#i have put this man in almost too many predicaments

[clove-pinks]

For the ask game: Johnny Mitchell's Story

Another one of my War of 1812 OCs, poor Johnny Mitchell was inspired from a bit in an academic journal article because of course he was. Kentucky governor/military leader Isaac Shelby resorted to the draft to keep shovelling men at the war:

Further, many of the men who eventually enlisted fell far short of the quality expected by Kentucky officials. After inspecting a group of new recruits, Shelby confided to Harrison that the "greater part of them appeared to [be] men undersize and in other respects hardly Kentuckians." He admitted that "the better kind of people" had avoided military service altogether by hiring substitutes to serve in their stead.

So there you have Johnny: short, working class, and faring poorly at Fort Meigs. I did make him a crack shot and a good soldier, as well as one of the men who would retrieve British cannonballs for an extra gill of whiskey. (He doesn't have a drinking problem, however, I did that with a different Fort Meigs OC.)

Short except behind cut.

——————————

It had been a few days since Nancy saw Johnny at Fort Meigs, and she was eager to find the Kentucky militiaman in the crowds that surrounded her wagon of goods for sale. Her younger sister had accompanied her to the armed camp, to assist with the large assortment of food, stationary, soap, tobacco, and other mess kit essentials that were purchased by the soldiers.

At last Johnny appeared, looking bedraggled from fatigue duty despite his best efforts to brush his clothes and clean his face.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost. 

That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man. 

Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.

“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.

 “Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.” 

“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"

"I killed mine yesterday.” 

Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.

“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”

“Isn’t that better?” 

“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”

“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.

“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”

“It isn’t?” 

Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.

But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.

“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.

What’s weird is that   after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.

You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.

No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s  actually  happening.

“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”

“We…” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it  menacing 

“It  really  is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”

“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what?  Actually,  you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you  up  and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”

Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon – 

“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.

“…” 

They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.

yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.

‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’

So they  really  are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.

You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.

What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.

“Hey lass!”

Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.

“Lass? Bonnie?”

 Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.

“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.

“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”

“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”

“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”

You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife. 

They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.

The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.

With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.

“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.

“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.

Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.

“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”

You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.

Fuck your life.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

Car -1, Peaceful night -1

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[devilishcupid]

BROUGHT TO JUSTICE | Bruce Wayne

☆ premise: you knew you had to do something after the joker killed jason, even if bruce wouldn't be able to save you.

☆ pairing: bruce wayne x fem!wife!reader

☆ warnings: gore descriptions, hurt no comfort, angst, death depiction and mention

☆ a/n: been a while since i uploaded a fic on this account. so many drafts and i couldn't focus on finishing bc i kept going back and forth lol. anyways, forced myself to finish this bruce fic i've had since last year. didn't have a specific bruce in mind writing this, hope you enjoy!

'He was never going to stop. You did the right thing,' you told yourself. You spared Gotham of further terror at the hands of the psychopathic clown. He didn't deserve to live—not after he murdered the one you held most dear.

"What did you do?"

You snapped out of your trance-like state, looking up to find Bruce standing in front of you in his costume. Only now, you became aware of the cold metal of the crowbar in your hands. Only now, you became aware of the crimson blood that covered you from head to toe. Only now, you became aware of the lifeless body of the Joker lying at your feet.

"I only did what you couldn't do." You said as you dropped the crowbar, the sound of metal hitting concrete echoing in the abandoned warehouse you had lured the Joker into.

"Why... why did you do this?!" Bruce yelled, grabbing you by your shoulders, trying to process how you were able to commit something even he couldn't bring himself to do.

"Because you didn't save my Jason!" You spat at him, your salty tears mixing with the blood splattered on your face before dripping down your chin and onto the ground. "You didn't save our boy—"

"Do you really believe that's an excuse to take a life?!"

Your jaw clenched at his words—you couldn't believe Bruce was using his stupid code of honor to defend letting that good-for-nothing maniac live after what he did.

"He tortured your son to death, and you let him get away with it." You hissed, venom dripping from every word you said. "And it's not just Jason. He terrorized the citizens of Gotham for too long, and the only thing you ever did about it was put him in a damn asylum he'd eventually escape from."

Bruce's lips formed a thin line across his face, unable to give you a response. From the looks of it, you could tell he knew you were right—at least about the never-ending cycle of Joker escaping Arkham and the Batman putting him back in.

"You know why I couldn't kill him." He finally settled on.

You let out a throaty chuckle laced with disdain for the man in front of you, shaking your head at your husband's simplistic reply. "Well, it's a good thing you don't have to—not anymore, at least. I did all of this for you."

Before either of you could say anything else, blue and red lights pierced through the broken glass windows of the warehouse, and the sound of sirens got louder. You could hear the screeching of car breaks, followed by Commissioner Gordon's voice booming, "This is the GCPD, and we have you surrounded! Come out now!"

"You should go," you said, having already accepted your eventual arrest by the Gotham City Police Department the moment you had put your plan into action.

"I won't leave—"

"It will look bad if they see you here," you interrupted him. "Right now, you're not my husband. You're the Batman. Unless you want to be the one to turn me in, I suggest you go now."

Bruce stayed quiet, knowing he couldn't save you from your predicament. Everything that led up to the Joker's death all pointed to you. It was almost as if you wanted to get caught with how the clown's death mirrored Jason's; you didn't bother to cover up your tracks, either. They may not be as useful as they should be in this crime-ridden city, but the GCPD isn't incompetent enough to not connect the dots.

"Just go, Bruce. Please. I don't want you to see what happens next." You planted a lingering kiss on your husband's cheek—careful not to get any hint of evidence on his suit—before heading towards the warehouse entrance to face Commissioner Gordon and his men.

The squelching of entrails and blood beneath the soles of your shoes followed your every step as you inched towards the door. You gripped the rusty handle with a bloody hand, taking a deep breath. You heard the sound of rustling behind you and look back to find the Batman already gone.

If it wasn't for the wailing of the police sirens, you swore you would've been able to hear a pin drop from the shock Gordon and his people had when you stepped foot outside the warehouse.

You raised your hands in the air, showing the entire unit of police officers undeniable proof of what you'd done. Confusion contorted on some of the officers' faces while others lowered their weapons, all of them unable to wrap their head around how one of Gotham's most esteemed socialites ended up covered in blood from head to toe.

"Sir, what do we do?" You could hear Officer Montoya ask hesitantly to the GCPD's renowned commissioner.

"Arrest her."

Next thing you know, your face is pressed against the pebbly ground and cold, thin metal is wrapped around your wrists behind your back. From the corner of your eye, you could see the feet of officers walking past you and into the warehouse.

You're brought back on your feet and walked to the nearest police car. Before you're put inside, you hear one of the officers shout—

"Fucking hell, she killed the Joker!"

Once you're seated in the backseat, the car starts moving. The sounds of the engine and the sirens filling your ears, almost deafening. You look out of the window, and you spot the silhouette of the Batman atop of a building against the moon's bright light.

You couldn't help but smile a little to yourself. As much as you did it for yourself, you did it for him. Now, the Batman didn't have to worry about a psychotic clown terrorizing Gotham City.

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |7: In Denial|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: I think this installment should prove to be very interesting... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon @sarraa-26 @barnes21cz @loves0phelia @3sriracha

You stood in front of the small mirror above your dresser in the bedroom, awkwardly angling your body to get a better view of the shirt you’d just thrown on. It was the second one you’d tried to pair with these jeans, but this was the fourth outfit you’d thrown on for tonight because you'd already over-thought the first three. And staring at your reflection now, you were starting to question this one, too.

After telling your co-worker, Stephanie, to give Dylan your number the other day, he'd called you almost immediately and asked you out on a date far more promptly than you had anticipated. His enthusiasm had taken you by surprise, though nevertheless you had agreed. But even as you’d accepted the invitation, you found yourself having to actively ignore the sinking feeling in your gut when the Devil’s masked face inevitably flashed through your mind. But it didn’t seem likely that he was ever going to ask you on a date–whoever the hell he was. 

Granted, you didn’t exactly expect him to, either. After all, he was a masked vigilante who made it a priority to keep himself anonymous while he went out and dealt with criminals in the city. It wasn’t like he spent his evenings out looking for romantic prospects in the process, too. 

So now tonight, just days after making the decision to finally give Dylan a chance and to stop waiting around for the masked man, you had your date. You were nervous despite both of you deciding to keep the evening very casual. Instead of heading out somewhere for a fancy meal at a restaurant or sitting through a movie where neither of you could hold a conversation, the pair of you had decided to go out for a few drinks. Something light and informal. Admittedly you were also hoping that being able to have a couple of drinks would help to ease your nerves, especially because it had been awhile since you'd last even gone on a date. 

But even though the date was meant to be something relaxed, you'd still spent every minute after you'd arrived home from work trying to get ready for it. You'd brushed your teeth at least three times in the hopes to avoid repelling him with bad breath, and then you’d even anxiously reapplied your deodorant just as many times. You had gone so far as to shave ahead of time, too–just in case. Afterwards, you'd spent far too long contemplating which perfume you'd wear for the evening before landing in your current predicament of trying to find something to wear.

Tearing your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, you grabbed your phone from off the end of your bed to check the time. You groaned in defeat when you saw how late it had already become. With one final look back at yourself in your mirror, you decided to just settle on what you already were wearing. You didn't have time to change again if you were going to meet Dylan at the bar on time.

Leaving your bedroom in a rush, you made your way down the short hallway and through your living room towards your kitchen. Slipping your phone into the purse you had sitting on the kitchen counter, you picked it up and were about to head straight towards your front door, but before you could make your way there to put on your winter coat and boots, the sight of the lilies the Devil had gifted you stopped you in your tracks.

Pausing to observe them, you noticed that they looked more wilted than they even had this morning, drooping over the side of the glass they sat inside. Most of them had also lost a few petals, though some of the remaining ones still held a few dried drops of the Devil’s blood from the other night. Despite their obvious withered state, you’d still kept them on display on your counter ever since.

As you stared at the flowers, you noticed that the glass the bouquet was sitting in was almost out of water. With a frown you slipped the strap of your purse over your shoulder before reaching out and picking it up. You brought the glass over to your sink and pulled the flowers out before dumping the remnants of the makeshift vase's water down the drain. Setting the glass down on the counter, you turned around with every intention of tossing out the old flowers, but after taking a single step towards your garbage can, you hesitated. Glancing down at the lilies in your hand, you noticed that they had certainly lost most of their beauty, but somehow throwing them in the garbage just didn’t feel quite right. 

For a moment you stood there, eyeing the specks of red on a few white and pink petals. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you decided that you still weren't quite ready to part with them. Turning back towards your sink, you set the flowers back in the large glass before holding it under your faucet and filling it with fresh water. As you set the makeshift vase back onto your counter, you mentally promised yourself that you’d finally toss them tomorrow. You couldn’t exactly keep them forever.

Without a backwards glance, you left your kitchen and headed towards your apartment door. Beginning to slip on your boots, your mind quickly shifted to your growing first date nerves, and your thoughts about the Devil soon faded to the back of your mind.

Matt’s elbows rested along the bar counter he was sitting at, one finger tapping against the side of his beer bottle. One of his dress shoes was also fidgeting along the floor, his mind currently elsewhere tonight. He was focused on issues in the city that had absolutely nothing to do with Nelson and Murdock, yet here he was accompanying Foggy to Josie’s tonight, pretending like he was here to commiserate over their lack of paying customers and to figure out how they were going to cover the firm’s growing expenses. But really he was counting down the minutes before he could reasonably leave and deal with what Matt deemed to be more pressing problems.

“Maybe we could sell the baked goods for extra cash,” Foggy joked from his place on the barstool beside Matt’s. “I bet Mrs. Gonzalez’s pies alone would make us a fortune.”

“We’d need a permit for that,” Matt said off-handedly. “Can’t just open a shop and sell food on a whim, Fog.”

Matt registered the movement beside him, hearing the way Foggy readjusted his position on the barstool. Focusing closer on his friend, Matt noticed the pull of muscles along his face as Foggy frowned. Matt’s finger tapped a little faster against his beer bottle in agitation; he really wished he was doing more important things right now. Like finding the owner of that seemingly abandoned warehouse he’d stumbled on last night. He’d been itching to throw on the mask all day, but he had promised Fog they’d have this conversation tonight.

“I know, Matt,” Foggy told him. “I wasn’t being serious. But we do need to start figuring out how we’re going to pay all the bills that are piling up. And I think Karen had some good ideas on ways to save on some of our costs. That’s one of the things I was hoping to run by you tonight.”

Matt sighed, his hand wrapping around the neck of his beer bottle. “Alright,” he said, not really interested in the conversation at all. “Hit me with them.”

“Okay, so,” Foggy began enthusiastically, swiveling further towards Matt in his stool, “I think the first idea she had was completely genius.”

Matt drew his beer bottle up to his lips, taking a long pull from it as he only half-listened to Foggy tell him about one of Karen’s ideas. With how uninterested in the subject matter he currently was this evening, Matt’s attention soon began to wander around the bar, picking up on the sound of other patrons playing pool or catching snippets of various conversations. But as Matt had gone to swallow a drink of his beer, one voice in particular captured his full attention in the bar. Pausing with the alcohol still sitting in his mouth, Matt tilted his head slightly over his right shoulder, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he focused on it more closely. 

“Oh, I’ve really never been a fan of the winter here. It’s too cold and there’s far too much snow for my liking.”

Why had that woman’s voice sounded so familiar? 

Matt sat there for a moment, listening to the woman continue to explain how she preferred the summer months as he tried to place where he'd heard that voice before. And then it hit him.

You. It was you . 

Matt’s hand slowly lowered the bottle back to the bar counter as he swallowed his beer, surprise washing over him. He certainly hadn’t expected to hear you here tonight, and now he found himself wondering how long you'd been sitting over there without him noticing. Out of all the times he’d come here with Fog, he’d never once recognized your voice among the crowd at Josie’s, so hearing it now had completely thrown him. Though he knew it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that you might ever come here. Since Matt lived near Josie’s, and you lived practically just across the street from Matt, that also meant you lived near this bar, too. 

But still. Here you were sitting at a table in the far corner of Josie’s bar. His bar.

