push all the way into me with how long his cock was. Although, Damian could fill me just right. Not only that, his girth was thicker. I look down, watching myself slide down onto his length as I let out a high pitched moan.

"Please, please, please~" I beg with desperation as I pull his chest against mine, my brows knit together in ecstasy. Dame groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me, baby." He growls, his hips snapping up to meet my motions. I yelp as he fills me, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air. I can feel the coil of pleasure tightening once more, only spurring me on further. "Ride me like that, baby. I wanna feel you come undone on my cock." He whispers.

I press down and grind against him, his cock straining against my walls. Damian's eyes darken with pure lust as he works his cock deeper inside me, thrusting his hips up with more force. His hands slide down to where we're joined, his calloused fingers finding my sensitive bundle of nerves. He rubs firm, sensual circles, eliciting a strangled cry of pleasure from my lips.

"Dame~" I Whimper, my walls fluttering around his impressive girth. "I'm so close..." He let's out a feral groan, his tempo increasing as he chases both of our releases.

"Come for me, baby." He demands, his teeth grazing my neck as his arms tighten around me. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning my head back as I bounce on his dick, my tits finally falling free of my tight dress. Damian's mouth latches onto one pert nipple, sucking on it with an insatiable hunger.

I let out a strangled gry of pleasure, my nails raking down his back as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me. Dame's cock stretches and fills me perfectly, each movement sending electric shocks of bliss ricocheting through my body.

"I- I'm gonna~" I don't finish my sentence as I gasp loudly, my movements becoming frantic and erratic. He matches me, his thrusts becoming more deep and punishing as his mouth crashes into mine. My vision whites out as the most intense orgasm rips through me, my body convulsing in Dame's arms. He swallows my cries of ecstasy as he continues to move within me, drawing out every last aftershock of my release.

"That's my girl," he praises, his voice strained with his own impending climax. He continues to rub relentlessly at my clit and I can do nothing but become putty in his hands.

"Dame!" I squeal, biting my lip hard as I try to take it.

"That's right, baby. Say my name," He says lowly, his thrust becoming harder and random. He pulls me flush against him with each punishing thrust until the tension within him finally snaps. With a guttural groan, he spills himself deep inside me. His hips stutter and jerk as he rides out his climax, his grip on me bordering on bruising.

As I feel his warmth fill me, I can't help but sigh heavily, laying my head on his shoulder. Damian lets out a deep, contented sigh as I lay my head on his shoulder, our bodies still intimately joined. As I pant heavily, he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from my face.

"That's right, sweetheart. Just relax." He mumbles, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. HIs arms wrap around me, holding me close as the last tremors of our shared release subside.

"You did so good." Dame breathes with a note of awe in his voice. "I mean, I knew you'd feel incredible, but you've just... You're a goddess." He says as if he's just realizing now that he's met an angel in disquise.

"That was…" I start, unable to find the words. He chuckles warmly, pulling me close against his chest as his fingers trace soothing patterns along my spine. He softens inside me, pulling out slowly as he lays me down on the couch. Standing up, he goes leaves the livingroom briefly. My body relaxes as I lay on the couch, waiting for him to come back.

Damian returns with a warm, damp washcloth and gently cleans me up, his touch tender and caring - a stark contrast to his earlier intensity. As he wipes away the evidence of our shared intimacy, something stirs inside him.

He'd only known about me, because I was seen with Adonis. And, honestly, he only went after me to get back at him and throw Donnie off of his game. But seeing me like this, all he wants to do is take care of me and treat me right.

There was something so wrong about this. He'd slept with many women before and he had plenty of women still lined up that wanted him badly. After all, he's the champ. But as he gazes over me, my beautiful form on the edge of sleep, he can't help but feel something. He doesn't know what it is, but it's definitely not something he's felt with anyone else.

His hand comes up and brushes against the soft skin on my face. He pauses slightly as he wrestles with the unfamiliar emotions swirling within him. Something about me has reached past his carefully constructed walls, and Dame finds himself wanting - no, needing - more than a simple one night stand.

But he pushes those thoughts aside for now, focusing instead on savoring the moment. Once he's finished cleaning up our mess, he tosses the cloth aside and gathers me into his arms, cradling me against his broad chest. His fingertips trace feather-light patterns along my bare skin, sending pleasurable shivers through my body.

"I could hold you like this all night," he murmurs, dropping a soft kiss to the top of my head. "But I'm sure you're exhausted after that." I nod, my cheek pressed against his chest as I melt into him. The corner of his mouth turns up as he caresses my curves.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up and into a nice hot shower, hm? Then we can go to bed." He suggests, a loving look in his eye.

"Can we do that?" I ask, looking up at him wearily as my voice is barely above a whisper. His gaze softens as he looks down at me.

"Of course, baby." He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me towards the bathroom as my head rests against his chest. The care and tenderness in his actions makes my heart flutter, and I can't help but wonder, where this is going to go. But I push that thought to the back of my mind as I just want to enjoy the moment.

[cpericardium]

This is the story of the time I interviewed at Ubisoft.

When I was a teenager, I became obsessed with the Bioshock series and got it into my head that I wanted to do game design for a living. I'd never seriously attempted it nor did I know exactly what it entailed, but how hard could it be? I gamed!! I had ideas!! I said this to my teacher during a what do you want to be when you grow up talk, and she said, "Oh! My sister works at Ubisoft Singapore. I'll get you an interview."

Emails were exchanged, and someone at the company arranged a "quick chat" with me a couple of weeks later. It was for a QA tester intern position, which I reasoned was sort of like game design. After all, in the Sims 3 it's one rung on the ladder to becoming a game developer. Also I didn't want to anger my teacher. She was quite volatile.

Round 1:

I'd never done a job interview before. I put on a nice blouse and pencil skirt and heels, nervously applied and reapplied makeup which I normally did not wear, and showed up at the office building an hour early. Then as I went up the elevator I realised they never said what room it was. I couldn't very well email to ask now. I'd look like an idiot!! Fuck!! So for an hour, I just skulked around outside various glass doors peering into offices hoping there would be some receptionist around to ask, but there was practically no one there. The email only said "let's have a quick chat at 2pm on x date".

I was about to slink home with my tail between my legs when the interviewer called at the scheduled time. It was a phone interview!!!!! He didn't say that!!!!! I found a dingy secluded stairwell. As if to taunt me, one of the first questions he asked was "have you ever been to the building?"

Me, through gritted teeth: yeah! actually I'm here right now, haha... to scope it out, you know... get a lay of the land..... it's really big... Lots of glass walls...

Him: oh that's nice.

I don't remember most of the questions, but I do know he asked me what my favourite games were. I said Undertale and Life is Strange (they had come out that year), but he'd never heard of them. Maybe I should've said Far Cry or something but what if he quizzed me on it?

Round 2:

I should not have made it to this round. I was coasting entirely on the goodwill of my teacher's sister, who was high up the chain. She interviewed me next. I think her only question was whether I would be okay working long gruelling hours with little support and no overtime.

Me, blissfully unaware of crunch culture being a massive human rights issue in the industry: bring it on!!

Her: what? 🤨

Then she ushered me into a room to take a pencil and paper test. While waiting earlier, I'd frantically googled and memorised a bunch of Ubisoft games, so I could answer the one asking me to list eight of them. I figured I could have gotten away with saying Assassin's Creed and adding a random number to the back though.

The biggest problem was on the other side of the paper: a diagram of a gaming controller asking me to label the buttons. Here's the thing. I'm a PC gamer. Always have been. At the time, my only experience with console gaming was playing Little Big Planet with my best friend when I was twelve, at her house. And I wasn't very good at it! I think I fundamentally lack the hand-eye coordination for console gaming, but that's just a guess because I can count on one hand the number of times I've ever used a controller. And I can count on one hand the number of controllers I have in that hand! It's zero! I knew the wiggly antennae were for movement and the buttons on the sides did esoteric things that people will yell at you to press during crucial moments, but that was it. I ended up labelling the buttons the shapes they were (circle button, triangle button, square button etc).

The interviewer came back into the room after about 15 minutes and said I now had an hour to play an unfinished level of Assassin's Creed, identify as many bugs as possible, and record them on a spreadsheet. And even though she set me up at a computer monitor, I still had to use a controller. Are you kidding me! This was the Victorian era Assassin's Creed. I had never played any AC games before, so I didn't know what were bugs and what were features. Was "can't jump" a bug? Was "invisible wall surrounding staircases"? What was the format and lingo you were supposed to use when recording bugs? I made no progress towards the quest at all (I did not understand it or who my character was), just wandered around and wrote down things I noticed and didn't like until time was up.

Anyway, that's the tale of how I didn't get a job I was woefully unprepared and underqualified for and in retrospect didn't want all that much. Maybe what I really wanted was to be... was Ayn Rand.

[prayedafterreading]

THINK I’M A PUSSY?

Ever squared off with a woman who doesn’t give a single solitary shit?

I’m not talking about your “pink gloves” cardio class.

I’m talking about the kind who:

Keeps a box of hollow‑points on her nightstand.

Practices her draw while reciting the Second Amendment as bedtime liturgy.

Masturbates—yes, you heard me—while staring at that arsenal of brass and lead.

Because here’s the kicker: no amount of “tough guy” posturing—no bulked‑up bicep or starched collar—can tank the force of a woman who’s religious about her right to bear arms and has the reflexes to back it up.

1. She’s Armed—Literally and Figuratively

You think physical strength is a straight‑line equation. It’s not.

It’s torque. It’s leverage. It’s momentum born of absolute conviction.

When she drills your jaw with her words—or her .45—she does it from a place of primal ownership.

You feel the knock‑back, the scrambled synapses, the echo of every round she never fired.

Her power isn’t measured in muscle. It’s measured in will.

2. Fists vs. Firepower

Yes, fists can break ribs. But hollow points?

They expand and tear—they unmake flesh and intimidate bones.

A punch hurts. A bullet owns you.

And she’s practiced at both. She’ll circle you, eyes glinting, asking:

“You wanna try your luck?”

Her voice is soft. But her intent is deafening.

3. The Psychology of Armed Seduction

Watch her lean against that safe, fingertips grazing the metal lock.

Hear her whisper, “One day, you might piss me off enough…”

And feel the adrenaline spike—because she’s already won.

Her seduction? It’s not lip service.

It’s the promise of absolute control.

And every man knows the sex‑appeal of someone who doesn’t need you… but wants you anyway.

4. The Second Amendment Fetish

This isn’t about politics.

It’s about sovereignty.

It’s about being the last line of defense for your own body.

Her lust for hollow points is her love letter to autonomy.

And when she invites you into that creed, you know you’re in for a ride that’s half‑rape fantasy and half‑religious revival.

5. Final Warning

So next time you scoff at the “pussy” who packs heat—

Remember: the fiercest predator isn’t the one with the biggest biceps.

It’s the one with the sharpest intent and the deadliest backup.

She’s not your frag slot.

She’s the entire war‑chamber.

And if you cross her?

You’ll wish your fists came loaded.

Reblog if you’ve ever met a woman who packs more fear than your entire locker room.

🛡️ Save this for the next time someone underestimates her.

🔥 Send to the woman who treats her arsenal like a love story.

💬 Comment one word: Unfazed. Bookmark if you’d kneel before her trigger finger.

Reblog if you’d take your best shot—and still walk away trembling.

This post is not a gun‑safety lecture.

It’s fierce feminine energy disguised as dark humor.

If you’re offended—

you were never meant to survive her crosshairs.

You were meant to be the target.

If something moved in you when you read this — reblog.

Don’t hoard the key to the chastity belt, stupid. This ain’t a museum. It’s a war cry. And you were supposed to pass the weapon.

[lipglossanon]

♔ 𝔒𝔫𝔢 ♔

• A Dozen Roses • Fairy Tale AU •

Warnings: MDNI, mention of a past death

Magic. 

Such a simple word conveying the complete opposite. There are many in the castle who think your mother was a forest witch; how else did she ensnare the soon to be King? Her simple upbringing and lack of dowry only meant that she must have tricked the handsome prince into a marriage bed. 

Most of these came from the wagging tongues of the spurned gentry, whose daughters weren’t even looked at twice once your mother came into the picture. Your father never speaks of her in your presence which means everything you’ve ever gleaned about her is third or fourth hand from those around you. 

As a child, you loved hearing the stories of their unexpected love. How much your father doted upon her, how she breathed new life in this cold, desolate place. After such tales, you’d seek out the favored portrait where the King is wont to linger. He never said anything, but he acknowledged your presence by stepping to the side so you could stand next to him and gaze at her likeness. 

You believe your mother to be a forest witch even though the nurse maid tries to dissuade you of the notion. It explains the strangeness you feel inside you, especially near your father. He seems to be the only one who can sense this otherness in you and yet he still keeps his silence. He’s also the only one to witness you using magic— the rejuvenation of the dead bouquet of lilies beneath the ever benign gaze on the frozen face of your mother’s portrait.

That’s the first time you see him smile in all of your eighteen summers. It changes his entire demeanor and you see the boy your mother fell in love with, the one she fled the small cottage of her family to gift him her eternal devotion. His long fingers graze the stems of the flowers before his gaze drifts, not to the portrait but to you standing to the side. 

“You’ve grown up,” he states, serious blue eyes taking in your simple gown before meeting your surprised expression. 

You nod dumbly and before you can reply a lady-in-waiting enters to guide you to your embroidery lesson. His eyes trail after you; you only notice because you catch his gaze when you turn back as you round the stone entryway. His face is serious and blank, but it still sends a slight shiver down your spine. 

After that moment, the suitors begin in earnest. There were only two a year once your monthly blood began; your father didn’t seem interested in seeking out alliances with the neighboring kingdoms so you were never pressed to choose. The gentleman who came to call on you were much too old— older than your father, even. They made you uncomfortable with their spotted hands and leering mouths. The King made sure they knew their place at his table, making sure they left never to return. 

Now, your father has put forth a creed that only a worthy man will be allowed your hand in marriage. Worthy of him. Your opinion doesn’t matter at the whims of the King. You’re just a silly girl. He’s the one who shall choose the one to be your king consort, the one who will one day take his place on the throne and rule over the Kingdom bequeathed unto him by his bloodline. 

The first Prince to make the journey for your hand in marriage is a large dark haired man. Prince Redfield, your lady-in-waiting whispers to you as you look down from your window, seeing the Prince’s entourage unloading the wagon. He stands apart from his size alone, a knight honed by battle you think to yourself. A servant enters your quarters and states that you have been summoned by the King to be introduced to this stranger. 

Meeting Prince Redfield is actually quite pleasant. He’s cordial and polite, if a little stilted in conversation. He’s as old as your father, you realize, hearing them discuss old crusades from their youth and battles fought together; it seems more of a social call than an actual interest in marrying you. The men talk long into the evening, countless cups of mead has the Prince slurring and clapping your father on the back good naturedly. 

“Aye she’s a fine lass,” he nods to you, brown eyes soft as his smile, “she reminds me of Claire.”

“How is your sister?” Your father asks, tipping more drink into Prince Redfield’s goblet. 

“She’s to be wed when I return,” he laughs happily, “a young Lord who fought bravely in our last scrimmage against the band of heretics from the mountains.”

The King nods along, “We are fortunate to live so far from such turmoil.”

“I’ll toast to that,” the Prince tips his drink to your father and downs the entire cup, “I think I shall call it a night, sir.”

“It is quite late and you leave early,” the King nods, “thank you for the visit, friend.”

“Twas no hardship,” he grins, standing up to bow; he kisses the back of your hand, “the man to wed you will be quite lucky indeed, my fair lady.”

“Thank you,” you duck your head shyly as you drop into a curtsy, “I bid thee a good night, Prince.”

When you raise your head, he’s staring at you in contemplative shock. 

“She could be her,” he whispers, eyes darting to your father, “do you—”

“I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

The King rises from his seat and grasps the Prince’s arm; his blue eyes turn to you and you press your lips together to stop any questions. 

“Goodnight, daughter.”

You curtsy once more, “Goodnight, father.”

You watch in slight confusion as the two men make their way out of the room at the same time your lady comes to guide you to your quarters. She fusses over you as your other ladies help you undress from your stifling dress and corset, helping you into bed and placing more wood on the fire to keep the chill at bay. You gaze into the hearth of the fireplace and wonder what the Prince was going to ask before your father cut him off. 

Drifting to sleep, you don’t notice the vase of roses blooming to life—unnaturally red and vibrant, their perfume strangely compelling. The next morning, you sneak from your room early, intending to see Prince Redfield off and maybe ask him what he meant the night before. However, when you enter the great hall you see your father walking from the castle entrance. 

“Prince Chris has already left,” he informs you, “he sends his regards and apologizes he did not stay to say goodbye.”

Disappointment sits in your chest, but you smile and thank him before making your way back to your room. The servants hush when you enter your quarters, quickly changing out the strange flowers on your bedside table and rushing from the room. Your lady-in-waiting waves off your questions and easily diverts your attention to your lessons.

It’s the last time you know peace and quiet. 

[in-my-loki-feels]

20 Questions with a Fanfic Author

I think I may have done something like this once but it feels like it was a while ago so hopefully this isn't repetitive. It's always fun to look back on my writing, so thank you for the tags @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @andthekitchensinkao3 @kcscribbler and @lokimobius!

1. How many works on AO3?

I have 59 fics! (and boy does it irk me not to have a nice round number. I should've waited to do this until after my next fic.🤣)

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

622,756 words

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos

This one feels skewed because they're all from my last fandom, which is the largest and most active I've ever been a part of. (Also, three of the below were event fics, which always get more circulation.)