But you weren’t alone. You were sitting at a table with someone else. Curious as to who you were here with and why, Matt shifted in his barstool a little more towards your table, angling himself better as he focused in on who you were talking to. It was only a matter of seconds before Matt heard your companion speak and he realized you were here with a man. His head canting a bit to the side as Foggy still continued on about ways to save money to his left, Matt began to focus on your body. 

It didn’t sound like it should have and that had caught his attention immediately. Your heart was beating faster than what constituted a normal rhythm–currently it was beating similarly to how it often did whenever the Devil appeared at your window. Matt could also smell the adrenaline mixed with cortisol wafting off of you, but those hormones were paired with another scent of yours he’d long grown familiar with on his nightly visits to your apartment.

Pheromones.

Realization dawned on Matt as he pieced it all together. You were here on a date. Possibly a first or second one judging by your stress levels and the nervous fidgeting your hands were doing under the table. But you were certainly here on a date. And you were quite obviously attracted to whoever your date was, that much was obvious to him as he observed your body.

Matt’s hand gripped his beer bottle almost to the point of shattering the glass. His jaw tightened as he sat there smelling your attraction to someone that wasn’t the Devil. For some reason sitting here and experiencing your body reacting the way it currently was to someone else bothered him.

He didn’t like it at all.

A hand on Matt’s shoulder abruptly drew him from his thoughts and he startled in his stool at Foggy’s touch. Matt's head darted back in the direction of his friend beside him, feeling a little disoriented as he tried to properly focus his senses. 

“You okay, buddy?” Foggy asked in concern. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’ll be right back,” Matt heard you say. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”

“Yeah,” Matt answered distractedly. “I'm fine.”

Half of Matt's attention was still on you, listening as you'd gotten out of your chair and began to make your way across the bar and towards the bathrooms. When you passed behind the barstools where he and Foggy sat, the familiar scent of you instantly engulfed him. Matt's eyes closed, his body relaxing as the memory of your own warm body wrapped around his almost naked one beneath that blanket surfaced in his mind. Lips parting of their own accord, the taste of your pheromones landed sweetly on his tongue. 

An idea struck Matt once he'd heard the women's restroom door open and close. Sitting straighter in his chair, his attention returned to Foggy who'd already resumed discussing his original topic. Matt knew what he was about to do was ridiculous–and honestly incredibly dangerous considering how observant you'd proven to be–but he found himself speaking without first taking a moment to process what had come over him. Because truthfully he wasn't quite sure why he felt compelled to do what he was about to do. 

“Actually, you know what?” Matt said, cutting Foggy off as he swiveled in the bar stool. “I don’t think I’m feeling that great after all. Maybe it was that casserole Mrs. Canneli dropped off for lunch,” Matt lied. “I’m just going to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“You going to be alright, buddy?” Foggy asked. “Do you need me to help get you home instead?”

“Let me just see how I feel in a few minutes,” he said in a rush. 

Matt slid off of his stool, grabbing his folded cane from off the top of the bar counter as he caught the sound of the faucet running in the women’s restroom. Opening his cane in a rush with one hand, he lightly clapped Foggy on the back with his other. Without wasting another moment, he navigated his own way through the crowd at Josie’s and over towards the bathrooms, his cane running back and forth along the floor as he walked.

When he reached the short hallway where the bathrooms were located, Matt already heard your unmistakeable footsteps making their way towards the bathroom door. Timing things precisely, he stepped directly in front of it just as you stepped out of it. You solidly bumped straight into his chest before stumbling backwards a step. Unable to help himself, Matt’s left hand darted out and lightly grasped your bicep, attempting to keep you from entirely falling over.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, rubbing a hand across your forehead. “I'm so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt said, turning up the charm and fighting down his growing grin. “It was my fault.”

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head as your hand lowered back to your side, “I should have been–”

Matt caught the moment you’d really noticed him as he released your arm. Your breath had briefly hitched, the sound only loud enough for him to catch it. Your heart had begun to beat a little quicker–slightly faster than it had been when you’d been sitting with your date, he noted with pride. A light bit of sweat had begun on your palms which you were now wiping along your jeans.

You thought he was attractive even out of the black suit, even if you didn’t realize you were standing in front of the very same Devil who often so easily got your pulse racing. 

“I should have been watching where I was going,” you finished lamely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk right into you.”

“It’s alright, really,” Matt replied, struggling to resist calling you ‘angel’ as he spoke. That would’ve certainly given him away. “I can’t exactly see where I’m going, so you’re not entirely to blame.”

He flashed another smile at you, enjoying the way your heart hammered a little harder in your chest. Even when he wasn’t the Devil he realized he still liked the sound of that.

But then something strange happened.

He felt your body’s reaction to him suddenly shift, something so incredibly immediate that it had taken him off guard. Your eyes had widened, your brows arching up a bit as your head tilted just the tiniest fraction to the side. Your breathing briefly paused as the scent of your cortisol and adrenaline grew heavy in Matt’s nose for a moment. But then your body just as swiftly switched back to frazzled and attracted to him. You lightly shook your head, as if whatever that feeling was had been fleeting, before Matt could even try to make sense of it. 

Matt’s smile faltered as he tried to place what had just happened. Was that panic that he’d just picked up from you? Or was it…recognition? Had you somehow figured everything out so easily? Were you really that observant?

Strange.

“I should uh, let you get to the bathrooms then,” you said awkwardly. 

“I was just going to make a phone call, actually,” Matt lied quickly, speaking before he could think. “But what if I bought you an apology drink instead? For the headache I’m sure I just gave you.”

You laughed lightly, your hand running across your forehead again. “Thank you but I’m actually here on a date right now. And I should probably get back to them,” you told him. “But again, I’m really sorry for running into you like that. I hope the rest of your night continues with far less injury.”

Matt's smile became tight, his mind reaching for something to say to keep you longer, but then you were maneuvering around him before he could say another word. He listened as you made your way back to your date in the bar while internally kicking himself for having lost the opportunity to try and ask for your name. He’d hoped at the very least he might've gotten it out of you as Matt Murdock tonight once he’d realized you were here.

Standing in the short hallway a minute longer, Matt heard your cheerful voice greet the man you were here with once you returned to your table. His hand gripped around the handle of his cane, squeezing it tight in his fist. 

Humming softly to yourself, you placed the clean stack of bowls up into your cabinet. Too preoccupied with getting ready for your date earlier this evening, you’d left your dishwasher full of clean dishes instead of taking a few minutes to put them away. But now that you’d returned home from meeting Dylan at Josie’s, you found yourself full of far too much energy to brush your teeth and crawl into bed and go to sleep despite the late hour.

Turning back towards your dishwasher, you bent down and pulled two glasses out of the bottom rack. As you made your way towards the cabinet where they belonged, you couldn’t fight the smile from growing on your face.

You’d had a shockingly good time with Dylan tonight. He’d been funny and sweet and the conversation between you both had never really dulled for the duration of the night. He was attractive, too. Maybe not as attractive as the Devil in his black suit with his chiseled six pack, but still a handsome man–and one whose face you’d actually been able to see.

All in all, tonight had been a success instead of a failure. You’d even set up a second date for later this week and you found yourself looking forward to it. Stephanie had been more than right thinking the pair of you would get along well because you certainly had.

Reaching up into your cabinet, you set both of the glass cups on the shelf. But before you could even turn around, you heard a deep voice unexpectedly come from behind you.

“You should really lock that window.”

Spinning around on the spot in surprise, you stumbled back into the countertop behind you when you saw you weren't alone. The Devil was standing near your living room window and dressed in his usual tight-fitting black. There was no smile on his face to greet you tonight, but rather a tension you could see in his shoulders and a stern set to his lips. He looked agitated and you found yourself wondering if he’d had a bad night.

“Considering you’re the only one who uses it,” you teasingly began, hoping to lighten his mood as your startled heart gradually calmed, “I figured it only made sense that I leave it unlocked. I mean at this point it’s basically a pet door for a particular favorite stray of mine.”

The Devil’s reaction had been almost instantaneous at your jest. A tentative smile spread its way across his mouth, all traces of the tension in his jaw and shoulders beginning to melt away. He took a few steps towards you, coming to rest both of his gloved hands flat across your countertop. You noticed his masked face briefly fix on the vase of now dying flowers that he’d brought you for just a second before it focused back on you.

“You seem in a particularly good mood this evening, angel,” the Devil commented. “Are you just that excited to see me?”

A flush steadily began to creep up your neck at the fact that he’d noticed your mood. Truthfully, his unexpected appearance in your apartment tonight had increased your happiness this evening, but there was no way you were going to admit that to him. More than likely it would send him right back to jumping straight off your fire escape. So instead you decided on telling him only part of the truth.

“Actually,” you replied, “I had a date tonight.”

His lips twitched at the corners briefly, a gesture so small you’d probably never have noticed if his mouth wasn’t the only thing you could ever completely see on his face. What had that been about?

“A date?” the Devil asked, sounding surprised. 

Your eyes flickered over to the side of him, your gaze landing on the vase of wilted lilies. You probably should have tossed those earlier tonight considering how awful they really looked now. Knowing he’d noticed them, you wondered if he might’ve read more into the reason why you still had them on display.

“Yeah,” you answered, your attention returning to him. “A date.”

The Devil’s hands curled into fists along your countertop, that agitated demeanor rapidly returning to him. A tenseness had settled in his smile as he gazed back at you beneath his mask.

“That’s nice,” he replied. “I imagine your date behaved themselves tonight then. Or am I mistaken?” he asked. There was something almost predatory in the way his smile suddenly curved a little more as he continued. “Does the Devil need to pay someone a visit this evening?”

Your brows jumped up onto your forehead in shock. Had he just offered to assault your date? But as he continued to stand there on the other side of your kitchen counter with that menacing smile on his beautiful mouth, you realized he’d been joking. 

With a laugh, you shook your head as you made your way back over towards your dishwasher. Bending down, you retrieved a few clean plates that still needed to be put away. 

“No, he was a complete gentleman,” you informed him, carrying the stacked plates back to the cabinet you’d put the cups in moments ago. “We just had a few drinks at some bar nearby. I think it was called Josie’s. Have you heard of it?”

Closing the cabinet door, you turned back around to face the masked man. The predatory smile had vanished and was currently replaced with a faint frown. As you eyed him curiously, you wondered where his usual joking demeanor had disappeared to tonight.

“Yeah, I know of it,” his deep voice responded. “Not the most romantic choice for a date if you ask me. Sure you don’t want me to hit him for you?”

Laughing again, you bent over and grabbed a couple of coffee mugs from your dishwasher next. “It was just a first date,” you explained, “and we both agreed on doing something really informal to take the pressure off.” You shrugged, carrying the mugs over to the cabinet above your coffee maker. “And I don’t know, I kind of liked the place, personally.”

Setting the mugs on the shelf, you heard the Devil release a noise behind you that you could only classify as an irritated grunt. The sound caused you to curiously pause, attempting to make sense of it.

“So you never said how the date went,” he pointed out. “Did it go well?”

A flutter of something flickered in your stomach at the question as you slowly turned back around towards him. It didn't help that it felt like his eyes were boring a hole into you beneath that black mask. Why was he so curious about your date this evening? He seemed to be asking quite a few questions about it.

You shrugged a shoulder. “It went well,” you replied. “He seemed nice.”

The Devil’s lips curved up into a sarcastic smirk beneath his mask, his head nodding lightly. “Nice, huh? Good for him.”

Your eyes tightened further at him, studying the way his muscles seemed to tense once more beneath his black clothes. Your gaze lowered, catching the way his left hand continued to open and close into a fist repeatedly along your countertop like a nervous fidget.

Or an angry one.

Wait, you thought, your eyes still glued to the fist he continued to clench and unclench. Is the Devil…jealous? 

But no, that couldn’t have been. He’d already come here in an off mood, that was probably all it was. Why would he care that you'd gone on a date? He'd have to have feelings for you for that to have bothered him. And you didn't want to hope too hard for something so unlikely.

“So did anything else interesting happen?” the Devil pried. “While you were on your date?”

Your attention returned to his masked face at the odd question. One of your brows arched back at him, your eyes narrowing even further. You definitely weren’t imagining it, though, he was unusually curious this evening.

“Interesting like what?” you asked.

“Well,” he began, turning around towards your kitchen table and lightly rapping his knuckles along the surface of it. “Did you witness any bar fights maybe? I mean the guy took you to a dive bar as a first date after all. I’m sure you must've at least met some curious people there, angel. At least one.”

Opening your mouth, you tried to ignore his uncharacteristic bitter tone as you were about to remind him that you'd been there on a date and that you hadn’t been trying to meet anyone else. But then you remembered the handsome blind man in the suit that you'd quite literally run into by the bathrooms and you immediately stopped short. With his back towards you, you noticed the way the Devil’s spine had straightened, his fist momentarily pausing its repeated movement against your table before it continued a second later.

The guy at Josie’s had been intriguing to say the least. And it almost seemed like he'd been flirting with you. Had you not been there with Dylan you might have accepted his offer to have a drink with him, especially considering that weird feeling you'd strangely gotten hit by when you’d been talking to him. Almost like you knew him somehow, like you could trust him. And you had really wanted to make more sense of that feeling.

But logically you knew you'd most likely never see that guy again. 

“No,” you lied. “I only met my date. Because I was, you know, there on a date , Devil.”

The Devil’s gloved hand uncurled from its tight fist, his head tilting marginally over his shoulder back towards you. For a moment he stayed like that in complete silence as you curiously watched him in return. Then very slowly, he turned around towards you, his hidden gaze seemingly on you beneath the mask. A very faint, almost satisfied smile crossed his lips as he stared at you–and then it disappeared just as fast as you'd seen it.

How strange , you thought. He's acting more unusual than normal.

“So I’m your favorite stray then, am I?” he teased, changing the subject.

You watched as his usual easy smile slipped onto his mouth beneath the mask as if it had been there this entire time. His sudden mood changes tonight were beginning to give you emotional whiplash at this point. Because now he was standing there by your table, all traces of his agitation having seemingly disappeared.

“Yes,” you answered, choosing to let his weird behavior go this evening. Heading back over to your dishwasher, you bent down to grab another coffee mug out of it. “Granted, you're also the only one using my window like a pet door,” you pointed out. “So that sort of makes you–”

Your sentence died in your throat. When you'd stood up and turned around to go and put the coffee mug away, you'd noticed the Devil had quietly closed the distance between you both. Now he was standing so close to you that when you'd gasped in surprise at his proximity, his hips had brushed against your body. 