Found: Extremely Friendly Fox lost whenever you go dying of thirst A bridge in the dark Ember burning low

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently I'm writing for Loki and (technically) Crimson Peak x Bridgerton. (More on that later. 🤭) In the past, I've written for Assassin's Creed 2, XMFC, CA:TWS, and Overwatch, to name a few.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do my absolute best, though I do fall behind depending on my current energy levels. I greatly appreciate any kind of comment and I want to respond to show my thanks to anyone who took the time to leave one. <3

6. Angstiest Ending?

It's not on ao3 but there is one fic (technically a series of vignettes) that is the angstiest shit I've ever written and every time I remember and go back to read it, I get depressed. It's canon's fault! (And the sad songs I was writing for.)

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

How to answer this when pretty much everything I write has a happy ending, lol. I guess I'll say A Desperate Play for Control because it's a long fic that's angsty at times but has a definitive, sappy-as-hell, happy ending. 💚🧡

8. Do you get hate?

I don't think I have, though I have gotten critical comments that missed the point of a fic.

9. Do you write smut?

Boy howdy, do I ever. 29 fics worth. 😂

10. Do you write crossovers?

Have you heard the good word about Sharperton?? 🤣 Take Sir Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak, throw him into the arms of Benedict Bridgerton, and you've got yourself a crossover!

I did also one write a very silly Prometheus/XMFC crossover of sorts.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

No, but I've had them cross-posted to other sites without permission, which I don't love.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've had a couple of people ask if they can translate a fic and that's always so flattering.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic?

I'm doing so now! @silentxsymphony and I are deep in the mines of our Sharperton agenda.

I would also count my Avengers AU under this since @wolfpup026 and I bounced ideas back and forth.

14. All time favourite ship?

An impossible question! I have favorites that I love even 20+ years on, so it doesn't feel fair to compare those to ones I've only recently fallen for, like Lokius. They're good ships, Brent.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Probably anything from previous fandoms. I have some ideas I still really like but my reasons for disconnecting from one particular fandom kind of affected my love of writing for that ship.

The best answer for this is probably the XMFC Cherik werewolf fic.

16. Writing strengths?

Sappy endings? Porn with feelings? Characters actually talking things out instead of ignoring each other? (I'm bad at this type of question.🙈)

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Descriptions, especially scenery and clothing. They don't come naturally to me so I have to force myself to go back and figure out what people are wearing and what's around them, aside from anything characters have interacted with in that scene.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

*sweats in AC2 fics* 😅 As a reader, it does sometimes frustrate me if there's a lot of text in another language and the meaning isn't obvious. Even when authors try to use links to take you to the bottom of the fic for the translation, and then back up, it disrupts my immersion, which affects my enjoyment of the fic. I sometimes just gloss over that text and check the translations at the end.

As a writer, I'm guilty of it. I used a sprinkling of Italian in my Assassin's Creed fics because it was so prevalent in the games. I think the meaning was usually obvious. There was one fic where I wanted to have characters speaking in Italian and English but not understanding each other, so for that one I said, "Consider the default Italian. Anything in English will be in []."

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My brain is mush so my early fics all kind of jumble together. I think it might have been something for Batman: The Animated series, but only a scene or two. The first full fic was either Star Wars or The X-Files.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Another impossible question! I'm going to say it's between A Desperate Play for Control and Love What's Gone. For the former, that might be the largest rewrite of canon events I've tackled (usually my AU's are very different) and it was so creatively exciting and rewarding to work with @wolfpup026.

For the latter, I don't feel like the kind of author to tackle big themes (like grief) in my fics, and I'm always claiming I don't write angst, but I'm really proud of how that one turned out. 🥹 I'm usually just trying to make the dolls kiss!

This turned into a long post so I'm not going to tag anyone. If you reached the end and want to answer the questions, feel free to tag me!

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader)

A/N: This is the newest part of my writing that I'm including! This takes place after season 3 but before the events of season 4 of Castlevania. I'm unsure at the moment whether to include season 4 plotlines, but I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Born as a witch to a powerful coven, Y/N is destined for greatness. That is until the wrongs of the world destroy her life, leaving her in fear for what she is. It's when her life is on the lines that she runs into the infamous, ghastly castle needing shelter, that she runs into the newest owner. Or, two people join together, yearning for a life they wish they could build.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Follow the story on A03!

PROLOGUE

They said that a red moon was a mark of God’s wrath. However, those born on a red moon were a sign of danger or foreboding.

The sign of a harbinger and the doom for mankind. The day of judgement for all who sinned against God and the heavens. It was one of the superstitions that caused those to feel the most judged and for others to be the most sinister in their beliefs against those.

God worked in many ways, and his followers worked to spread his word, regardless of what they proved was good or bad. They judged and they judged all, regardless of background or creed.

“An upcoming apocalypse,” they cried, “brought forth in the name of one borne from its blood.”

It was what was told to your mother, who carried you when she was abandoned at her lowest. She was welcomed anew by her new family, a coven of sisters. Her brood of many sisters protected and sheltered her: from the men who hurt her, to her village banishing her when her powers were discovered. It was only months into her arrival when the roundness in her belly hardened and swelled, that she found she was with child. Instead of the judgement of producing kin outside of wedlock, your mother was praised and celebrated. It was their words that spoke she was carrying a girl, a new witch that was promised to them after so long of waiting.

Moons changed in their cycles, as did your mother’s belly, growing with the babe inside. Both were pampered and doted, for the girl was claimed as the next to be as strong as the current matron, and all sisters could agree.

When the red moon appeared, as beautiful as its endless cycles before and after, was when the sisters prophesied you would come into the world.

The pain your mother carried her, the tears flooded down her face when she struggled through the night, spurred on by the chants of her many sisters. Eleven to be exact, the space in between was “for the leader himself”, Satan.

With the moon, bleeding and bright above their heads, they circled her in a formation, holding hand in hand as they chanted and praised into the night. Their cries blurred into one with your mother’s, the final push brought you forth with a shriek of your own.

Screaming, begging to be heard.

Swaddled in red, your mother gathered you in her arms. Skin as brown and hair black with small curls, she smiled as she wiped your brow, kissing your forehead lovingly, repeating the words alongside her sisters:

‘Red, red as autumntime. They shall fall in dread when you go by.’

-

1463

Six years Later.

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, mama,” the little girl came bounding into the hut, mud and twigs matted in her curly hair, her skin was scratched and bruised from falls, but her toothy smile was enough to bring her mother’s attention to softly scold her. “You’re muddy again, Y/N. Did you cross over the river?”

The little girl darted her eyes away, trying to keep up with her innocent smile. “No.”

“Your ears burn when you lie, did you know that?” She pinched at her round cheek, but her smile was soft compared to how the years had treated her. “I shall clean you up before supper. Instead, we shall continue our lessons.”

“Will I learn to fly again?” The girl beamed, spreading her arms as she flapped them, mimicking the birds she saw in the trees.

“Levitation comes with many years of practise, sweet girl. It will not come to you for many more years. And besides, I shan’t let you fly around these woods, who knows who would see you.”

The girl knew of what lurked in the woods beyond their small camp, of what stalked and hunted in the night. Vampires. The blood leeches that preyed on anyone they saw. Men, women and children were never safe, and the little girl was warmed by her mother and the many sisters of the coven to be wary of their powers, and their manipulations. Targoviste - although safe to protect her from the humans - was not safe in keeping the creatures away. Nowhere was safe for little girls, but Y/N was no ordinary girl.

“Now,” her mother continued, “we shall continue with divine power.”

A favourite of the girl, she rushed to the table, leaning to get a better look. Divine power held two pillars in its wake, a never-ending cycle of balancing life and death. To make life was to call death.

The girl watched on, seeing two potted flowers, one had petals as yellow and bright as a canary’s, but one had shrivelled and died after many days of neglect.

“You remember the words?” Her mother asked as the little girl nodded her head enthusiastically. “Very good, speak them loud and clear, focusing all on the flower that is alive.”

The girl stared at the petals carefully, making sure not to take her eyes off them. She could feel the way they drew life, and how life spread through from the dirt all throughout. With the simple words, the girl commanded, “Capio.”

As if witnessing time move in lightspeed beyond what any human could comprehend, the petals began to shrivel and darken, and the yellow bulbs of the flowers shrunk as they caved in one at a time, curling in as the soil darkened. The girl looked up at her mother, pride flourishing on her face, “Can I say the other one, mama?”

“You may.”

She looked at the decayed pot with the other flower already dead for some time, speaking clearly, “Do.”

The same happened, and the girl remembered her mother describing it as if the lungs of a human were breathing. She could feel how the flower rushed back with life into its soil, brightening and blossoming once again. Its petals developed as they rose high and mighty, taking in the appearance of being freshly plucked not long ago.

“Very good, Y/N. You have gotten very confident with that spell.” She spoke, taking the pots aside, stroking her daughter’s cheek warmly. “You will become a great witch.”

“Just like you?”

“I’m no great witch, my sweet.” Her mother laughed sincerely. “It is I who had to be trained further than I was capable of knowing.”

“How did you find out you were a witch?” The girl pondered.