You couldn't breathe, not with his masked face hovering so close in front of your own. A surge of desire hit you strong and hard, everything about your date this evening fading from your mind as your eyes remained fixed on his parted lips. There was absolutely something undeniable happening right now; the tension between you both hung too heavy in the air to believe otherwise.

Breath coming in shallow, you'd forgotten that you were even holding something in your hand. Without warning you lost your grip, the coffee mug slipping from your loose fingers. But instead of it tumbling towards the ground, the Devil’s hand snapped forward and caught it half an inch from your hand. Wordlessly he reached around you, simultaneously trapping you further between himself and the kitchen counter as he set the mug down.

And then he stayed there, with the front of himself pushing you back into your counter so hard that you felt it biting into your lower back. His hand rose up in the minimal space between you both before lightly landing along your cheek. His gloved thumb brushed back and forth over your cheekbone so tenderly that your eyes fluttered shut beneath it. 

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you willed him to just put you out of your misery and kiss you already. The suspense and the back and forth were killing you. He had to be feeling something for you. His attitude tonight could only be attributed to jealousy, nothing else made sense. So this had to be the moment he just finally kissed you. It had to be.

An agonizing minute passed and all he'd done was remove his hand from your cheek. Your own hands still had a death grip on the counter behind you, keeping you steady as you desperately waited for something more to finally happen. But when nothing did, you released a defeated sigh and opened your eyes, wondering what was going through his mind right now.

But he was gone. 

[crowsofdarkness]

You try to sneak up on Eric when he's most vulnerable.

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill's Version) x Fallen Angel.

18+CW(attempted murder, language, sorta rough shower smut with unprotected p in v, biting, little bit of knife play if you squint, choking, and degradation.)

*originally posted on my old blog*

The sound of the shower echoed as I quietly moved throughout the run down house, knife gripped tight in my hand. Large wings expanded from my back yet they made no noise as I crept closer towards the bathroom, my eyes landing on a broad tattooed back. 

My current target. 

Eric Draven washed away the soap that covered his pale skin and I froze, only for a moment, to watch the muscles in his back tense, almost making the tattoos ripple with movement. The soap ran down his spine over the swell of his ass, making me bite my lip. 

Focus. Drooling over his ass is not your mission! 

Ever so quietly, I slipped deeper into the bathroom, nearly going undetected by the man underneath the onslaught of water. It wasn’t until I raised my knife up in the air, ready to strike down on his spine, Eric turned swiftly towards me to drag me underneath the water with him. My gasp of shock was drowned out by water filling my mouth and when my body was pressed against the tiled wall, I gazed up to those bright eyes. 

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Eric smirks, wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead. 

Since my wings were still spread, they were getting soaked but I made no move to bring them back into my skin, too transfixed by those eyes. 

“Fuck you,” I seethed when I realized what he said. “Do you have super hearing or something?” 

He shrugged while grabbing the knife from my hand, dragging the blade down the front of my shirt. I sucked in a breath, waiting to see what he would do. 

This wasn’t the first time we found ourselves in this predicament. I’d been sent to kill The Crow many times before but each time, Eric would catch me and end up tangled together. 

“Aren’t you tired of this game?” He questioned right before driving the knife through the material of my shirt, it falling to the shower floor. 

Next were my pants but thankfully he dropped the knife to the floor and helped me out of them. Soon I stood bare in front of Eric as I was ready to put away my wings, like I’d always done when we were intimate, but he halted me by running his fingers through the feathers. 

“Leave them.” 

I raised a brow while stepping farther under the spray with him, the water soaking both of us. It wasn’t hot, more like lukewarm, but what did I expect with the type of house he lived in. More run down than the rest. 

“You don’t like them when they’re out,” I reminded him as he continued to filter his fingers through the black and gold feathers. 

His mouth then brushed over the pulsepoint of my neck as he lapped up the droplets of water there. 

“I want to fuck you with your wings spread for me, angel.” 

I shivered at not only his touch but his nickname for me. The same one he uttered every time we were together. Those strong arms rested underneath my ass to life me up against the wall and my arms snaked behind his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Our lips met in a fiery kiss, tongues dancing while fighting for dominance. One he quickly won. 

My moan was swallowed by Eric when I felt the head of his cock brush along my folds and I did what I could in his grasp to sink myself down onto his length. My legs were wrapped around his back while his fingers dug into the skin of my thighs to keep me up right against the wall. 

“Eric,” I panted when he dragged his cock up and down instead of sinking inside of me. 

His teeth dragged along my jawline, a hum spoken into my skin. “What do you want?” 

“Don’t make me beg,” I pleaded. 

It was already bad enough I failed yet another attempt to kill The Crow. I did not need to be begging for his cock out loud even though I desperately wanted it. 

“Say it, angel. Tell me what you want,” Eric said, slowly pressing the head of his cock inside of me. 

Not all the way, just the tip, and I clawed his shoulders in frustration. 

“Don't you want to be a good girl for me?” He questioned, giving me another half inch and wrapped a hand around my throat forcing me to look at him.

I could swim in those eyes filled with desire. Instead, I nodded feverishly, my skin igniting with his kisses along my jawline. 

“Then say it,” Eric demanded with a swift smack to my ass. "Stop acting like you're not a whore for this cock and beg for it."

“Please Eric, I need your cock,” I cried as another smack sounded in the empty space of the bathroom. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised with a kiss on my chin before sinking himself all the way inside of me. 

My wings smacked against the tile as Eric fucked up into me without letting up. The sound of skin against skin echoed around us, dragging us deeper into the depths of something forbidden. 

We were forbidden. 

“Once we're done here,” Eric snapped his hips against me, hitting that spot that made my eyes roll back. “We’re going to talk about you trying to kill me. Again.” 

I was so bliss out, my orgasm already cresting, that all I could do was nod before crashing my lips to his. 

[wmuffy]

2:14AM:; define love pairing:; geto suguru; fluff content! summary:; love, typically it takes the experience to understand the significance | lower case intended wc: 804

2:14AM

BANG BANG BANG

is it getting annoying yet? nah.

her eyes instantly cracks open and she’s shooting to sit up within her bed. it’s too damn late.. it’s always too damn late.

“sugu?” her words are hushed.. mumbles as she practically speaks to herself rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyes in an attempt to knock the blur from her sight.

it doesn’t take long for her to slide out the bed and the chillin wood panels of her flooring to send a jolt up her spine. she groans aloud as she’s slugging to her dorm door and clicking the lock open.

time hardly passes when a hand is slipping within the room before the person itself, time hardly passes before suguru has his arms around yn’s waist and his head in the crook of her neck.. no, time hardly ever passes when she’s with him. or at least she wishes it doesn’t.

“you have to stop doing this.” she’s still mumbling, her eyes are still hazy and she’s still extremely exhausted. but she’ll stay up for awhile longer, suguru is here.

“i’m sorry, pretty.” pretty, he’s always called her pretty. he says it so much it’s beginning to get overlooked as a compliment and seen as her new name.. yeah, that’s her new name.

her weight practically falls on him, he chuckles slightly and if love had a sound it’ll probably sound like that. or maybe it does? who knows. “did i wake you?” his voice is music to her ears, clique? i know, but it’s real.

“mm.” she hums and she knows every thought she ever has of him he can reciprocate and say he’s had it of her just by the way he pulls her in tighter. “i’m sorry.” he mumbles but this time his lips touch her neck after he speaks.

her chest instantly heats. no matter how many times his lips touched her she believes she’ll light up everytime. “satoru forgot to put up the curtain again.. you know yaga, lecturing n’ shit.” he shakes his head lightly in her neck slightly recalling the event.

it’s astonishing how they’re now third years and satoru still fails to lift the curtain.. but that’s besides the point.

yn chuckles slightly before she’s backing herself away from the male, he looks as if he stopped by his dorm before arriving to hers. his hair looks freshly washed and he’s not dressed in his uniform. he smiles slightly before his hand lands on the top of her head.

“we should get some sleep.” he says, and he’s shutting the door with his other hand. he locks it without even looking away from her and it’s obvious how many times they’ve found themself in this predicament.

it’s odd honestly. odd how no matter how independent she is and how rebellious she finds herself to be suguru is capable of silencing her almost every single time. there is no smart remarks, there is no ‘i’ll do it myself’ when he’s there to tell her he’ll do it before she even thinks of it.

it’s so odd how one person was capable of having her act like those cheesy couples you’d see walking the streets holding hands that used to make her cringe. hell, if she knew how it felt being that cheesy couple years ago she’d never dare speak foul on them.

if she knew the feeling of a man much larger than her holding her into his chest as if she was the most delicate and fragile antique piece of art on the market every single night, the idea of speaking down on those couples would never even surface her mind.

“are you hot?” his voice is quiet as he shifts besides her tangling his legs with hers. his arm thrown around her middle as he holds the blanket close to the two of them. her head is placed besides his chest as her knees are tucked within him, her hum tells him she’s fine. “okay.” he mumbles and his head falls atop of hers.

if she knew how rich love felt the second she first blinked her eyes she’d never in her life ever question why that girl always act like a child when she’s with her significant other. if she knew how rich love felt never would she have questioned why that girl allowed her significant other chance after chance to redeem himself. because never in her life did she believe love could allow one to feel as if life was perfect when in reality it crumbled behind them.

love. she hopes everybody can experience this one day.

“i love you.” he mumbles and his lips touch the top of her head, that warm feeling resurfaces in her chest.

“i love you too.” she reciprocates.

this is love.

first time doing a timestamp and no i dont know if i did it right :D trying to pretend like i know what im doing on here when in reality i dont know shit, also i made this in like 20 mins and didn’t proof read so if you see errors please point them out to me! thank you all sm for the support!

taglist! @nnasv @mine-lu @lysaray @shitforbrainsmal @chuyasthighs0 @ladytamayolover @h3xi2g0n3 @taelattecookie @manii-luvs @love-jelly @r0ckst4rjk @pnkblueberry @blvckxb3vutii @mixzimi @tenshiroko @dreamxiing @k3lbade @corpusignis @kurazips

[georgiapeach30513]

Much Too Fast, Part 1

Summary:  Spotting Curtis Everett broke down on the side of the road, you just had to pick him up.  Didn’t you?

Pairings:  Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, hitchhiking, drinking, PIV sex, dry humping, fingering, squirting, mentions of oral sex, early indications of a D/s relationship, cheating (?), 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5K

Series Masterlist

A/N:  this is 100% one of @tis-thedamn-season​ brain.  Not going to lie...I love it!

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

Looking at the clock in your car you sigh.  Getting closer to your destination every mile.  Putting more and more space between you and the place you used to call home.  This was the perfect opportunity to start a new life.  You weren’t even running from anything, you just wanted to see more.  Wanted to do more.  Moving to a new state, a bigger city, and to a possible beautiful home.

There were still so many doubts.  So many what if’s, but you were young.  Your parents told you that you needed to take the chances you were given.  Live life, and experience new things.  More than the little podunk town on the opposite side of the United States.  The east coast was going to give you more opportunities that is something you were sure of.  That you were positive.

The current hope you had was to make it to your last hotel before the rain started.  And then the last couple of hours to Boston.  One more sleep, and you would be there.  You needed to stay awake.  Stay alert, and hope for the best.

Curtis on the other hand is annoyed.  No service, and broke down on the side of the road.  The rumble of thunder makes him even more irritated.  He had just a few more hours on his mini road trip, and he would be home.  And then this stupid old car broke down.  He should have known better.  A mechanic taking a stupid dumb car.  Out in the middle of nowhere, with no fucking cell service.  

He couldn’t even remember why he needed to take this trip every year.  And in the predicament he’s in currently it just pisses him off.  He leans on the hood of the car, hoping that someone will see him stranded.  The chances were low.  He knew he was probably going to be staying the night in the backseat.  He was tired.  He was agitated.

You squint your eyes in the distance, seeing a figure leaning onto a car.  This is just like how every horror movie starts.  But you feel the need to pull over.  Slowing your Mini Cooper down, but staying on the road.  It was a small two lane road, and you hadn’t seen a car on here for miles.  

“Hey, uh…woah,” the man that approaches your car backs up quickly.  “Sorry, I know this is going to sound lame and dumb, but you’re a young girl out here alone, and I don’t want you to feel that I’m trying to take advantage of you or chop you up for…this isn’t making you feel better is it?” 

“No.  Not at all,” what he was saying didn’t make you feel better, but how he was saying it did.  “Are you having car trouble or do you normally just lean against your car hoping for someone to chop up?” 

“Ah, you caught me,” he leans over, trying to get a good view of you, but still standing far enough away.  “Although, my getaway car’s transmission went out.  There’s no cell service here.  Can’t even call my partner to come tow this damn car.”

“Your partner?” Curtis watches as your arm starts to relax a bit more.  The grip on your steering wheel loosens up.  

“Yeah, we own a garage together.”

“Imagine that, a mechanic with car trouble,” Curtis gives you a chuckle, stepping closer to your car.  “Not much of a mechanic are you?” His arms rest on your open window, and against your better judgment, you still don’t tense up.  “What are you doing out here?” 

“I go on a road trip for about two weeks every year.  I was almost home.  Heading to Newton.”

“Me, too,” Curtis’ eyes drift up and down your front.  He tries to make himself not look too much like a predator who had found its next prey, but you seriously were a gem.  Out here all alone, in your tiny little car, loaded up with piles of shit.  This car was too small for how much you had in here.

“Newton’s a few hours away, and it’s getting late.”

“Oh, I’ve got a hotel about twenty minutes up the road.  Um…do you need a ride?  I’m sure that they have a phone there.  Seeing how there’s no service.”

“Uh, did your daddy not teach you not to pick up strangers?” Of course he did, but somehow this handsome stranger was making you feel comfortable.

“Should I be scared?” 

“Of me?  No, but isn’t that what a killer would tell you?  I seriously mean you no harm, but I am questioning your judgment here.  You got pepper spray or anything?” Nodding your head, you dig around in your cup holder holding it up.  “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“You’re not making me feel better about this now.  But the GPS does say the hotel is just up the road, less than an hour to go.  Hand me your keys,” Curtis freely hands the car keys to you, and you stuff them in your doors pocket, unlocking the car, and letting Curtis clumsily get in.

Finally putting into perspective how long his legs are.  Cramping them up, and sitting uncomfortably beside you.  An adorable little giggle escapes your mouth, and he turns to glare at you, “You think this is funny?  Why in the world do you have this tiny little car?” 

“It’s adorable,” him squished up in the passenger seat was really adorable.

“It is useless for more than one person.  Where are you driving from?  Oh my god, how was this even comfortable?  This is terrible.  Please tell me this isn’t your only car.  If my daughter ever asks for one of these it’s not just a no, it’s a hell no,” the fact he was already talking about a future daughter oddly makes you tremble.  “What is the purpose of these cars?” 

“Some of us don’t have legs that go on for days.  You know, I didn’t even get your name?” 

“It’s Curtis.  And you are?” You quickly give him your name, and he shakes his head no, “You should be called Grace.”

“Why is that?” 

“Because, you and this tiny little car are my saving Grace.  Does she even get over fifty?” 

“Yes.  The bags of clothes in the back aren’t helping your space.  Your seat isn’t as far back as it could be.  Beggars can’t be choosers though.  I’m from Washington state by the way.  Why do you go on a road trip every year?” 

Curtis is constantly adjusting his seating.  Knees up higher than was normal, and pressing up against the dash of the car.  Twenty minutes wasn’t a long drive.  He could do this.  “Uh, just to get away.  Life can come at you fast.  Mine didn’t exactly turn out the way I wanted it to.  Without getting too into anything, I helped a friend out.  We got ourselves stuck, drifted, and somehow remained friends, and we make it work.  We have to.”

“I’m not going to ask.”

“Please don’t,” Curtis looks out his window, appearing as if something was bothering him, but you didn’t want to pry.  If he wanted to tell you more he could.  But you know he won’t.  “So New England?” Finally he looks towards you, and you gulp.  Gripping tighter to the steering wheel.  Oddly trying to rub your thighs together.  He was handsome.  Too attractive.

“Yeah, sometimes you get tired of the same thing.”

“What’s a pretty girl like you, driving all the way out here for?  I’m assuming you’ve got something lined up?” His deep blue eyes coast up and down your body, noticing every tiny movement in you make with a smirk.  “Is there something wrong?” 

“No.  No, I uh — yeah, I’ve got something.  Gotta meet with them, and would uh have a place to um…to live.”

“Hmm, you’re just breaking all kinds of rules, huh?” You glance back over to Curtis, and he was still eyeing you like his prey.  His legs spread as much as they could, but in this tiny car, he couldn’t get the effect he was wanting.  He didn’t have to try to make you want him.  You wanted him.

“What?” 

Curtis chuckles, wiping his thumb and middle fingers on the sides of his beard.  You reach towards the air conditioner, turning it up.  “You picked me up, and the way you’re talking��are they putting you up in a house?” 

“Yeah.  What…what do you do in Newton?” Something had to change.  The topics had to go to something else besides you.  It was getting more difficult to drive and pay attention.  

“I told you, I’m a mechanic.  Gotta garage with my buddy, Jax.  We stay busy.  Blue collar work.  Beats the traveling bullshit.  I don’t get it.  Traveling for work.  Traveling because you want a vacation.  On your own.”

“Did you just get off a two week road trip?” 

He turns to look at you, that devilish grin still there, “I like you.”

“Why?” 

“Called me out on my own bullshit quickly.  A lot of people won’t do that.  They say I’m too argumentative.  I’m not.  I’m blunt, there’s a difference.  Isn’t that the damn hotel?” 

“Yeah,” you respond.  Turning into the hotel and the gravel crunches under your tires, and you hate that this is it.  Curtis was about to make a call, and get something worked out, and this would be it.  You grab your backpack, and walk in with Curtis.  

He allows you to check in before stepping up to the counter, “I need a room for the night.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we have no more vacancies.”

“There’s…can I just — I guess hang out in your lobby then.  I gotta call someone in the morning to help with my car, and…”

“I’m sorry, sir, no loitering.  Have a good evening,” she walks off, and goes back to her seat.  Picking up her phone, and letting Curtis know that the conversation was over.

“Just my luck.  Damn.  Thanks, here let me get you some money.  I’ll…hell, I don’t know, start walking.”

“It’s two in the morning,” biting at your lip, you know this is the most bizarre and ridiculous thing you have ever done.  He was nice.  He was hot as fuck.  And you were terrified.  Not of him, but of moving here.  Moving away from what you knew and into the unknown.  All the warnings you push back in your mind.  You had made it this far, and he hadn’t killed you.

“I know, darling.  I’ve been in worse places.”

“No, I mean…I’ve got a second bed,” Curtis cocks his brow up at you, and you slowly exhale.  It was okay.  You needed something random and fun tonight.  Needed to get out of your head, and Curtis looked like just the man.  And the worst he could say was no, and you would never see him again.

“Hey, it’s fine.  You’ve done plenty for me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“Then let me rephrase it; would you like to come up to my room for a drink? There’s a mini bar.”

“You’re testing fate?”

“I see a sexy man with nowhere else to go tonight.  And I want a drink with him.  There’s two beds,” he gives you a bow, and you start walking towards the elevators.  Everything's in slow motion.  Down to the roaming eyes of Curtis.  Licking his lips as he stares at you, and you are quaking.  

“C’mere,” he whispers when the elevator door closes, and you walk over to him.  His thumb brushes over your cheek gently.  Looking into your eyes as he traces your pouting lips, “You’re shaking.  I won’t hurt you, and I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.  There’s two beds, remember?” 

“I want to use one.”

“Then breathe,” the ding of the elevator has his hand drifting down your front, and grabbing your hand.  Starting to lead the way to the room.  “Key?” You hand him the key, and take your final breath.  You invited him.

The second the door closes, your hand glides up his chest, settling behind his neck, “No mini bar?” 

“Oh, that’s right,” he sighs when you step away from him, going to the bar to get two small bottles of liquor, “Tito’s or Jack Daniels?” 

“I’ll take my chances with Jack.  Join me on the bed?” He plops down, and taps on the bed.  Waiting on you to join him before lifting up his bottle, “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” you copy, drinking the vodka in one sip.  The little bit of alcohol was giving you a bit more of a confidence boost.  Looking up at him as you listen to him start to tell some story.  

You lean more into him, trying to listen to his words, but it is just static.  Curtis looks down at his lap, and his raspy voice moans.  You check to see what he was staring at, and your hand is palming him over his jeans on it’s own accord, “Is this okay?” You ask him with a pout.  Had you read all the signs wrong?  He knew what you were talking about, right?

“I knew exactly where this was going when you asked me for a drink.”

“Oh,” you start to move your hand, but Curtis grabs yours with his own mitt sized hand.  Placing it back over his swollen jeans, and starts your motions again.  “I don’t normally do this.”

“Me neither.  So lets for tonight, toss aside those pesky feelings telling us not to give into our primal needs as humans.  We’ve both been checking each other out tonight, so let’s act on those needs.  Okay?” You nod your head at him, adding a bit more pressure to your movement, “Why now?” He asks, groaning as he leans back on the bed.  Watching you enjoy his hardening member.

“I don’t want to be the person I was in Washington.  I want to have fun.  Be spontaneous.”

“Mmm,” his hips start rocking into the air with your movements.  When you start to undo his zippe, he tugs at your leg, guiding you to straddle him.  His giant sized hands rub up your thighs and to your ass, coaxing you to start grinding on him.

“So picking up men on the side of the road isn’t a normal thing?” 

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head with a smirk.  Getting more into the movements, and you pull off your shirt.  Reaching behind you to undo your bra, you let it fall to the floor as Curtis starts groping your tits.

“Well isn’t today my lucky day?”  Sitting up in bed, he pulls you closer to him.  Peppering kisses along your jaw, and creating a trail all the way to your mouth, and you whimper into him.  His length was right at your core, and he was throbbing.  Just as needy as you.  “You know what you’re doing.”

“Curtis,” you whine as your hips gyrate over him.  Making a mess of his pants already.  It had been awhile since you had sex.  He had his thick fingers gripping the spears of your ass, and pressing you harder on him.  “Do…do you…” you can hardly speak from the kisses he was continuing to assault you with.

“I always carry protection, don’t worry.”

“Curtis, you’re hard.”

“And you’re wet.  What are you going to do about it?” He gives both your nipples a quick pinch, and your movements pick up.  Riding on top of him like your life depended on it.

“I wanna come.”

“Just like this, little lady?” 

“Uh huh,” biting at your lip, you pout at him as you move.

“Then make yourself come.  Enjoy yourself.  I’m not a little boy, I can hold off,” he lets out a guttural moan when you circle your hips over him.  Guiding his hands to your tits, wanting him to play with you while you get off.  

You are soaked, and so close.  Right there.  Hands on his shoulders as your desperately rub one out over him.  Fire courses through your veins, and your movement stutters as the sweetest pleasure races through your veins.

“Thatta, girl,” reaching into his pocket, he pulls a packet out, and reads the expiration date, “Still good,” you crash your lips into his.  Hands rubbing over him before pushing off his jacket, while he yanks your jeans open.  

He flips you over onto the bed, and stands up.  Watching as you struggle to tug your jeans off, but Curtis reaches towards them, yanking both the jeans and panties off at once, hissing when you spread your legs apart.

“Good fucking, girl,” he walks out of his jeans, his cock making his boxer briefs look uncomfortably crowded.  He gives you a wink when he pulls his underwear down.  A thick and heavy cock springs up, and you yip, your legs starting to close.

“You changing your mind already?” 

“No,” you wanted him.  Wanted this.  But that cock was thick.  Almost able to envision the severe stretch he was going to give you.

“You can take it.  And if not, I can make it fit.  We can stop any time, okay?” You nod your head, trying to steady your breathing, “I need your words.  I need to know that you can stop me if you want to stop.”

“Yes.  We can stop at any time,” Curtis pops the packet in his mouth, giving the foil a tear.  His lithe fingers place the rubber on his tip, and he starts to roll it on.  Pressing his knee on the bed, he gives your leg a jerk down the bed, before his wide body kneels between your thighs.

Spitting on his Hanford before roaming his fingers through your folds, “You are drenched.  When did you first get wet?”

“Well…”

“It wouldn’t have been in the car, would it?  I saw you moving your legs,” he pushes two fingers into your weeping cunt while his palm stimulates your clit, “Oh my god.  What a tight little pussy we have here.  You hear that?” He pumps his fingers into you more vigorously.  Your wet heat was making the most vulgar and loud squelching sounds.

“You are a sloppy, little one.  Did I make you that wet?  Oh god, you need to be fucked good and hard, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please,” you beg.  It had been too long.  Almost two years.  One bad breakup had turned you away from men, but now he had you turning into a big slut.  His cock forgotten as he tries to ruin you.  Sex before was all about your boyfriend.  Curtis wanted your pleasure first.  “Please, Curtis.”

“She’s polite, too.  Oh, fuck, she’s a juicy one.  Mmm, I already feel you squeezing me.  Come on.  Uhh, come on,” his fingers curl, and he sets off at an earth shattering speed.  You try to close your thighs when you can’t take anymore, but Curtis shoves them back apart.  “Come on.  Give it to me.  When you come, I’ll fuck you.  You can do it.  Come for me.  You're so close.”

Your hands grab onto the comforter, and you grit your teeth, not wanting to be too loud.  And when you squirt onto his thighs, he keeps pumping.  “There ya go!  There’s a good fucking girl.  Just like that.”

“Oh fuck.’

“That’s what I’m going to do,” getting closer to you, he slaps his cock over your clit, “You still want this?” 

“Yes, please.”

“She is well behaved,” your mouth goes slack as Curtis pushes through your entrance.  Slowly splitting you open as you whimper.  “Holy shit.  My god, you’re a tight little thing.”

“Don’t stop,” you plead as he slows his motion.  “All the way, please,” Curtis continues his journey into your body.  Not stopping until he slides all the way in.  You lift off the bed, staring at where the two of you connect.  “What are you doing?” 

“I’m giving your cunt a moment to stretch, little lady.  You okay?” You furrow your brows, biting your lip as you nod.  “You never had a big dick like this?” 

“It’s like a fucking traffic cone,” Curtis’ eyes close as he chuckles at you.  

“A traffic cone?” 

“It’s so much bigger at the base.  How…how did you get it in there?” 

“And looka here,” his hand rubs over a bump on your stomach, “You feel me all the way in your belly, huh?  That right there is where I’m at.  So you want this traffic cone to fuck you?”

“My god, yes!” 

“Mmm,” his hands rub up and down your thighs.  Giving the tops of your legs the sweetest little tickles before sliding to the backside of your knees.  Lifting your legs before slamming them on the bed beside your body.  Keeping you good and spread so he can watch himself spear into you.

His thrusts are slow and deliberate.  Drawing himself all the way out before plunging back in.  Your hands hold onto his wrists, and you make the most beautiful desperate sounds.  Scratching down his forearms when he picks up his speed.  It felt as if he was pounding his entire weight into you.  Bouncing you further up the bed.

He would love to see you riding his cock, but your pitiful little whimpers and whines of his name have him addicted.  You are reactive.  He gets to see your tits rock with the pounds into you.  He didn’t do this shit.  And after the year he had, it was what he needed.  He needed this warmth.  He hadn’t felt more alone and all while he was with someone, and you were just what he needed.

He hadn’t felt this wanted in a while.  Sex was treated as more of a chore.  Not this desperate need to get off.  It hadn’t been exciting.  It was predictable.  It was when she needed it.  But you are receiving every bit of him.  With the way you are pouting at him, and keeping your eyes only on him, he knows he could have you doing whatever he wanted you to.

Completely into a submissive role, and you didn’t even know him.  “Curtis!” Your whispered screams are giving him life.  The walls of your cunt flutter around him making him completely weak.  He wanted to keep you around.  Newton wasn’t too big.  But just one night was never going to be enough. 

“Curtis!”  Whining out his name as your head tilts back.  

“You keep…keep squeezing me like that, and I’m not — not going to last,” he pants out.  He had never felt someone react like this.  “Let go, little darling.  Let go for me.”

Your pussy quivers, and legs tremble as the hardest orgasm he has ever witnessed from a woman flows through your body.  You clench around him, and his forehead collapses on your shoulder.  Letting your pussy milk him dry.  Hugging every part of him perfect, convulsing around him so hard that he didn’t have to fuck you.  Your walls make sure every drip of his spend fills up the condom, and he can only deeply breathe on you.

“That.  Was.  Incredible.  You breathing?” 

“Barely,” you choke out.  “How many condoms do you have?” 