“When I was a little girl, maybe the same age as you, I was teased by the other children my age,” her mother began, “It got very bad, to the point one day, I was pushed into the river, and they all laughed at me.” There was a sadness in her eyes, but her daughter could read that it was more than just sadness, but anger. “I don’t know what came over me, this feeling. It felt how the wind changes, when storms approach and you can sense it’ll rain. That’s how it felt, a sense of power.” She raised her hand, clenching it open and shut.

“I remember I was staring at a rock in front of me, staring at it so hard, that I hoped for it to move, to hurt them back… I knew it was wrong, but they hurt me.”

“Did you hurt them?”

��No, I gave them a warning. I scared them off by raising the rock for all of them to see. They screamed, running back to their families and accusing me of being a demon.” She laughed sadly before she knelt low to her daughter’s level.

“You must promise me something, Y/N.”

“Yes, mama?”

“No matter how much people hate you for what you are, no matter the pain they inflict. It is better to not hurt them back. We hold—extraordinary power, that no one but us would understand.” She squeezed Y/N’s shoulder in emphasis. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, mama.”

“Good,” she kissed her hairline. “Now, you have the choice to clean up or help me tidy in here before supper.”

“How about I go back outside again?” Y/N beamed, “I’m already dirty, but I can get clean when I return.”

Her mother thought of this for a moment, sighing heavily in defeat. “Very well, but you mustn’t cross the river. It is getting too dark.”

“I promise!” Y/N laughed as she chased the greying clouds, running as far as her little leg could carry her. It was by the time she caught up to the river when her lungs were burning and she stared at the pebbles.

“I could do what Mama did.” She said aloud, only the trees, and the birds in their nests could hear her, and sense her presence. “I can be strong like her.”

She concentrated on the smallest rock beside her, staring and staring at the smoothness of its surface. Holding her palm out, she clenched and unclenched, trying for a moment as she got the pebble to shift once, then again, moving the other rocks it was embedded in, wiggling it free bit by bit.

Her patience was wearing thin, it was taking forever! It wasn’t until she loosened it enough that in a fit of frustration, she yelled into the air, tossing her arm outward as she flung the pebble in its direction, startling her by the suddenness.

“It worked!” She toothily smiled, staring out as she watched the smooth pebble scatter across the water’s edge, catching itself in the mud on the other side.

She was about to happily go back to celebrate her victory, to tell her mother in hopes she’d be proud, but her eyes caught something in the low treeline. The trees blended, and she thought she had seen one move, until a silhouette emerged, tall and willowy, blending in naturally with its surroundings.

Y/N’s smile dropped as she took in the stranger on the other side of the river, staring her down despite her not being able to see their face. It was shrouded in a dark hood, and only their nose and mouth were visible, skin bone-white.

She felt frozen in the very spot she stood in, all sense of fight or flight dispelled from her body, and moving down her spine was the icy-cold sensation of true fear.

Run.

Run.

RUN!

Her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, replacing it with the ticking clock, seconds passing with the chances of escaping running thin.

It was only when the stranger’s face split open into a wide smile, that Y/N could feel the sensation come back to her legs.

Sharp fangs protruded from their mouth, gleaming like silver daggers.

She didn’t know what kept her going, the hope she would make it back alive, or the fact that she wanted to stay alive for her mother’s sake.

She could hear the creature move to keep up with her with ease, chasing the trees as it ran atop, keeping pace with her.

She had hoped the moment she got back to her mother’s hut that it was all a cruel nightmare. That she would wake up in her bed and nothing had happened.

Her small village grew closer in the distance, with the sounds of the winds and creatures close and surrounding her. She could almost feel their breath on the back of her neck, their laughter, mocking her to move faster—as if she was their prey and they enjoyed the chase. It felt like there were thousands of them, an army of them chasing after her.

Y/N’s lungs burned for air until she reached the front door, and everything was deadly quiet, except for the sound of her wheezing. No candles burned in the hut, nor in any other that she knew a sister occupied. Where is everyone? She thought, scanning the village, where no light was seen.

“Mama? You must let me in! There’s—” she pushed the door open to witness the horrors in front of her. “Vampires.”

The blood was the first thing she noticed, startling and fresh, with her mother’s body lying alongside it, eyes vacant and clouded.

Y/N didn’t know the scream that came from her lips came from her, crashing to the floor and coming into contact with her mother’s body. “No, no, mama, please! Wake up!” She shook her violently, staring only back into cold, lifeless eyes. “Wake up, please! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

She scanned the room, everything had been scattered in places in the small room, as if someone had come in and pulled it apart, root and stem. Think, Y/N, think! She thought, and only did she spot the items that she crawled the smashed plotted plants.

She cradled it in her hands, pooling soil as she cupped them to keep the flower stable, chanting the words over and over again. “Capio.”

She watched, waiting, hoping and praying to whoever was out there to hear her prayers, but she continued and continued. “Capio. Capio. Do. Do.”

The flower in her grasp did not budge with death, instead, its petals remained its dull, yellowish-hue, staring back at her hopelessly as she had felt. It was only the realisation hitting her that she knew the others in her coven were not there anymore either, and she was the only one left.

Tears flooded down her cheeks, and Y/N cradled her mother’s body, already growing colder with the seconds passing. “Please come back… I need you.”

-

Latin Translations:

Capio – (I) take/seize

Do – (I) give/bestow

[fearsmagazine]

ROSARIO | Trailer, Images & Poster

Wall Street stockbroker, Rosario Fuentes, returns to her grandmother's apartment after her sudden death. While sorting through her Grandmother's belongings, Rosario uncovers a horrifying secret—a hidden chamber filled with occult artifacts tied to dark generational rituals. As supernatural occurrences plague her, Rosario must confront her family’s buried secrets and face the truth about the sacrifices and choices they made.

Zosé Zúñiga as “Oscar Fuentes” in the Horror film ROSARIO, a Mucho Mas Releasing release. Photo courtesy of Mucho Mas Releasing.

The feature directorial debut of award-winning filmmaker Felipe Vargas, ROSARIO stars Emeraude Toubia (‘Shadowhunters,’ The Ballad of a Hustler), David Dastmalchian (Late Night with the Devil, Oppenheimer), Diane Lein (‘Woman in Blue,’ ‘Somos Oro’), Paul Ben-Victor (‘The Wire,’ The Irishman) and José Zúñiga (‘Griselda,’ ‘Narcos: Mexico’). With an original screenplay by Alan Trezza, the film is produced by Phillip Braun (Jenni, The Black Demon), Javier Chapa (The Long Game, Blue Miracle) and Jon Silk (Nightride, It).

[L-R] José Zúñiga as “Oscar Fuentes,” Emilia Faucher as “Young Rosario” and Director Felipe Vargas behind the scenes of the Horror film ROSARIO, a Mucho Mas Releasing release. Photo courtesy of Mucho Mas Releasing.

Nick Ballard (The Crossroads, Lost in the Everglades), Guillermo Garcia (‘Mayans M.C.,’ Asteroid City), Emilia Faucher (CODA, Snow White) and Costanza Gutierrez (‘Big Steps,’ ‘The Scent of Passion’) round out the cast.

David Dastmalchian as “Joe” in the Horror film ROSARIO, a Mucho Mas Releasing release. Photo courtesy of Mucho Mas Releasing.

Joining Vargas behind the camera are cinematographer Carmen Cabana (Nocturne, ‘Ms. Marvel’), production designer Carlos Osorio (Jenni, ‘24’), costume designer Daniela Rivano (Pepe Caceres, The Night of the Beast), Emmy®-nominated film editor Claudia Castello (Prey, Creed) and composers Brooke Blair and Will Blair (Rebel Ridge, Green Room), with special makeup effects by KC Mussman (‘Ted,’ Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin) and Autonomous F/X (The Deliverance, ‘Westworld,’ Bright).

Emeraude Toubia as “Rosario Fuentes” in the Horror film ROSARIO, a Mucho Mas Releasing release. Photo courtesy of Mucho Mas Releasing.

Mucho Mas Releasing will release the horror film ROSARIO In Theaters Nationwide on May 2, 2025.

[bad268]

Only Because You're Injured (Connor Zilisch X Spotter! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Randon Drivers

Requested: Nope (no one writes for him BUT I LOVE HIM)

Warnings: Bad crash (even for NASCAR terms), hospitals, injuries (not too graphic)

**INFO- you can probably tell (but idk how many of y'all watch NASCAR) but Reader is Jesse Love's Spotter

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1756

Summary: Playful banter turns serious when Connor crashes (they hate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time)

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was the moment you were waiting for: Charlotte. It's one of your favorite tracks of the entire calendar.

You walked through the paddock with Connor, Jesse, and Georgia, ready to take on the weekend. Both drivers had good starting positions, so you had high expectations for Connor and Jesse.

“This is where I leave you,” You joked when you arrived at the JR Motorsports garage. You pulled Connor’s arm off of your shoulders and jokingly spun him around before pulling him close to rest your forehead against his. “Race clean, yeah?”

“As long as Jesse doesn’t do anything dirty, I’ll be fine,” Connor teased back, throwing a glare at his best friend.

“Just for that, I’m shunting you into Turn 1,” Jesse objected but immediately backtracked when Georgia hit him upside the head. “My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad,” You scoffed, glaring at Jesse, “If you were serious, I just won’t tell you where he is on track.”

“No, it’s literally your job to tell me everything happening on track,” Jesse shook a finger at you, “You can’t just not tell me!”

“My job is to keep you in line,” You sighed before muttering to Conner, “Been doing it for most of my life at this point.”

“You’re like his babysitter. Always have been,” Connor chuckled as he 

“I can hear you, dipshits,” Jesse groaned, causing Georgia to, once again, smack him in the head. “Ow, okay. I’ll just meet you in my garage.”

“Good of you to learn to take a hint, Jess,” You rolled your eyes as he stuck his tongue out at you before Georgia literally dragged him away. You focused entirely on Connor, sighing. “Now, you’re gonna have a clean race, right? I get nervous every time you start trying to challenge Jesse.”

“I’ll be safe out there, I promise,” Connor sighed as he leaned back against your forehead and left a short kiss on your lips. “I’m always careful out there.”

“You’re a little impulsive behind the wheel,” You teased, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“Am not!” Connor exclaimed with a smile as he pushed away from you and walked backward toward his garage. “Just for that, I’m gonna have the cleanest race of my career!” 

“Please do!” You shouted after him before going to Jesse’s garage.

~

“Alright, Jess,” You started off as you got situated. You looked down over the track as the cars flew past you, following the number 2. “You’re clear to move inside the 00. Keep it up and keep it clean.”

“Did you see that?!” He shouted as he moved high, just in front of Sheldon Creed. “The car’s getting loose in four.”

“Yeah, I saw the wiggle. Might need a half round in the right rear next stop,” You chuckled, sending a note to the rest of the team, “Wouldn’t want the rear end dancing around too much.”

“Feels like it. She’s fast, though. Just a little sketchy,” Jesse described, coming up on another car, “Who’s that?”

“First off, you’ve always liked 'em sketchy,” You said with a smirk, “Second, it’s Connor.”

“Not when it’s 180 into the wall, I don’t,” Jesse joked back, “Am I allowed to race him, or will you have a fit?”

“He’s fading, it’s inevitable,” You signed as you snapped your fingers. “You’re clear on the inside.”

“Got it. Tell him I’m coming with hugs and a chrome horn if he me blocks again,” Jesse said just as he moved the car out of the tracks of Connor to go on his inside. 

“Already told him your friendship expires in Turn 1,” You chuckled, shaking your head as you watched the move intently. Knowing those two, they always raced each other hard. The last thing you needed was for either of them to race each other into a wreck. Thankfully (or not thankfully, in Connor’s case), Jesse swept around the outside of the 88.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you kept up bantering back and forth with Jesse as the race went on.

“Alright, Jess. Head down, we’ll get back up there,” You comforted. “That was a shitty stop, but keep your cool, and we’ll get back in this. All you need is a caution.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse groaned, getting back into the right mindset.

“Aye, don’t give me attitude,” You snapped jokingly, trying to bring up his spirits. “22 laps to go, you can get back up there. We know what this number 2 can do.”

“It’s not toward you, I swear,” Jesse chuckled. At the same time, something caught your eye.

“Huge crash ahead, stay to the outside,” You said, trying to figure out who was included or what happened. “There’s a bunch of cars involved, and there’s debris everywhere. Be careful.”

“Who’s involved? That looks crazy,” Jesse said as he drove past the wreck slowly. “I see 42 and 20. At least, I think that’s who it is. There’s a couple that are completely destroyed.”

“So, yes, 42 and 20 plus 44, 25, 41, 99, 54, and…” You read off the notice until you saw the last number, “and 88.”

“Shit, what the hell happened?” Jesse couldn’t stop himself from asking as he came around the wrecks again. “I can’t even tell which’s his car! If you need to go, get out of here. I’m sure someone else on the team can take over for the last 20 laps.”

You were already a step ahead, texting Mardy for coverage, and Mardy was already sending someone over to tap you out. In this time, you also found out what happened. 

Harrison, Brandon, Anthony, and Matt were in a tight wheel-to-wheel battle when, ahead of them, Sam got a tire puncture from Brennen. Sam and Brennen ended up spinning out, taking Taylor and Connor with them. Everyone got bunched up, and somehow, Connor and Taylor ended up being the drivers most impacted as they were sent straight into the inside wall. 

Truly, it was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Trust, I’m already working on it,” You replied, looking back to the track as you watched Connor climb out of the car with some assistance. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and if you put it in the top five, I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Not only can you not buy alcohol, I don’t drink,” Jesse chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. That’s when one of your coworkers came up. Jay was training in all aspects of the team, and you had previously trained him on spotting. He was confident to cover for you.

“Fine, keep your nose clean, and I’ll…I’ll do something,” You said as you started setting Jay up with a headset and moved so that he could take over your spot. “I’m heading out. I’ll text you updates.”

With that, you took your headset off and made your way down to the medical center. You knew Connor would get checked there and, if needed, he would go to the hospital.

You don’t remember how you go to the medical center. All you remember was barely getting there in time to see Connor sitting on a gurney.

“What happened? Are you okay? Does your head hurt? Actually, does anything hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?” You asked frantically before holding up two fingers.

“Couldn’t tell ya, I guess, yeah, a few things, two,” Connor replied slowly through half-lidded eyes before trying his best to meet your eyes. “I’m alive, right?”

“For all I know, you could be a talking corpse,” You shrugged, but your eyes were still wide, and your heart was still racing. You placed both of your hands back on either side of his face before scanning down the rest of his body, stopping at his arm. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t let go of the wheel when I hit the wall,” Connor said, but it sounded like he cut himself short, almost like he was hiding something else.

“What are you not telling me?” You dragged out, finally tearing your eyes away from his oddly angled arm. “If it's something that hurts or if something’s bothering you, let me know so I can tell the staff.”

“My leg kinda hurts now that the adrenaline is wearing off,” Connor admitted as the paramedics came in to move him to the ambulance. It was standard to take drivers in big accidents to the hospital if they didn’t pass the concussion test, so you immediately knew he had a concussion at least. You gave him a look and slightly moved your leg to brush against his, causing him to wince. You lowered your gaze on him again, urging him to retry that. “Ok, maybe a lot.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” You muttered to yourself before stepping back so the paramedics could run a couple of tests before loading him into the ambulance. “I’m gonna head to your garage and grab your stuff. I’ll meet you at the ambulance. I’ll take care of everything, just chill out and focus on you for now. We’ll get you back in the car when you’re healed. I don’t need you fucking up your arm or leg for the rest of your career.”

“Are you even allowed in the ambulance? I thought it was family only,” Connor asked with a broken chuckle after you walked closer to the door.

“Oh, just say you don’t want me there,” You teased lightly as you rolled your eyes, looking over your shoulder to see Connor’s wide eyes. Maybe, he couldn’t sense the sarcasm.

“No, please come,” Connor replied quickly, “I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry, that was sarcastic,” You comforted, quickly walking over to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder while also keeping mind to stay out of the way of the paramedics. “I’d never leave your side willingly.”

“But you’re about to leave right now,” Connor pointed out, glaring at you.

“To get your shit,” You defended, “And to tell your team that you’re okay. And to get your change of clothes. And maybe I was gonna get you food because hospital food is atrocious. But no, I’m leaving you forever and ever!”

“If you’re getting food, can you get Whataburger shakes?” Connor asked quietly, glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes as the paramedics started taking his blood pressure.

“That’s not food, but sure,” You sighed, leaving a kiss on the top of his head before heading back out toward the door, “Only because you’re injured.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2025. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[phthalology]

Sumi

[Assassin's Creed Shadows, Naoe & Yasuke, General Audiences, 450 words]

In the afternoon Naoe planned to paint by the stream. She would rest for a time, centering herself, and then would go, and kill the people who had killed her father. When she saw the samurai in the grass, though, her feet wouldn’t move her.

Yasuke sat between Tomiko’s house and the stream, the sun golden on the seed-heads around him, writing. He smiled at her, meeting her eyes before turning back to his own paper. She sat and arranged her sumi-e paper and ink where she had stopped, despite him.

He had slept in the farmstead-which-was-becoming-a-hideout overnight. They had barely spoken. He wrote calligraphy like a daimyo, delicate and arrogant. Detestable. He wrote like Oda Nobunaga did, Naoe imagined.

But then, no matter what Yasuke did, sometimes when Naoe looked at him she saw Oda Nobunaga. She only hadn’t killed Yasuke because she had wanted to make Junjiro happier, giving him back some of the help he had given her when she woke up so badly wounded. (Wounded by the Shinbakufu, not Oda Nobunaga …)

The sun sank onto her skin, making her want to bask. Instead, she placed brush to paper and tried to set her mind in the discipline she endeavored to hold when painting a landscape, an animal, or a person. The key component of sumi-e was to capture the essence of the subject, focusing not on realism but on attitude, movement or tone.

He denied me my revenge.

Yasuke’s shirt lay softly over a rounded shoulder.