“Sorry.  I just got the one.  Whew,” he sits back up in the bed, and slowly pulls out of you.  Your cream coated his length so thickly.  “My god.  Oh my god.  I didn’t want to leave you.”

Leaving your legs spread, your eyes start to drift closed.  He figures you have been driving for a long time.  You look so peaceful, comfortable.  Letting your gaping hole be fully visible for him to gaze at.  When he starts to lay on the other bed, you jolt up, “Sleep in this bed.”

“There’s two beds.”

“Then we’ll sleep in that one.  This one is messy,” Curtis shakes his head with a smile.  Pulling the blankets down in the other bed before picking you up bridal style. 

“Fine, you twisted my arm.  I need you to have at least panties on.  Where’s a clean pair?” 

“Backpack,” he pulls on his own underwear before bringing your backpack over to you.  “Where are you going?” 

“You need water.  Panties.  Then sleep.”

“Okay,” you even shimmy your shoulders.  It didn’t take much to make you happy.  He definitely wanted to see you again.  Maybe start from the beginning and take you out on a date.  Spend some time together before he tells you about his complicated life.  But for tonight, he was just going to lay down beside you.  

Sending a text to Jax, he crawls in the bed with you.  He didn’t know why you are so comfortable, but holding a soft woman for the night isn’t something he was going to complain about.  He was just going to let you sleep.  Rest.  Tomorrow was a new day.

Pulling into the beautiful home, you crumple up that piece of paper, and toss it into the floorboard.  You knew it was too good to be true, and are slightly annoyed for getting your hopes up.  He was a man that you picked up on the side of the road, and had the best sex of your life.  Curtis was generous enough to leave his number on the pad of paper at the hotel, but you woke up alone.  Nothing was stolen, so you are thankful for that, and that you are still alive.

And now it was back to the reason why you were here.  A ridiculously large house, and what waits inside.  They had to be rich.  A well dressed woman, holding a baby, swings the door open wide.  Her arm flails around as she waves to you, “Oh my gosh!  I was so scared that you wouldn’t come, and you are early.  Come on, please.  Hey,” she gives you a strong handshake, and then makes her baby wave to you.  

“Ah!!  I’m so glad to finally meet you.  I’m Tati, and this sweet, beautiful, perfect, and angelic little thing is Poet.  But she will also go by Poe.  Poe, can you say hey,” the baby babbles a bit, but a hey does come out.  “So, I know this kind of a last minute thing.  We gotta wait on my…husband.  I’m having to fly out unexpectedly.  Oh, but don’t think that you have to definitely take the job.  My parents said they can help.  He’s taking the day off.  Uh, so first things first, if you say yes, you will have the pool house.  It’s a fully functioning house.  I don’t travel too often, but a fair amount.  The times that I do, at night, her daddy will have her.”

“Dada,” Poet whispers.  She giggles a bit before hiding her face on her mom’s shoulder.  Slowly peeking over at you grinning, and you give her a sweet smile.

“Obviously the whole house you will have access to.  Poet’s room is downstairs.  Your background check is impeccable, you’re up to date with your immunizations, speak French.  Honestly on paper you’re perfect, so I’m expecting you to have some flaws somewhere.  Anyways, ahh!  Sweet girl, guess who is here?” She looks out the window, smiling down at her adorable baby.

“Dada!  Aye!” 

“Yay!!  Daddy is going to be with you all day today.  How exciting!”

“Aye!” She claps her hands.  Her mouth moving with no words.  She was a daddy’s girl.

You turn towards the door with Tati, and your heart drops.  In walks the sexiest man that you have ever met.  The man that you could still feel all over you.  The man that had left you early in the morning, leaving you alone.  The man who was your possible employer’s husband.

“Curtis, I hate to do this.  But I got called out at the last minute.  You know.  Anyways, thank you for taking the day off.  I’ll be back in two days.  If you decide you want the job, Curtis can give you all the lock codes.  I left a list of Poe’s medicine’s and allergies on the fridge.  Emergency numbers on the hall calendar.  There’s a book with all the main contact numbers on it, but Curtis can show you everything else.  Eeee!! I hope you decide to stay.  Poe can’t quit looking at you.  I think that she likes you.  Anyways, bye my sweet angel.  Ah, you’re such a saving grace.  Thank you so much.  Bye.”

She gives Curtis a kiss to his cheek before grabbing her suitcase by the door.  Continuing to blow kisses to her baby as she walks out, and you and Curtis are left staring awkwardly at one another.

“Dadadadada.”

“I’m her daddy.”

“Mhmmm,” that much was obvious.  What wasn’t obvious was that he was married as he was fucking into you last night.  You even gave him in the middle of the night head, and he fingered you back to sleep.

“Oh, so we’re going to be like that now?  I had you saying please all night last night.”

“Ugh,” this was a bad idea.  Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.  Nothing was going to be different here.  It was always going to be the same.

“Can you at least let me explain?  You gotta.  Look at this beautiful girl.  Poet Isabella, can you tell Grace, please?” 

“Peas,” she whispers, her chunky little legs kicking around.

“You can’t say no to that.  When you said please, didn’t I listen?” He might have listened, but he left out that he was married.  He was fucking married to your maybe employer.  He was married, and he was inside of you.

“This…this is very different and you know,” he shrugs his shoulders.  Walking over to a fenced in area, and he sits his daughter down.  His eyes looking at her, completely ignoring you.  “Fine.  Explain.”

“What happened to those manners?” Oh, he was an asshole.  You didn’t have to listen to this.  Didn’t have to put up with this, and then he purposefully places his left hand where you can see it, and you sit down on the couch.

“Please, explain.”

“Thatta girl.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @midnightramyeoncravings​ @donutloverxo​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @bambamwolf87​  

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 2: Reunion

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content.

Instinctively, you drop into a crouch as your eyes scour the shadowy tree line. The scent of damp earth fills your lungs, mingling with the pungent, sickly-sweet aroma of powdered iron vine that clings to the air, a reminder of the Gur hunters lurking nearby. You can sense them, hidden in the murky gloom, yet all you see are dark silhouettes merging with the night.

The world around you is alive with the sound of rustling leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures, but your focus narrows. You move with practiced precision, each breath deliberate as you mentally catalogue potential hiding spots and escape routes. This alley, with its crumbling brick walls and tangled underbrush, could easily become your tomb.

You test your footing, grinding the toe of your boot into the soft earth. The recent rains have left the ground slick with mud, and you can feel the treacherous squish beneath your feet. One misstep could mean a tumble, a sound that would betray your position to the hunters closing in.

Your senses become razor sharp as the scent of powdered iron vine thickens. It’s almost suffocating, making your eyes water. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to concentrate. Then, as if the night is holding its breath, you begin to hear it—the rhythmic beating of hearts, thrumming like war drums. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count, straining to discern how many are trailing you.

One, two, three, four, five—six.

Fuck. Too many.

Kneeling behind an abandoned, overturned wagon, you feel the weight of dread settle in your gut. Your mind races through strategies, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire. A head-on assault would be suicide; these Gur are not only seasoned monster hunters but also fuelled by vengeance after the chaos in the temple beneath Szarr Palace.

They inch closer, methodical in their approach. You can feel the air grow heavy with their malice, the thundering resonance of their hearts providing a grim soundtrack to your predicament.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, keeping low to the ground, inching away from your hiding spot. An angled corner ahead offers a glimmer of hope—a chance for cover and, if you’re fortunate, an escape route. Your boots sink into the thick, gelatinous mud, each step producing a squelching sound that echoes like a death knell in the tense silence.

What had Astarion said? Roll your foot down, starting from the heel, one joint at a time. How many joints are in a foot, anyway? You scoff inwardly at the memory. He had attempted to teach you the art of stealth but deemed you hopeless when you struggled to improve your footwork after several lessons. The truth is, you hadn’t put in the effort you should have. The way his brow would furrow in frustration was both amusing and utterly adorable.

Maybe I should have taken those lessons more seriously.

Rounding the corner, you spot a dark figure standing at the fork in the path ahead, a hulking silhouette poised and ready. Your breath catches as more hunters emerge from the long grass, their expressions grim, eyes glinting with malice. The slow, muffled footsteps approaching from behind signal that you’re being herded, their strategy unfolding perfectly.

It’s no surprise they anticipated your movements; they’ve corralled you into this cramped alley, executing a trap with chilling precision. You feel the walls closing in, your options dwindling. Panic surges within you, a primal instinct screaming for flight.

Your gaze darts among your assailants, absorbing the tempest of loathing and disgust that saturates their crazed eyes. You can practically taste the acrid hatred in the air. To them, you are nothing more than an abhorrent monster to be eradicated. Their hearts pound wildly in their chests, a morbidly rhythmic cadence that only amplifies your rising fear.

Steeling yourself, you settle into a defensive stance, grounding your feet against the mud. You reach out to the Weave, inviting its familiar, comforting presence to envelop you. It flows through you like a warm embrace, saturating every fibre of your being, a soothing balm against the chaos around you. The palm of your hand warms as you prepare to cast, spells swirling through your memory, each one a reminder of your power and restraint.

But you’re not here to kill. The thought sends a wave of nausea through you. You refuse to become the monster they think you are.

“Impero tibi.” The words spill from your lips, infused with urgency.

The spell takes hold, and they crumple to the ground, sleeping soundly as a babe, giving you a crucial opening. The remaining hunters react instantly, hurtling themselves toward you with wild shouts of fury.

Speaking the words for Misty Step, you feel your body dissolve into a silvery fog just as a hunter lunges, his sword aiming for your heart. In an instant, you reappear atop a nearby roof, the cool night air brushing against your skin. A few of the hunters stumble back, momentarily taken by surprise at your sudden escape.

Seizing the opportunity, you cast a flurry of spells, incapacitating several hunters before they can regain their composure. You tread a fine line, careful not to kill, even as it complicates your ability to defend yourself. These hunters are victims too, just as you are in your misguided attempt to help Astarion reclaim the joy that was stolen from him long ago.

You shudder at the thought of the countless souls you’ve condemned to suffering, including the Gur's innocent children. You refuse to add more blood to the crimson tide you’re already floundering in.

No more unnecessary bloodshed.

A hunter lunges onto the roof, roaring with rage as he swings his blade. You barely manage to dodge, but the steel tip grazes your snowy skin, slicing a shallow gash diagonally across your chest. The metallic tang of blood fills the air—your blood—saturating the breeze with its coppery scent, a reminder of your vulnerability.

Snarling, fangs bared, you leap to the roof of a nearby small shack, desperate to put some distance between yourself and your pursuer. But as your boots thud against the worn wood shingles, you realize you’ve made a grave error. The shingles are rotten and unstable, shifting beneath your weight. You lose your balance, crashing to your knees as you claw at the splintered wood, searching for anything to grip onto. There’s nothing—just decay.

You tumble off the edge, hitting the boggy ground in a heap.

Before you can recover, the hunters seize you, yanking you to your feet and thrusting your back against the splintered wall of the dilapidated shack. The timber creaks ominously under the pressure, and a cold, razor-sharp dagger presses firmly against your neck. Panic surges through you as a scroll flickers and dissolves in the dim light of the low-hanging crescent moon, shadows dancing like wraiths.

You force yourself to focus, reaching for the Weave, but it eludes you, dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The putrid stench of powdered iron vine and sweat overwhelms your senses, twisting your stomach into knots.

Did they bathe in the stuff? Good Gods.

“Where is your master?” The lead hunter growls, eyes burning with fury.

Your what? Oh…

“I don’t know.” The words slip out, heavy with resignation. They won’t believe you, but it hardly matters; death is inevitable.

“Where is he hiding, spawn!?” The hunter barks, spittle flying from his lips.

Spawn. This is what the so-called hero of Baldur’s Gate has been reduced to.

You struggle against their grip, but their hold tightens, the faint tang of a Giant’s Strength potion lingering in the air around them. Trying to escape would be futile; they’ve prepared well, having hunted you with knowledge and intent. You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Frustration bubbles over, and you bare your fangs. “Did I stutter? I said, I don’t fucking know!”

How long have the Gur been tailing you, hoping you’d lead them back to him? Why can’t they find him without you? In the last few weeks spent together, Astarion had barely concealed his identity; he was a man who turned heads wherever he went, his very presence a magnet for attention.

The truth lingers heavy in the air—these hunters, blinded by rage and vengeance, are drawing closer, and your time is running out.

Maybe he left Baldur’s Gate?

The thought strikes a mournful chord within your soul, echoing a bittersweet melody. There’s a small comfort in the belief that he is nearby, even if he remains unseen and untouched. On some nights, when the moon hangs high and the stars twinkle like distant candles, you gaze up and find solace in knowing he’s out there somewhere beneath the same vast cosmic canopy.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

The hunter nods, a ghoulish smile stretching across their face as they draw the stake from their hip. A strange wave of relief washes over you at the prospect of your own demise—no more fear, no more pain, no more gnawing hunger. It sounds so peaceful. Your eyelashes flutter as you close your eyes in resignation, preparing yourself for the final blow.

Will it hurt? You’ve never seen a vampire staked before. Is it a slow demise, like the sun devouring you layer by layer, or a quick end? Will there even be a body left behind, or will you simply burst into ash?

The whispering hiss of a blade being drawn reaches your ears just before one of the Gur holding you lets out a sharp yelp. Their fingernails dig painfully into your skin as their hand is wrenched from your arm.

“What was that?” The hunter shouts, breath ragged with confusion.

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any—” Their voice trails off, fading into a frightened murmur that dissipates into the gathering shadows.

You squirm, desperate to shake off the grip holding you against the wall. Panic surges through you as the remaining hunter lunges forward, stake aimed directly at your heart. Their eyes bulge with terror, darting about wildly. As the stake draws nearer, you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

A fitting end to my sad story, if nothing else.

Suddenly, a gust of cool air sweeps across your face, and the force pinning you to the wall is yanked away. You stagger forward, arms flailing as you strive to regain your balance.

What in the Hells?

Your eyes snap open in astonishment. Silvery moonlight spills over alabaster skin, illuminating the chiseled features of Astarion’s face. A gentle breeze carries the all-too-familiar fragrance of him, sending your heart racing.

He grips the hunter by the neck, lifting them off the ground with an effortless grace. The hunter kicks and thrashes, desperation written all over their contorted face. Rasping gurgles escape their throat as Astarion tightens his hold, slowly squeezing the life out of them.