His people shattered my province.

Her brush swept in the shape of his jaw. Flat, black ink glittered into a silvery night sky toward his chin; one of her most accomplished strokes. The next few swipes with the brush to indicate his hair were messier, the width of the strokes uneven and amateur as her eagerness outran her skill.

I haven’t put myself off balance like that in combat since I was a child. Painting is harder.

Naoe wrestled her thoughts back. Drew the top of Yasuke’s head, then down to his nose. He looked sad. Good. I mourn my father while you mourn his enemy.

As if released like the ink by the brush, the emotion became more distant. She knew by now Yasuke could grin as well as scowl, and grinned more often, charming even tired Tomiko. He had devoted himself to Naoe, with an intensity that she hoped would cool.

Maybe she would show him the painting. Maybe she wouldn’t. Naoe took a deep breath, focusing on the fact of the lines and distancing herself, thought by thought, from their implications. Angry still. Maybe she would burn the painting, and with it her resentment.

[indigosunsetao3]

Been playing Assassins Creed Shadows to unwind now that all the company is gone (back to writing tomorrow, I promise…so long as we don’t lose power with this next round of storms)

Anyway. Yasuke to me feels like a big teddy bear that doesn’t know his own strength. I keep plowing things over and knocking people around without even trying. Which in turn leads to fights. Like, “Sorry friend! I’m trying to track down origami butterflies, I promise I don’t want to fight!”

Then we end up fighting and Yasuke annihilates them…before back to drawing little animals and collecting trinkets.

[quietwings-fics]

Ringleaders

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Assassin's Creed Ship: Evie/Henry/Jacob Additional Tags: Implied Evie Frye/Jacob Frye, Pre-OT3, Fights, POV Bisexual Character, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Sweat, Competence Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Twins, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate Wordcount: 3,493 Summary:

Henry’s not one for the fighting ring crowd, but he’d come to watch Evie and Jacob compete any night.

It’s never hard to track down the Frye twins.

Usually, it’s only a matter of catching the train as it chugs by. An uncountable amount of times, Henry has climbed aboard as it makes its morning rounds of London to find Jacob snoring in one of the chairs with his hat tipped over his eyes and Evie at her desk with her head pillowed on her arms, all the evidence of whatever they were up to last night that hasn’t yet been hawked by the newsboys already revealed to Henry by the knives Evie’s missing or the blood drying on the brass knuckles Jacob’s still clutching in his sleep. He’s never caught one of them using the actual bed they’ve been provided, to the point that he’s not even sure whose it is.

And when they’re out on their escapades, he doubts it would be too hard to find them either. London was never a quiet city, but he’s quite sure there used to be less carriages screaming over the streets. Certainly less… explosions. When he closes his eyes to try and rest—in a bed, at night, like any normal person, even an Assassin, would—he feels like their victorious laughter still reaches his ears, no matter how far away they’re causing havoc.

When they’re not on the train, when they’re not out conquering the streets, it’s a matter of knowing their habits, of hearing hushed whispers of how much has gone into the pot for a local fight.

This is far from Henry’s usual crowd. The patrons of the fight club yell and cheer in waves so loud that the room seems to toss from side to side. Elbows jostle Henry from all directions as he makes his way deeper into the room. His gaze keeps darting between the people he’s trying to squeeze through to find openings and his own feet as he keeps them clear of the excited stomping.

He is trying to get to the best seats in the house, so a few bruises are to be expected, especially in this establishment. He still grimaces when he receives a rough knock in the side and not even an apology to follow.

He hears the twins before he sees them. Evie, smiling wide around her words, “You could have dodged that, brother!” Henry lets out a relieved exhale. It would have been a little embarrassing to shove his way into the center only to find another prize fight happening. With Jacob in the ring, no wonder the bets on the board have soared.

“If I didn’t let them land a single blow, they might stop thinking they have a chance!” Jacob calls back as Henry sidles past two very large men and up to the edge of the fence beside a woman who cackles as Jacob turns to his audience. “And then we’d be all out of sparring partners! Where’s the fun in that?”

Jacob in the ring is no shock to Henry. He seems to adore the sway he holds on the crowd, throwing out a hand to them just to hear his name cheered. His chest is still heaving from the recent exertion as their previous opponents pick themselves up and stumble back to the fence to lick their wounds. Sweat beads across his tattoo and makes the ink shimmer darkly against his skin.

Jacob brags about his prowess in the ring the way he brags about everything, loudly and relentlessly until someone, anyone, pays attention to him. From the amount of times he’s had to have been satisfied with Evie acknowledging him only by rolling her eyes and scoffing, the real surprise is for Henry to find her not on the side of the ring watching her brother but right next to him in the fray with flushed red cheeks and sweat soaking through her shirt.

She seems to have little eye for the crowd, instead bracing one hand against her shoulder and rolling out the tension in it. Her head stays bowed until Jacob has finished rousing a second cheer of his name and turns to her, his hand outstretched in presentation. The crowd follows him enthusiastically, and the woman standing next to Henry cups her hands around her mouth to shout Evie’s name with the rest. Evie’s head jerks up in surprise. Henry can see Jacob chuckle at her, but not hear it, or whatever she says to him out of the corner of her mouth as she knocks her shoulder into his, barely suppressing a grin as she steps next to him.

Her eyes pass over the crowd. Where Jacob had missed him over as he took in the whole scene, Evie only needs to glimpse Henry before her attention settles on him. She tips her head, the corners of her eyes lifting even more than they did while hearing the crowd’s praise. Henry wonders if he should add his voice to the throng, but before he can, he hears the ringing of a bell and the shout of the bookie. "Ladies and gentlemen—"

The woman next to Henry elbows him. "It you she’s smiling at?" she inquires as the twins look towards the sound in unison.

"—we’ve come to our final round—"

Henry manages to make noises in response, but they aren’t exactly communicative. "I- Well, she- We-"

"—and as a send-off for our Frye twins, who will be too busy to entertain us for the coming weeks—"

The crowd boos. Jacob gives an apologetic, sweeping bow. Evie swats him.

The woman slaps the fence, her whole face scrunching up in amusement. "And here I thought she might’ve finally been looking my way!” She shakes her head.

"—we are opening the ring to whoever wishes to challenge them!"

"We’re friends," Henry settles on. Friends seems a safe word. The woman cocks an eyebrow.

"Could you get me her autograph, then? Tide over my broken heart." She glances back out at the ring. Jacob has his hand on Evie’s shoulder, leaning in close to whisper to her. Evie’s eyes flick around at their gathering opponents, her smile fallen into the purse of lips that always means she’s planning something. Henry’s not sure when he started to recognize it.

"They can’t stop all of you!" encourages Topping from over the roar of the crowd.

Evie barely turns her head, but Jacob’s so close that they nearly knock temples together. She murmurs something back, and Jacob’s smile, this time, is not for the audience or for the fight. It’s the bared teeth of a dog on a chain, and he gives it to Evie and no one else. The woman hums sympathetically at Henry. "I suppose you have the same chance of getting through her brother as I do."

The first man jumps the fence before the bell has rung to announce the round. Evie and Jacob make the same face, unimpressed at his audacity. They break apart, Jacob’s hand lingering on Evie’s shoulder until he’s too far to reach, and Evie’s head still inclined towards him until that first man begins to advance, quickly joined by two others. Henry can see half a dozen more already moving to join. A few are already sporting fresh bruises—men from earlier rounds who fared better than their fellow fighters and want a chance at payback.

"Good luck!" is the only thing they’ll get to help them survive a final round with the twins.

Henry has the feeling all the luck in the world wouldn’t help.

The first and strongest impression the Fryes had made on Henry was that they never stopped arguing. On any goal, any approach, any move forward, it always had to be an uphill battle both ways.

Such an impression could make anyone imagine that they were completely incompatible.

Henry leans forward on the fence. He can’t take his eyes off of them.

It’s nothing so simple as them working in perfect synchronization. For the long seconds that drag out before a single punch has been thrown, Jacob is the only one to move at all. The most Evie does is brace herself in a fighting stance. There’s so much confidence behind her squared shoulders that Henry himself would have hesitated to advance on her, let alone the men in the ring who are trying to keep an eye on her and her brother.

Jacob’s path makes it clear that they will have to make a choice on who to focus on soon, or Jacob will make it for them.

Two of them break for Evie. She springs forward from her back foot to meet them before they’re prepared. Her momentum turns into a sharp right hook that staggers one of the men and leaves her free to focus on the other one. Henry winces, his jaw aching in sympathy.

Under their robes, it’s easy to miss how similar the twins’ builds are. Stripped almost bare, Henry can only pull his gaze away from the flex of Evie's shoulders as she grabs the head of the man she's fighting and yanks him down onto her raised knee with a crack to look at Jacob’s arms as he lands two hard blows to the one that had stayed behind to face him.

Jacob spares a glance to his sister. Evie has everything under control, a swift kick doubling over her opponent. She grabs his shoulder and swings him into the other man just as he manages to get his feet under him, taking care of them both at once.