“Please, don’t!” you whimper, panic lacing your voice.

Crimson eyes flash in the moonlight, locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. Gods, he’s even more beautiful than you remember.

He sneers at you for just a moment before closing his eyes, cocking his head slightly, as if bracing himself for something painful. In a fluid motion, Astarion hurls the Gur into the wall with a resounding thud. The hunter collapses, unconscious but alive, their body a crumpled heap at the base of the shack.

You finally exhale a shaky breath of relief, but it’s short-lived. A searing pain radiates from your abdomen, sending muddled black orbs dancing in your vision.

Looking down, you see the stake protruding ominously from your side. The hunter didn’t hit their mark, but they hadn’t completely missed, either. A tightness constricts your chest as panic begins to rise.

Without thinking, you yank the stake free. It tears from your body with a sickening squelch, leaving a gaping wound behind. Blood pools around your feet, the sticky warmth soaking into the ground. The stake slips from your trembling fingers, clattering to the floor.

You press your palm against your side, glancing up to meet Astarion’s gaze as your vision starts to narrow.

“… Astarion?”

Dizziness washes over you like a tide, and your knees buckle. The last sensation you register is Astarion’s arms wrapping around you, his voice a sweet melody before darkness envelops you.

Awareness flickers in and out like a candle caught in a draft as you slowly begin to regain consciousness. Your eyelashes flutter, and a herculean effort is required to pry your eyes open. They feel weighted, as though shackled to your skull, and part sluggishly. Blurred shapes loom in the dimness, twisting and undulating in rhythm with the relentless pounding in your head.

Where am I? What in the Nine Hells happened? Focus… I need to focus.

A nauseating drumming reverberates between your ears, making concentration an uphill battle. Vague snippets of memories begin to surface, clasping together piece by piece, the jagged edges of recollection cutting into your thoughts.

Shadowheart.

    The forest.

                                          Hunger—all-consuming, insatiable hunger.

          The sickly-sweet scent of powdered iron vine.

                         The Gur.

Dismay floods through you, a tidal wave of panic, and you leap from the confines of the large, four-poster bed. Agony radiates from your side, searing through your nerves like fire, igniting each fiber of your being. Your legs buckle beneath you, knees colliding painfully with the chilled floor. Trembling, you grit your teeth, fighting back a cry as the stabbing pain momentarily overwhelms you. As the agony subsides, your vision begins to sharpen, the chamber gradually coming into focus.

No... No, it can’t be...

A handful of candles flicker, casting a warm glow that struggles to penetrate the oppressive darkness. The room is grand, lavishly decorated with opulent furnishings, yet it feels emptier than a hollow echo. Despite the extravagance, you would recognize this place anywhere.

The Crimson Palace.

Pushing yourself off the floor demands more effort than you’d like to admit, leaving you lightheaded and disoriented. Chilly air caresses your skin, and it dawns on you that you’re clad only in undergarments, bandages snugly wrapped around your chest and side. A hot flush of embarrassment erupts within you, rising like a rogue wave. If your skin could redden, you’re certain you’d be as crimson as Karlach.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on a clean robe laid out neatly on a nearby chair. Grateful for the modesty it offers, you slip it on, the fabric soothing against your skin. The floorboards creak underfoot as you clumsily attempt to tiptoe toward the closed door, your heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination.

I really should have been a better student.

The door hinges emit a soft whimper as you carefully ease it open. Peeking through the small crack, relief washes over you to find the adjoining hallway devoid of any lurking threats. You step forward cautiously, each footfall a delicate negotiation with the ever-present faintness that caresses the edges of your consciousness, making your balance precarious. The faded wooden floorboards groan beneath you, their voices a mocking chorus to your struggle.

Voices drift into earshot as you approach the end of the hallway, starting as a distorted murmur before sharpening into clarity. Instinct howls within you, urging you to flee, but you recognize that voice.

Shadowheart.

“She’s coming home with me!” Shadowheart bristles, her tone laced with tangible agitation.

Astarion’s voice, in contrast, is a velvety dulcet that sends shivers down your spine. “Don’t be foolish. She’s not safe with you, nor are you with her.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me to just... just leave her here with the likes of you?! Did the ritual rob you of your intelligence as well as your soul, Astarion?”

“Come now.” His words are honeyed, draped in a beguiling tone you know all too well. “Don’t play stupid, my dear. The Gur will stop at nothing to capture and kill her. She’s not safe with you any longer. Surely, you want what’s best for her, don’t you? I can keep her safe.”

“Safe?” Shadowheart snorts, exasperation clear in her voice. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion’s features, and he slams his fist onto a nearby desk, the echo reverberating through the air. “She had a choice!” He snaps defensively, voice tinged with a desperation that pulls at your heart.

“Tell yourself whatever lies you wish, Astarion.” Shadowheart’s smirk is triumphant, clearly relishing the effect she has on him. “It doesn’t change the facts.”

“Do shine your divine illumination on these ‘facts’ for me,” he retorts, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

Her eyebrow arches, clearly unfazed. “Now who’s playing stupid?”

The tension crackles in the air like electricity, and you inch closer, straining to hear more, heart racing at the thought of being the center of this escalating confrontation.

You try to make sense of it all, but the haze of confusion still clings to your mind. A mix of dread and hope churns in your stomach as you weigh your options. You could burst into the room, confront Astarion, and demand answers. Or you could slip back into the shadows and hope for an opportunity to escape.

But Shadowheart. You cannot leave her here with him. “She stays!” Astarion growls, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, threatening to unleash a storm.

Shadowheart plants her feet firmly, hands on her hips, projecting defiance as boldly as a lioness defending her cubs. “Over my dead body.”

“Well…” Astarion’s fingers glide to his chin thoughtfully, a sly smile creeping across his lips like shadows in a dimly lit room. “Why didn’t you say so? That can certainly be arranged.”

They’re so engrossed in their escalating quarrel that they fail to notice you standing in the wide archway of the study, a silent observer caught in the undercurrents of their tension.

It’s hard to believe we were all friends once.

“Will you two give it a rest? Good Gods!” You interject, frustration bubbling to the surface like boiling water.

Startled, their heads snap towards you in unison, like two predatory beasts drawn to an unexpected sound. Shadowheart’s eyes widen, flooding with relief at the sight of you. She rushes forward, arms enveloping you in a gentle hug that feels both comforting and disconcerting. Your thoughts whirl with the troubling temptation to bite her. Your body stiffens uncomfortably, fists clenching as your nails dig deep into your palms, battling the appalling desire to sink your fangs into her lovely, tender neck.

I won’t do it. I won’t!

Shadowheart notices your discomfort almost instantly and releases you, stepping back with her hands raised in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I forget myself.”

You muster a tight smile, but it feels fragile. “It’s okay.”

Astarion’s voice cuts through the moment with unsettling bluntness. “You’re bleeding all over my new rug,” he remarks, his tone aloof, lips pursed in faux disapproval. “Again.”

“What?”

His gaze drifts down to your midsection, and following his stare, you see a wet maroon stain blossoming on the front of your robe. Blood drips onto the plush rug from the hem, swaying around your ankles like a dancer caught in a mournful waltz.

Shadowheart digs into her bag, her movements quick and purposeful, and tosses you a healing potion. “Your wounds were too dire for me to heal completely, I’m afraid.”

You grimace as you bring the vial to your lips, the syrupy liquid sliding down your throat like molten tar. Healing potions, like all potions, have never been particularly palatable, but since your transformation into a spawn, everything tastes like ash—except for blood, of course.

As the potion begins to take effect, the pain blissfully recedes, settling into a dull throb, but it doesn’t completely vanish, lingering like an unwelcome guest. You cringe as you swallow the last drops, the sickly-sweet residue clinging to your tongue. “How did you find me?”

Shadowheart glances back at Astarion, who stands casually, arms crossed, exuding an air of boredom that belies the danger lurking just beneath his surface. Your bewilderment must be evident on your face.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling,” he drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes like flickering candle flames. “I am more than capable of seeking out assistance when I choose. I am many things, but a healer is not one of them.”

Shadowheart shakes her head, rolling her eyes with a huff. “I was as surprised as you are when he showed up. I very nearly plunged a stake through his ribs right then and there.”

“You would have died in the attempt,” he replies nonchalantly, a dark, malicious smile spreading across his face like the encroaching shadows of dusk.

Blazing with the red-hot fury of the Hells, Shadowheart glares at him, her eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. He revels in the discomfort he creates, the snicker of delight escaping his lips like a snake uncoiling.

Despite her fiery demeanor, exhaustion clings to Shadowheart like a heavy cloak. Dark, puffy bags form beneath her eyes, betraying the sleepless night she’s endured—likely spent tending to you while enduring Astarion’s endless taunts. You can’t help but want to pull her away from him, away from the danger that lies coiled within his charm. He doesn’t take kindly to being challenged, and those who dare often find themselves facing dire consequences.

Your defiance has earned you many nights in the kennels during the months you’ve lived here; you were never as obedient as he expected you to be.

“You look exhausted, Shadowheart.” You wield your silver tongue, hoping to persuade her to leave. It’s the only way you can think of to ensure her safety. “You should go home and rest.”

Her brows knit together, a slight furrow marring her otherwise determined expression, jaw clenching as she glances between you and Astarion. The apprehension in her gaze is palpable; she’s afraid to leave you alone with him.

I’m scared, too.

You try to mask the fear gnawing at you, plastering on the most soothing smile you can muster, though it feels like a frail mask over a tempest. “I’ll be right behind you.”

If he allows me to leave.

She sighs heavily, the sound escaping her lips like a soft autumn breeze rustling through fallen leaves. “Fine, but I expect to see you later, and if I don’t…” Her voice trails off as she turns to Astarion, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. “I’ll kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It would definitely be the last thing you attempt,” he replies, a smirk dancing on his lips, delighting in her threats as if they were the finest of wines. He bows shallowly, a mockery of elegance. “It was lovely seeing you again, flower.”

With a final exasperated grumble, Shadowheart stalks down the hall, her silhouette disappearing like a flickering candle in the wind, leaving you alone with Astarion, whose gaze settles on you with a hawkish intensity. It feels like the weight of his stare could crush stone, and you shuffle your feet under his probing glare, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

He is truly a sight to behold. The yellow candlelight flits and flickers in the deep scarlet hue of his irises, casting an almost otherworldly glow that seems to dance in tandem with the shadows lurking in the corners of the room. Astarion holds himself with an elegant confidence, each movement precise, commanding attention like a maestro conducting a symphony. It’s no wonder so many unfortunate souls have met their grim fate after making the mistake of falling for him, mesmerized by his masterfully executed masquerade.

Just as I did.

But as you look at the man standing before you, there is something hauntingly different about him. Astarion’s face is still as beautiful as you remember, every sharp angle and delicate curve accentuated by the warm flicker of candlelight, yet it feels as if you’re gazing at a reflection warped by rippling water. His eyes, once cold and calculating, are now emotive, shimmering with a depth of red that speaks of hidden desires and unspoken, you almost can’t even think the word, but you think you see pain. They draw you in like a moth to a flame, stirring a mix of longing and dread within you.

You squint, trying to reconcile the familiar with the unfamiliar. What happened to him? This man looks like Astarion—his tousled silver hair catching the light like spun moonbeams, his smile still bearing that tantalizing hint of mischief—but there’s an unsettling softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. It’s as if the polished façade he once wore with such confidence has cracked, allowing glimpses of something more raw and vulnerable to seep through.

A flicker of confusion dances in your mind. Could this truly be the same man who had once held you in thrall, locked you in your room, took you to the kennels like a naughty pup? The differences are subtle yet profound, like shadows shifting in the corners of your vision.

You find yourself captivated yet cautious, drawn to the complexity that now envelops him. Is this the Astarion you knew, or is it merely a mirage crafted by your own desperate hopes? Your heart races, a tumultuous storm of emotions swirling within. What lies beneath this surface? There’s perhaps a flicker of emotion portrayed in his features, a glimmer of humanity peeking through the cracks of his polished façade.

Questions tumble through your thoughts, each one heavier than the last. It’s as if you’re looking at a masterpiece that has been altered—brush strokes of pain and longing layering over the vibrant colours of charm and seduction. As he inches closer, the familiar tension electrifies the air, yet it feels different, charged with a vulnerability that leaves you off balance. The sweet, bitter scent of nostalgia lingers between you, and for a moment, you wonder if you can reach out and touch the remnants of the past, or if it will only burn your fingertips.

With a deep breath, you swallow the uncertainty, your heart caught in a net of intrigue. Who is he now, really?

Even though fear runs like drifting ice through your veins, you find his presence oddly comforting. You desire nothing more than to run into his arms, to feel the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective cocoon, safe from the horrors of the world outside.

How many nights alone did you spend, tears slipping silently down your cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane, missing him? You prayed to any God who might listen, longing for him to knock on your door, to reclaim you from the abyss. How often did you dream of running back to him, begging for his love like a lost child seeking solace?

Too many. Far too many nights spent in childish fantasies that twisted like vines around your heart.

This isn’t my Astarion—not anymore.

A mournful sigh escapes your lips, thick and heavy as you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill like raindrops from a stormy sky.

“Positively elated to see me, I see,” Astarion purrs, his voice deep and alluring as he takes a step closer, closing the distance.

You instinctively take a step back, the instinct to flee clashing violently with the yearning to run into his arms. It’s an odd sensation, this simultaneous pull towards him and away from him, as if you’re trapped in a web of conflicting emotions. Astarion raises his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence, his expression momentarily shifting to one of remorse, but it vanishes so quickly that you question whether it was ever real or merely a trick your mind conjured in its desperation.

“Why?” Your voice emerges as a barely audible, timid whisper.

His brows knit together in confusion, a frown etching lines into his flawless skin. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Why what?”

“Why save me?” The question hangs in the air, heavy and laden with uncertainty.

Astarion leans forward slightly, curiosity mingling with something darker in his gaze. “Would you have preferred the alternative, darling? Should I have just let those vile Gur put you down?”

“Yes,” you say bleakly, the word falling from your lips like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of disbelief through the room.

There had been a serene kind of peace in that thought, a whispered promise that your suffering would finally end. It would have been a merciful reprieve from the nightmare you are trapped in, an escape from the swirling chaos of your life.