She looks up from them to Henry again. Her chest rises and falls with the steady rhythm of a trained fighter, sweat-soaked fabric sticking to her body. Henry realizes he's staring, but by the time he drags his gaze back up to Evie's face, she's smiling knowingly.

Henry swallows and grips the fence tighter.

When Evie looks back to Jacob, she jerks her head. He acknowledges it with a little nod, bounding back to her side as the next opponents step into the ring. There’s more of them this time, hoping for strength in numbers.

Evie very briefly touches the small of Jacob’s bare back as he reaches her side, and Jacob turns into it, shifting his stance until her palm is flat on his skin.

These men, learning from the last, move as one unit onto the twins. They surround them, as if the Fryes are any less dangerous cornered together. Jacob goads them with words Henry can’t hear over the rising ruckus of the crowd. One of the men, the one with a nose that must’ve been broken three times over, takes the bait while the others are still circling. That break in ranks is all it takes. Jacob easily moves out of the way of the punch to slam his fist into the man’s stomach.

Evie moves like a knife; most of her opponents don’t even recognize what’s aimed at them before she’s already left them on the edge of recovery. Jacob is just as fast, just as deadly, but with all the subtlety of a fired bullet. He fights like he wants to be the first one they hit. The longer Henry watches, the more he realizes that must be on purpose. It’s not that Evie can’t take a punch. She does, more than once, the sheer number of people she’s facing off against making it impossible to dodge every fist thrown her way.

It’s that every time Henry can hear the thud of someone’s hand or foot colliding with her, though Evie shakes it off and rarely leaves them standing for more than a moment longer, he can look at Jacob in the same split-second and see shock explode across his features. It’s like he has to rediscover every time that Evie isn’t untouchable.

He hides it quickly. By the time Evie will have the man who hit her kneeling on the ground, Jacob will look almost too gleeful to deliver the final kick that leaves them insensate.

Jacob’s chest is painted in sweat, rolling down across his tattoo and through his chest hair. The loose hairs from Evie's braid plaster themselves to her forehead. The flush of the fight glows across their skin. Evie rolls the same shoulder she had earlier as the other fighters circle in again. Jacob frowns. Evie’s name is one of the words that Henry can read off of his lips. She waves him off, directing him back to the fight.

Someone else sidles up next to Henry while the twins have his complete focus.

"Betting against the twins?" Topping asks. The man looks like he’s never had a better day of business in his life. Henry shakes his head.

"If I were the greatest fool in London." Topping laughs. Henry’s sure he’s found plenty such fools tonight to line his—and the Frye’s—pockets.

"Come on, boys! Think of the prize!" Topping calls. Some of the men shake themselves off, but a few tap out, staggering their way to the edge of the ring. Henry sees at least one spat tooth among the damages. Topping leans over to him. “They’re cooked,” he says like he’s letting Henry in on a secret rather than stating the obvious, and then he disappears off into the crowd again.

Two of them get the jump on Jacob as he crows for the crowd. One forearm barred around his throat, the others holding his arms still, Jacob twists in their grasp. A third man rushes forward to bash him across the jaw. Jacob’s head snaps hard. When he looks up, a smear of scarlet blood and spit wet his busted lip.

That’s when he finally spots Henry. Whatever he sees on Henry’s face widens his grin tenfold, and he taunts loud enough for everyone to hear, “Give me another love tap like that, and I might start to feel it!” Heat rises in Henry’s cheeks as he watches, his heart beating in time with the labored rise and fall of Jacob’s chest. He can see sweat trickle down Jacob’s stomach, down into the trail of hair that leads where Henry can only imagine-

Before Henry can linger on that thought, the man swings his fist into Jacob’s jaw again. Jacob’s whole body tenses, jerking so hard that he nearly breaks free, but the other men hold him still.

They aren’t looking at Evie. Evie, who heard her brother and sent the last man she was sparring with careening into the fence to be done with him. She moves on the man beating Jacob with dangerous fury burning across her face, like for a moment this has ceased to be a game and become a matter of life and death and Evie’s choice on who deserves either. 

Henry is spellbound. She moves with perfect, deadly precision, plunging her foot down into the back of the man’s knee and grabbing his flailing arm as he panics. One of the other men loses his focus enough for Jacob to wriggle out of his grasp, elbowing him in the sternum before swinging around to grab the head of the one still holding him. He headbutts the man so hard that the thud reaches every member of the audience, and it’s only eclipsed a moment later as Evie twists her target’s arm unnaturally and snaps it. A hiss rises from the crowd. 

Evie lets him fall. She looks Jacob over once before helping him finish the fight, punching the man he’d doubled over in the throat to send him to the floor gasping for breath. 

Jacob spits as the bell calls an end to the match, bloody saliva wetting the dirt at his feet. He shakes out a fist, torn knuckles showing beneath where his coverings had come loose in the fight. Evie bows to catch her breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air before she straightens again. Though she grimaces when she spots the man with the arm she’d broken being helped out of the ring by a friend, it doesn’t look much like guilt. 

“A victory for the Frye twins!” Topping shouts over a lull in the cheers. “Which none of us could have predicted!” The woman next to Henry laughs the loudest. “That’ll be all for the night!” He has more to tell the crowd, but Henry lets it fade out as his focus returns to the twins. They walk to the other side of the ring, and a throng of fans is there to join them. 

Henry sighs. More being jostled around and jabbed in the gut to get near them. The things he does for these two…

After far too much shoving, he manages to get to them as their admirers begin to disperse. They both look at him at the same time, and Henry almost stops in his tracks, caught beneath the affection in their eyes. It must be the leftover rush of the fight, he reasons, because Evie guards herself closer and Jacob doesn’t enjoy his company that much.

"Enjoy the show, Greenie?" Jacob says as he approaches, jumping the fence to join Henry’s side of the ring and leaning back against it. His lip is swollen up, a bruise darkening his cheek and jaw. The urge to reach out and skim the sore spot with his fingertips rises and falls in Henry before he can gather his words.

"It wouldn’t have been my choice for a evening’s entertainment," Henry admits, "but you fight beautifully together." Jacob’s mouth quirks, and his chest puffs a bit, as if his pride can show itself any more than it already is.

”Do you have a drink?” Henry offers a flask, only lukewarm water. Jacob reaches for it, but Evie snatches it up first as she slips over the fence as well, putting her mouth to the lip of it and tipping it back for a few swallows. The column of her throat is shiny with sweat. When she’s done, she lets Jacob take it next, but he doesn’t even bother with a sip. He tilts his head back and pours the water across his face, eyes shut as if in rapture from the relief. 

“Say thank you, Jacob,” Evie says.

”Thank you, Jacob,” Jacob replies before he shakes the water off like a dog. Evie rolls her eyes.

”You’re welcome,” Henry says despite Jacob’s obstinance, because he can’t help being endeared to it. Jacob ruffles a hand through his own hair and drags it down the dripping edge of his stubbled jaw. He gives Henry his flask back, their hands brushing long enough to feel how hot Jacob is running.

He resolutely does not imagine putting his hand on either twin’s forehead and feeling them lean into the coolness of his palm. Or both at once, a hand around Jacob’s unbruised cheek, another over Evie’s temple-

"Maybe you can tell my sister that she’d fight even better if she wasn’t injured. She listens to you,” Jacob says, interrupting Henry’s train of thought. Henry tries not to think too hard about that fantasy or about the last part of what Jacob said. He turns his gaze onto Evie to survey her. There’s nothing obvious, but this close, he can see that the shoulder she’s been rolling and touching in the lulls between fighting has old bruises at its base, stretching under her shirt. Evie rolls her eyes.

"I fell wrong a few nights ago," Evie explains to Henry before she turns back to Jacob to emphasize, "and it healed." Jacob punches her in the shoulder. Evie jerks back with a grunt of pain, her hand slapping over her shoulder.

"It healed!" Jacob mimics her.

"It’s still sore!" she shoots back at him, and for good measure, she hits him in the side where he’d taken a kick during the fight. Jacob sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Henry steps between them. He’s not sure if they’re about to start wrestling on the floor like children, but he is sure that he doesn’t trust their maturity enough to leave the decision up to them. "A little rest after your victory won’t do you any harm. Come back to my shop. I’ll make you some tea, and we’ll see if there isn’t anything we can do about the bruising." He half expects them both to turn him down. As Henry doesn’t usually find himself on the edge of a fighting ring, Jacob would rather do anything else besides recover quietly over a warm drink. Likewise, Evie’s still more prone to making excuses to run than she is to settling in to spend time with him.

But Evie glances at Jacob out of the corner of her eye, and Jacob surreptitiously tries to peer over at Evie’s bruises, and when Jacob is finally the one to say, "Why not?", Evie doesn’t argue with him.

Jacob tosses an arm over Henry’s back, and Evie bumps her shoulder into his as they walk out together.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Topolino

Ezio Auditore x Reader

Summary: A pickpocket runs into an unusual altercation on his way home from his daily antics. 