His eyes widen, surprise etching itself across his features, the shock hitting him like a blow. A wave of disquiet washes over him, and he straightens, staring at you as if seeing a ghost. He seems uncertain how to respond, and a torrent of almost imperceptible emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession, each one a fleeting glimpse of the turmoil beneath his carefully constructed mask. But as quickly as they appear, they vanish, replaced by the cold stone veneer he wears so expertly.

“You die when I let you.”

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[judesmoonbeauty]

Fairytale Final Assessment 1st Anniversary SE: Jude Jazza's POV Chapter 2 ཐིཋྀ

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere.

Translation notes are marked with *** Alternate translation is marked with/// Hour Glass Banners Credit: @/natimiles ཐིཋྀ

I glared at Kate at a distance where the tips of our noses touched.

(Ha…….Really, not good.)

(Her eyes.)

Despite being pinned down and being shown the overwhelming difference in power, Kate’s eyes never gave up.

She glared at me too straight on, with a glow in them. 

(……Ah, something like this happened before.)

She was kidnapped on my birthday, and had collapsed because she didn’t leak any information about me.

When I saw her injured, my core went completely cold. 

FLASH BACK TO HIS BD STORY

Jude: As ya said, I'm threatenin’ ya now.

Jude: But ...... I could snap your neck in an instant. Besides, the people I'm dealin’ with won't even hesitate.

Jude: If you're aware that you're being pushed away, I'm sure a smart young lady would know what to do.

Kate: I would have stayed out of it if I could have.......

Jude: But?

Kate: Every time we go on a mission together or escape from a predicament, I realize various things and change.

Kate: I don't mind that kind of change in myself.

FLASH BACK ENDS

I don't remember being kind to her or taking care of her carefully.

There have been times when she looked at death.

She has learned so much that she can no longer be called a “naive young lady.”

Despite this, she is a brazen woman with annoying eyes who maintains her clean side even when she knows of dirty maliciousness.

(I know I like this girl.)

(It’s interesting to see the fighting spirit that comes from her, but…)

(If I don't kick her out now... one day...she’ll die.)

(Then, why don't I draw the line here?)

I put my hand around Kate’s neck and squeeze it tighter than I did that day.

Kate: …..Ts…….ah.

Jude: I told ya before that when your carotid artery is constricted, ya instantly can't breathe.

Jude: Are ya scared? Is it painful?

Jude: If you're going to give up here, I'll make it easy for ya, but what are ya goin’ to do?

Kate: Oh……ugh.

Jude: I can't hear anything. Could ya speak more clearly?

When I applied more force and tried to knock Kate unconscious, Kate’s arm suddenly pushed me away.

Kate: Cough….cough……

Jude: Ha, you’re so powerful.

Kate: Again, please!

Jude: ………

(This girl, really?)

After that, Kate kept coming back to fight again and again.

Perhaps Ellis couldn't bear to see it, and suggested another game, 

Even so, I still ate many episodes…..***

Kate: …….

Jude: Ha, ya look exhausted.

Jude: There's no need for me to sign the consent form. Why don't ya give up quietly and pack your things?

Kate: There's still time until today ends.

Kate: I won't give up until you sign it.

Ellis: Kate…..

(She really is a stubborn woman. There's no end to it.)

It's not that I didn't imagine this would happen.

Jude: I don't want to be with ya forever. Let's go settle the matter. 

Kate: This is the port where you manage the logistics depot, right Jude?

Jude: As ya know, we rent our warehouses to others with interest.

Jude: There was a man there who was making a living doin’ bad business.

Kate: I'm sure... something like that happened before, right?

Kate: He was using Jude's warehouse for human trafficking...a man with a bowler hat!

Ellis: That's when Kate was with Jude for the first time.

Jude: What a good memory!

Kate: I was attacked and almost killed, so even though I hate it, I will never forget it.

Kate: So, since you brought me here, you're trying to make me do something, right?

Jude: There’s a guy who has done something similar to that man in the bowler hat.

Jude: He’s got some classified documents hidden somewhere in a warehouse up ahead.

Jude: Get me those classified documents and then we'll talk. 

Kate: I’ll find the classified documents that’ll benefit you, Jude.

Kate: If I find them, will you sign it?

Jude: That’s what I’m sayin’.

Jude: I’m not patient, I’ll only wait until midnight.

Kate: I understand. Your promise is absolute.

Ellis: Kate, so you want me to follow you?

Kate: Thank you, Ellis. But this is my game, and I'll do my best on my own.

With that said, Kate ran away from the scene.

Ellis: A guy doing bad business in a warehouse who is hiding classified documents. Just like the one I killed yesterday……..

Ellis: Jude, no way!

Jude: No, of course not. There is no such person or classified document anywhere.

Jude: She’s gonna keep looking for something that's not there, and at midnight, I'm gonna call it a night.

Ellis: It's like Cinderella in bad taste.

Jude: The best fairy tale mistake.

Lighting a cigarette, I inhale the smoke deeply into my lungs, and exhale.

(Now she’s washed her hands from Crown with this.)***

(This is a happy ending. It's a lukewarm happy ending that suits her.)

He tossed the shortened cigarette to the ground and stomped it down with his foot.

The on-site supervisor came running towards me, the color of his complexion changed.

Supervisor: Mr. Jude, why are you here? I’ve been trying to contact you! 

Jude: What happened?

Supervisor: You remember that guy you sent to the lab for illegal human trafficking here before.

Ellis: Is that.….that's the guy in the bowler hat who Kate was talking about earlier, isn't it?

Supervisor: That man escaped from the lab and attacked a weapons store. He killed the clerk and stole a gun...

Supervisor: As he was escaping he said he was going to kill Jude Jazza!

Jude: ………

Supervisor: The man's goal is revenge against you. Please run away and hide yourself quickly…..

FLASH BACK

Jude: We had a contract that said you couldn't buy or sell humans, right?

Bowler Hat Man: I'm hoping you'll let me off the hook there.

Bowler Hat Man: Well, even poor people can sell at a good price.

Bowler Hat Man: It'll line your pockets and clean up this docklands cesspool that is the Port of London.

Jude: ……….

Bowler Hat Man: You, who love other people's misfortune and money, will let me off the hook, won't you?

Bowler Hat Man: If you agree, your lover will be returned to you unharmed.

FLASHBACK ENDS

(He’s seen Kate’s face.）

Jude:…..Damn, how bad can her luck be?

Supervisor: Oh, hey, Mr. Jude, where are you going?

Ellis: Jude!

Running through the bay, I opened the doors of the warehouses with a fine-tooth comb.

(……Where the hell is she?)

Then I heard a noise in one of the warehouses.

When I opened the door to the warehouse, I found-

[Previous] [Bitter End] [Premium End] [Master List]

***HELP! I could not t/l this line to save my life! It’s a simple sentence (?), but it literally said he was consuming editions. I managed to t/l it into “episodes” after a lot of research. I believe he is implying that because Kate keeps coming back to spar with him, he is comparing each fight to an episode and consuming it as his win and her loss??

*** 足 denotes leg or foot. 洗 denotes cleansed, scoured, wash. So, I decided to nix leg/foot and use hands as an alt since westerners are more familiar with that term.

[kitmoas]

in which prey becomes muse

Kate Bishop x Reader

Warnings: **18+** **Minors DNI** **SMUT** dark and demonic themes, death, possession, knife, stomach bulge, stalker stuff, slight "magic" things

If I missed anything let me know

Author's Note: I once am again sorry this is late, life man. BUT it is here and part of a nice little trick r treat vibe. so here's part 1 of the double feature for good ole Friday the 13th. Once again I apologize if it's rough. I am still MONTHS out of practice when it comes to writing, so I'm trying my hardest to get back into the swing of things and remember how to put my thoughts into good words. So bare with me.

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

Even now, up against the wall with her knife pressed against the thin stretch of skin above your rapidly beating heart, you can’t help but admire the way that the sunlight bounces off the golden handle or how the intensity in her dark blue eyes swirls in storms. The way she stands, the soft smirk pulling at her lips and the slight slouch of her shoulders, almost makes you feel relaxed. The warmth of her body is intoxicating as it shields you from the wind soaring through the air. 

You had seen her so many times in your travels around the small town, across the road or in the diner. She was pretty much the talk of the town since she got here, everyone gossiping about the city girl who escaped to an old town. Something about her was so enticing, so enthralling; and though you knew you wouldn’t survive the encounter, you just had to take the chance as it was given to you. She was the definition of a heartbreaker, even from the way she carried herself on a day to day basis. 

Falling into the trap that she set was easy. It was almost foolproof even before you realized what was happening. You wanted to be seen by her so badly that you didn’t realize that you were the reason that she even ended up in the dead-end broken down area. The young girl already had a bit of a history, and though you didn’t know what this meant you could tell she had traveled to many places and seen the world more than anyone you grew up with. 

Despite your predicament, you wanted to know more—the mystery of the girl who not only knew who you were but was risking arrest to be near you. This should have scared you, and maybe deep down it did, but on the surface it just excited you. Your mouth had opened many times, jaw dropping and lips moving silently, as you tried to say something or ask any of your gnawing questions but you were stopped each and every single time. 

There’s something in her eyes as you stare up at her, an almost unnatural glimmer. “Can your little mind not make up any words?” she husked, her voice raspy and deep as if she hadn’t spoken in months. 

It's a simple first sentence, and you can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or taunting you, but you can’t help the blush that rises up your neck. Scrambling to find an answer in your mind, you just shake your head pathetically. Heart dropping as you see her smirk fall from her face, her lips falling into an annoyed straight line. The disappointment radiates in the cold air, chilling you to the bone and making you crave the heat that once emitted from the brunette. 

“I suppose this isn’t much of a setback. I didn’t track you for this long just to hear you speak. I heard you’re quite the annoying one.” She watches you blink slowly, a squeak tumbling from your lips when she pushes your body back against the wall with the tip of her blade. “Isn’t that what Ms. Adovyn said? It was quite difficult to tell through all the screaming, but she had a lot to say about you and that was years ago.” The smug look twitches back across her face, stretching it entirely too far as she watches realization settle into your eyes. 

Ms. Adovyn was your high school teacher, some arts class you took freshman year, who passed away just a year ago. It had shook the entire town after they found her body mutilated in her own secure home and not a single suspect to be named. Slowly you try to pull yourself from this haze of infatuation that you have found yourself in to try to put things together. There was no way that all the random unsolved murders and disappearances in the town were all linked to this girl. She was barely older than you and some of them went as far back as your childhood. The neighbor who used to babysit you was found skinned when you were just seven years old, but it was left an unsolved crime with zero traces of fingerprints or struggle. 

A soft giggle from the girl looming over you snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gasp as you look into her eyes. Pure black with a pulsing cobalt light within, almost hypnotizing you as you struggle to pull your focus from her. “What? Don’t tell me my secret is already out?” Her hand moves, dragging the knife down your chest towards the neckline of your shirt. It leaves a thin, stinging red line, a few small crimson bubbles forming. 

You shake your head slowly, confusion flooding your system as you try to fight whatever you can feel brewing in your stomach. Unsure of what she means by secret, you start to become hyper aware of where every single part of the girl is. Her hand is firm against your hip, thumb softly rubbing at the bone she finds there—too softly for how hard her nails dig into you. Her thigh rubs harshly against you so that she keeps you almost glued to the dingy brick wall. The fingers that have a claw grip on the glimmering handle dangle carelessly down your shirt. 

Her face slowly turns up from where she was watching your body squirm to pout up at you. “Aww c’mon. I thought you would fight me more than this. Or are you so stupid to even realize what is happening?” The soft hair on the top of her head falls down in front of her eyes, making her look like an innocent puppy as she tilts it in questioning. “I thought after I waited for you for so long you would at least make this fun.” Growling under her breath as she leans in to nip at your collar, she bares her teeth at you as she pulls away. “Maybe you would come with a bit of a bite?” 

When her thigh forces its way in between your own, her muscle pressing upwards, it starts to make sense. The warmth bubbling in your stomach is starting to almost feel painful, and the longer you feel her calloused hand on you, the more it confuses you. Trying to understand your own bodily reactions, you allow that heat to start manifesting in a thing you can control—anger. You weren’t sure where the sudden confidence in your vocal cords came from, nor the grit in your normally soft respectful voice. “What? Can’t get laid? You have to commit crimes for someone to fuck you?” 

The girl’s eyes almost become a beacon of light, the cobalt flashing brilliantly as she lets her head fall back shrieking in laughter—a loud, rambunctious sound that blends in with the howling wind. “Well there’s your personality. You just needed to get touched a bit? Is your poor pussy being neglected?” Sneering at you, she lets her head roll back to look at you again. Licking at her lips, she sharply grinds her thigh up into you as she raises her eyebrow in questioning. “Do you need someone to make you feel all warm and wet? Someone to make you understand just how your cunt should be handled?” 

Your mouth opens and closes as you stumble over your words, feeling someone’s hand touch between your legs for the first time with purpose. It wasn’t a surprise as to what she wanted, but you weren’t sure she would actually go through with it. She had kept you in the same spot for so long that your legs were tingling with exhaustion and your back was starting to ache. 

Craning your neck, you try to look down at where the shiny blade pressed into your lower torso. The need to deny her was strong, and the urge to grapple for the control you were so used to ran deep in your veins, but something stopped you. A warmth that was building slowly, the center of it was rooted in your stomach. You wanted to ignore it, but it was there from the beginning and it only burned faster the more she touched you. 

“Tell me, everytime I waited for you to see me, did you think of me that night? Every single time I made sure that you noticed me trailing you, did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” Her hand moved softly along your thighs, nails scratching at the tender skin she finds as she speaks through gritted teeth. It’s almost like she’s forcing herself to take it slow. 

Shaking your head, you’re honest but you wanted to lie. How do you tell a beautiful girl that you just wanted the chance to speak to her, that you never once thought of her in a sexual way? There was no way that she would want someone so innocent that you had barely even touched yourself, right? Will she think you’re too much of a prude? Will she mock you for never allowing someone else to touch you? 

The girl snorts, pulling away slightly to stare you down. Her eyes watch you carefully, hand placement a bit lighter than before as if she is almost testing to see if you’ll move. “Oh, oh! I get it. The pretty girl is a virgin, aren’t you?” Nose wrinkling as the devious smirk stretches her mouth unnaturally. Her gaze turns predatory, darkening as her nails dig aggressively into your thigh. “You don’t even know how to say no, do you? The perfect little thing for me to completely corrupt and ruin.” Her voice echoes the longer she speaks, raising as she gets more and more excited. Almost like a little puppy, hearing all their favorite words, she even begins to bounce on her toes slightly. “They told me you were the ideal person, absolutely exquisite, and they were utterly correct. You had to have been sent to me from some higher power, and all I had to do was listen to them.” 