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Swearing in Italian

Special thanks to @vorsdany, one of my fav humans who courageously proofread for me once again (love ya bro <3)

i hope at least one person enjoys this because i have no fellow assassin's creed fan friends :,D

The wind whistled lowly through the alley I crouched in as I counted my day’s worth of findings. I shook the florins into my hand, trying not to grab the attention of passersby. Counting money wasn’t a crime, but had I been lucky, the total would’ve been incredibly suspicious.

But unfortunately, the victims of my shenanigans that day must not have been as wealthy as I would’ve liked, because I hadn’t even come close to my goal. I grumbled softly as I spilled my findings back into my leather purse, pulling the strings taut before stowing it in my shirt.

Findings, plunder, dirty money, call it what you want.

I rose to my feet with little enthusiasm; I didn’t like going home without hitting my target. Maybe on my way back I could sneak a couple more florins, just for the satisfaction. I’d have enough to buy something substantial for breakfast the next morning before starting up my escapades once again.

Peeking out of the alley, I joined the crowds with the smallest movements possible, careful to avoid the attentive gazes of any nearby guards as we headed into the town square. The sun sank lower in the sky as I shifted through the streets, jumping from group to group, never walking alone. People were quick to recognize a pickpocket, and if I ran into anyone I’d previously preyed on, my small collection from the day would be the least of my problems.

Shopkeepers all around were packing down their stalls, and travelling doctors were packing up their equipment. No doubt they all had families or friends to go home to, wives to complain to their customers about, frustrating children who took up their personal space, neighbours who intruded at the most inconvenient times. They must consider themselves so unfortunate, and yet I’d give anything to be in their shoes, instead of going ‘home’ to an abandoned, dilapidated gondola. I sighed heavily and shifted from the crowded town square into a narrower street, gently pushing aside an obnoxious minstrel as I went.

Only to stumble upon two figures dueling around three corpses.

I ran and grabbed a ledge nearby, hoisting myself up to avoid the clashing swords as the two of them moved up and down the alley with ease, their swords still swinging back and forth. I crouched and observed in stunned silence; one of the figures, garbed in a white, flowing cloak, appeared to be gaining the advantage over the other, who, upon closer inspection, I recognized as a guard, as were the bodies sprawled over the path. This guy appeared to be in over his head.

“It's a good thing I needed an excuse to test out this new blade of mine,” the mysterious man remarked. “I must be lucky, stumbling upon an eager idiot like you.”

I was shocked to hear the confident tone coming from the cloaked figure. He sounded young, but bold, and his wisecrack didn’t slow him in his advances.

“I wouldn’t call a man who lost his father and brother in one fell swoop ‘lucky’,” the guard sniggered in retort, and the cloaked figure’s strikes became swifter and even more aggressive as he growled lowly, “Fottiti, bastardo!”

The guard stumbled back, and the vigilante didn’t miss a beat; sheathing his sword with one hand and drawing a short blade with his other, he grabbed the guard’s shirt front with his now free left hand and spun him round, wrapping his arm around his neck. He held the blade to the man’s throat, his hood keeping his face out of my sight.

“Please,” the guard whimpered, “have mercy on me!”

The cloaked figure shrugged. “Va bene,” he relented, before sliding the dagger clean across his gullet. “I’ll make it quick.”

The guard crumpled to the ground, a few strangled moans escaping his mouth before he went silent. The cloaked figure knelt and wiped his blade on the guard’s shirt, and he snuck his hand into the leather pouch at the waist, withdrawing a few florins with a smirk.

Only then did I realize my mouth had been agape as I’d watched, and a short involuntary noise of shock flew out before I could shut it. The man spun round to face me, holding his dagger in a defensive position as he looked me up and down.

“Merda,” he murmured somewhat nervously. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“I- I-” I stammered, but before I could come up with an answer, he was on the ledge next to me in two or three steps.

“I didn’t even see you sneak in here,” he said, tilting his head like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “You sly devil; were you sent to spy on me?”

“No, no, not at all,” I hurriedly assured him, my hands raised slightly, afraid he might not believe me. “I swear, this is my route home and I stumbled upon your little conflitto, and I did not wish to interrupt.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Conflitto, hm? You think that’s all it was?”

He acted as if he wanted me to call him out. “What, are you some kind of dangerous criminal? Or did they call you bambino and hurt your feelings?”

He inhaled sharply and stepped toward me, and suddenly I lost my newly-found confidence and raised my hands once again. “Just a joke, just a joke!” I protested, and gave a short laugh as if to prove it. He rolled his eyes and turned away from me, climbing down from the ledge.

I blinked in confusion. “Y- You’re just gonna walk away?”

“I have better things to do than entertain a little intelligentone who’s up past their bedtime,” he replied without turning his head. “I’m going home.”

I was no longer impressed by this guy; now, he was getting on my nerves. I jumped down after him, and before he could turn to face me, I snuck his stiletto out of its place in his belt, slipping it complacently into my own.

“What do you want, birbante?” he demanded roughly, swinging something around on his finger by the drawstring.

My leather purse. How the hell-

“Give me back my blade and you can have your dirty money, fair and square.” He held his hand out patiently, and I handed him the dagger with little hesitation, reaching for the purse. He smirked at my desperation, and I scowled. “You think you’re clever, hm, furfante? You want to play a little game?”

I couldn’t say I liked the patronizing tone he’d taken on, but after that stunt, his proposition was enticing. I wanted to know what else this mysterious and strangely dressed young man had up his sleeve.

“All right,” I relented. “What did you have in mind?”

He turned to face the town square behind us, his gaze settling on the tallest building, and he nodded to himself. “I want you to race me to the top of that building.”

I blinked once again, but I let the moment of hesitation pass. “Sure,” I agreed, folding my arms confidently. I had no doubt this man was incredibly agile, but I was not going to back down after he challenged me like I was a toddler.

He cracked his knuckles and smirked at me. “On my count, then.” He took a deep breath and shook out his legs and arms in preparation. “One, two-”

“Three!” I could not possibly have resisted the opportunity; I took off, leaving him in the dust and reaching the base of the tower in seconds. Leaping up and grabbing a small outcrop with both hands, I resisted the temptation to look down and check his progress. I reached up with smug satisfaction, sure that my surprise was enough of a headstart to ensure my victory.

Until a light grunt a few palms away from me startled me out of my reverie.

He was not climbing, but rather, leaping; as he flew up from each perch, he reached for the next, clasping with both hands and using his incredible upper body strength to hoist himself up.

Unlike me, he was unable to resist the urge; he snuck a peek down at me and sent a charming smirk my way before resuming his ascent.

I groaned in frustration when I realized I’d come to a complete stop to watch his method. I continued climbing, reaching for anything I could get a decent grip on. I was fast, but nowhere near fast enough; by the time my blistered hands had gotten me half-way, he was dangling his legs over the edge of the top, watching me with his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on his thigh.

“You’re like a little mouse,” he taunted. “You scurry, but ever so slow! If I’d known you were going to take so long, I’d have brought some bread and wine up with me; I’m starving up here.”

“Maybe I did this on purpose, then, to give you a taste of my life,” I retorted bitterly. “Not everyone can just go around murdering soldiers when they want to break the law.”

As I pulled myself up the last few arms and up onto an overhang, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You think I was fighting because I had to steal food?”

I shrugged slightly as I crawled carefully over to where he sat on the edge. “How should I know? I just met you.”

He grunted. “Fair point.” Sighing deeply, he added, “It’s far more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

Unsure of what to say, I nodded slowly, waiting to see if he would continue.

“My name is Ezio,” he explained. “Ezio Auditore.”

I recognized the name. After a moment of contemplation, I remembered where from; two men by that name had been hanged a few weeks ago, for a crime I could not recollect.

“My family was falsely accused of treason,” he added, as if reading my thoughts. “I seek to avenge them. That is all you need to know.” He looked so sad as he finished this statement that I felt a twinge of pity for him, forgetting our petty competition. I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

“Well, I live in an abandoned gondola and I steal money from people,” I said, “so, if that makes you feel any better...”

He chuckled lightly, and smiled at me; the gesture filled me with a warmth I had not felt in years; something like what I’d felt when my mother or father would smile at me, but, a little different.

Before I could express any sort of feeling, he rose to his feet, dusting himself off. “Well, topolino,” he said, “this was fun. We should meet again and have a rematch someday.”

I laughed. “Topolino, hm? That’s quite an upgrade from birbante.”

He grinned mischievously, tousling my hair and filling my stomach once again with warm butterflies. “Like I said,” he whispered, “like a little mouse.”

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, perching on the overhang I’d pulled myself up on earlier. Turning back for one last look at me, he beamed and winked at me, before leaping over the edge.

My jaw dropped as he disappeared, but I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his body hitting a wheelbarrow full of hay below. I peeked over to watch him sprint away, already missing his charming aura, wily as it was.

Reluctantly, I began my descent, wondering if I’d ever see the hooded vigilante ever again.

Translation Guide: fottiti: fuck you bastardo: bastard va bene: all right merda: shit intelligentone: wiseguy/know-it-all/smart-ass birbante: rascal furfante: scoundrel topolino: baby mouse