Blinking slowly, you weren’t even aware that you were being moved from the wall. The way she spoke was confusing, what did she mean by that? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t see the other girl’s change in demeanor. Twitching slightly, even letting the blade clatter to the dirty wet pavement below you, her body starts to contort. Muscles and bones stretching and cracking as she twists around. 

It’s her hand gripping your throat, clawing as she lets her nails dangerously dig into the veins she finds there. Cutting off your oxygen immediately when she somehow body slams you to the ground, pressing her entire weight on your neck. Her knee digs into your thigh and forces her way in between your legs. **Popping her head directly in front of your face, and though you already couldn’t breath the way her appearance changed, causes an unsettling chill to overwhelm your body.** Eyes sunken in, completely glowing cobalt, and every ounce of color drained from her skin leaving her gray and her veins almost filled with ink. 

Her hips grind down into yours, and her free hand gropes viciously at your breast. Stings of pain pulse through your body, and settle in your stomach as a low burn. Shame fills your brain as you realize what’s happening and how your body was reacting. “It’s okay, little girl, you were made for them and it’ll be me who gets to take you for them.” 

Slipping her hand down your body, her nails somehow scratch into your side harsh enough to cut the skin it finds. Fumbling around for a minute, her hand finally catches on the hem of your pants. Ripping the fabric almost completely her smile turns feral at the sight of your lacy underwear. Her thumb clumsily rubs against the thinnest of the fabric that covers your cunt before her head pops back up, eyes almost glowing. “Oh, how silly of me. Why would I not tell you my name? My name came from the person who gave me my blessing, Keket, but you can just call me Kate.” 

Your vision is blurry, twitching as you stare up at her. Back pulsing slightly from where the pebbles and dirt dig into, but it’s the way her fingers slip your panties to the side and swipe through your folds that makes focus difficult. The tip of her pointer pokes at your clit and it ignites something that you weren’t expecting. Arousal wasn’t something you felt often, and you didn’t even think that the warmth brewing in your body was that, but there was no denying the gush of wetness from her direct touch. 

Cackling the young girl’s face almost morphs as she notices the change, allowing her finger to rub small tight circles on your rapidly hardening clit. “Such an innocent little virgin, who’s cum and blood is worth so much to the الألوهية.” Her voice deepens as she speaks, leaning more heavily against your throat. “Your body is theirs to own but for now this pure tight pussy is mine to stretch.” 

Even though you wanted to ask what she was talking about, wanted to figure out who this girl was, you didn’t have the opportunity as she shoved two fingers into you in one go. The scream that tears through your teeth is muffled, barely there from the weight of her body against your neck. You can feel the pain throbbing from between your thighs and you’re pretty sure she tore something, but the moment her thumb comes up to caress your clit it’s almost like none of the pain matters. The warm arousal floods your system and begins to push out the pain. 

Her hand thrusts, vigorously, and it causes your body to move along the ground. You can feel the pavement and all the random things beneath you scratching at you, leaving bright searing burns. “God, you were born to take this and you’ll take more. Won’t you?” She’s leaning up over you now, a brief relief as she allows you to take gasping breaths. 

It takes a minute for the oxygen to spread throughout your body, and it does nothing but fan the flames within your tummy. Rough and tender, you take your time to inhale as you try to calm down. You wanted to gain control over the situation, but you knew that you were even rapidly losing authority over your own bodily functions. When her calloused fingers rub against a spot inside you, you can’t help your hips rutting up into her thrusts. It indirectly motivates her and she leans down some so that she spit on your clit. Playing for a moment, and stuffing the spit inside you, she practically growls as her body flops onto you. 

“You feel so tight around me, so fucking wet. I bet you’ll feel even better around my cock. Tight little slutty cunt letting just anyone take her virginity.” Her fingers move faster inside of you as she bites into your neck. The sharp nips dig into where your sensitive skin is already bruising from her hand, as her hips push her fingers even deeper into you. You can’t help the moan that slips through your lips, and the way you start grinding down into her. 

Letting your eyes slip closed, you finally allow yourself to try and enjoy what was happening. This was your first time and while it wasn’t how you envisioned it, Kate is a gorgeous woman and you were surprised she even wanted you. You’re still a bit confused by how she was talking but you knew that many people were into roleplay so maybe that’s what was happening. Her strength came as a shock and even her appearance seemed weird, but everyone wanted her and you got her. 

“If I was you, I would focus whore.” A harsh slap lands on your cheek, slamming the side of your face into the ground as she demands your attention. Her fingers had abandoned their post in between your legs and instead she was grinding her own hips there, a bulge prominent. It felt nice but you were confused as you tried to blink the stars from your vision. “Ready or not princess, I’m about to own you.” 

She barely finishes her sentence when she snaps her hips, and something is forced into you. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it filled you overwhelmingly. It rubbed against that spot inside of you that forces a whine from your throat, and for the first time you cling to her. Arms swing instantly so that your nails dig into her biceps. It was too much and not enough all at once, and you weren’t sure how to feel. You wanted her to do whatever she wanted, but you knew that was exactly what she wanted. 

Hips rutting into you, she lets her hands fall to your stomach to allow her thumbs to press into the bulge she finds there. “Do you see that little girl? You see my cock so deep inside your stupid little cunt? It’s leaking all over the place, even if most of it is blood.” She shrugs as she moves her hips, staring down at the way you stretch around her almost obsidian fog appendage. The bright red blood coats it and makes it seem as though it isn’t practically nothing, just a temporary blessing from the higher power to give an advantage to it’s chosen vessel. 

Her voice shoves you closer to the edge, rough and rumbly as she humps you like a dog. You wanted her to touch you more, something triggering in your brain to miss her touch. She leaves her hands where they are though, a knowing smirk spreading on your face when she sees you desperately starting to plead up at her. She knows the signs even if you don’t. 

You have already started to tighten around her cock, easy to push towards an orgasm as she manipulates your body however she wants. She knew that you would be simple, even wet while she was roughing you up with a knife against your throat. It never took much for someone so pure, and she knew that she had to act fast as well. Letting her hips rut into you at a speed that shouldn’t be able, but the spirits helped her along. 

“Do you want me to touch you? You want your stalker to touch you?” She hums, tilting her head as if she wasn’t even physically exerted. Her hair messy and moving all over the place as she forces herself into you more. “Does your little cunt need my touch to cum?” 

Nodding you let yourself succumb to her actions, the want to fall over the edge becoming too great now. The coil inside your stomach is almost searing hot and cracking. You didn’t want to give in, but you knew that she would never let you cum if you didn’t and for some reason you didn’t care. The more she shoved her cock into you the more delirious you got, your brain fuzzy and unfocused. 

“Beg. Babble like the little slut you are and beg your stalker to take your body. They want to hear you beg like the bitch you are.” Her words are punctuated with a sharp snap of her hips, forcing you unwillingly over the edge. 

Your vision completely fills with stars, blinding you as you scream. Kate hurriedly slams down into you, her body leaning fully on her arm that lays across her throat, to cover your mouth with her hand. She may be protected by the divine power, but she knew that suspicion could arise if people heard your screams and they were not one for attention. Pinching your nose closed she allows you to ride out your orgasm, body convulsing underneath her. 

Entirely surrounded by not only her warmth, but the boiling heat within your own stomach, you try to push as much oxygen out through the small cracks in her hold on you. It was painful but she’s still rutting into you and pushing the cum to start leaking out of you. A small puddle forming below you the longer that she thrusts into you, and your eyes roll back completely until they slip shut. 

Slowly Kate starts to pull out, leaning against your throat as she stares down at your red puffy cunt. It leaks cum and her own black almost molten cum. She hadn’t even realized that she was able to cum in you, solely focused on pushing you over the edge and keeping the blanket of security over the two of you. Blinking slowly she feels her body start to lighten, a sure sign that she did well and the authority was pleased. It all seemed to be going fine, her hand reaching down between your thighs to shove the wetness back into you, until a small crack echoed through the alley and her arm shifted downwards. 

Cautiously the young girl looks up at you, your lips blue and parted. “Fuck, I’m so sorry محبوب الجماهير! It wasn’t supposed to go like this! I promise, I thought I did good.” Despite her panic, her body’s color drained and her eyes sunk into her head, the fog leaking out briskly as her jaw dropped open. 

The next day not a single piece of evidence was found, just chunks of your skin stuck to a completely clean knife in a small cloud of dense fog. 

The translates are roughly

--محبوب الجماهير! -- idol

--الألوهية--divine/divinity

(Shoutout to my girlfriend @themidnightcrimson--she edited the beginning part of this so if it got terrible at the end you now know why.)

[honeyhive65]

LIST OF MONSTERS/CREATURES FOR PUNCH OUT

Someone said I should post the list. I know it was one person but I wanna do it. I’ll also make concepts for their contender and TD matches (I only have joes which I’ll probably put here)

MINOR CIRCUIT

Glass Joe- originally was the only other human. Got turned into a vampire after trying to help someone near an alleyway. Woke up in the dumpster and still trying to adapt. Unfortunately never told his doctor about his predicament (he has woken up in the morgue multiple times).

Von Kaiser- a monster similar to Frankenstein monster. Some scientists wanted to create a boxer using the body parts of some of the best boxers they knew. Unfortunately the product did not meet their expectations and is sitting comfortably down in the minor circuit.

Disco Kid- a friendly zombie who recently rose from its grave. No memory of his life but recently rediscovered boxing, disco, and Micheal Jackson. Managed to be so inspired by thriller he likes to break it down right there in the ring. He’s a bit stiff but he’s still got that spirit in him.

King Hippo- nobody really knows why he came from the sea to land JUST to box. Maybe someone threw an old poster into the ocean and made its way to him. This sea beast may not speak any human language but he sure knows how to throw a punch. Stole clothes from a drowned sailor however the pants are a bit loose even on him.

MAJOR CIRCUIT

Piston Hondo- some people mistake this spirit for a yokai, however he’s just a regular looking ghost. In his life he was an excellent boxer. Most knew his training methods were extreme but nobody ever thought that he’d take “train til you drop dead” a little too seriously. Still he manages to haunt the WVBA determined to keep boxing.

Bear Hugger- he may seem like a human at first but there’s always that one day most people avoid taking a match with him. From evening to morning on a full moon is when his schedule is almost always free. Most people don’t want to get clawed by a werewolf but there have been a few who tried…let’s just say the results in the hospital weren’t pretty. (NOTE: despite the species rivalry, he’s actually pretty good friends with Joe. Being someone who was a human himself he tries his best to give as many tips as he can to adapt)

Great Tiger- a genie who tricked its master into freeing him, tiger now spends his freedom here in the WVBA. He never gives a straight answer for why he wanted to spend his free time here of all places but hey he’s happy at least. Enjoys human opponents the most since they’re the most easy to mess with.

Don Flamenco- did he come from outer space? Was he given a little too much fertilizer? Or perhaps he is just a nymph who lied about his origin. Don was a rose who somehow gained sentience and has taken a more humanoid form. The best way to find out how to be more human to him? Well boxing of course! He may be carnivorous though so watch your back.

WORLD CIRCUIT

Aran Ryan- with Joe now being a vampire, Aran has taken the place as the only human contender in the WVBA…at least before Mac joined. Despite this he seems just as freaky as the others. His superstition keeps him from bonding with the other boxers and maybe even some humans that occasionally join. He gets a little…paranoid.

Soda Popinski- Seeing an advertisement on the WVBA, this abominable snowman quickly left home to check it out. Coming out from his home, he quickly discovered his love for boxing and sugary sodas. It’s however too hot for him to look presentable so all he wears most times is a speedo.

Bald Bull- A Minotaur who’s been at the WVBA for what seems to be forever…at least to most people here. Some don’t even know when he joined and others never bothered to ask. Only exception is doc but he never seems to want to talk about it. He tends to enjoy time alone so best not to bother him or else you might find a horn in your chest.

Super Macho Man- Most people have to avoid being in the front of him and sometimes the sides due to one of his so called signature moves. Macho is a trans gorgon who thought that going into a sport involving punching one’s face was a good idea. You really couldn’t afford his sunglasses although best not to break them. You could end up cold as stone if you do. Where do you think all those decorative statues came from?

Sandman- not much is known about his species but he claims to be something called a dreamcatcher. A creature who can manifest dreams into reality. Nobody knew about it before he came along but what does matter is he seems friendly enough and has even taken a liking to that Gorgon just below his rank (SURPRISE SUPERSAND RAAAAAAH sorry. Also credits to @wvbaandtheboys for making the species/creature I used)

Okay that’s all also I’ll probably also make tempered glass for this. Why? Cause I can and I like the ship so I have to feed myself somehow. Also here’s the concept for joes contender and TD.

Contender- Mac got lucky and doc managed to talk Joe into a day match. A good beginning for someone’s career for Joe is a bit sluggish and looking like he’s on the verge of passing out. He may not burn up in the sun but it sure does exhaust him. Constantly drinking a mysteriously red substance during intermission.

Title defense- His poor unassuming doctor can’t understand how Joe keeps coming back from the dead. His vitals are all off but Joe insists it’s just a cold. His doctor decided to put him on a different diet to help him be healthier and maybe put some weight on those bones of his…unfortunately the doctor gave Joe a not so vampire friendly diet and Joe as slowly gone in a more crazed state from it. For the safety of the other boxers, the WVBA graciously gave Joe a makeshift muzzle from a helmet and something attached. He’s faster and more unpredictable in this state and will try and lunge at opponents to get something in his starving state. Not even the sun can stop him from getting a meal but hey the helmet protects his head at least! Just…try not too hit it too hard or that piece covering his mouth might detach.

[themculibrary]

BAMF! Peter Parker Masterlist

a terribly real thing (ao3) - idyllic_dae T, 6k

Summary: What even happened? As he searches his memories, he discovers that there’s nothing there that relates to his current predicament. The last thing he can recall is coming home from school on a Wednesday. After that… Nothing. No reasons as to why he fell asleep in a puddle, which is disconcerting.

He exhales shakily, then tries to think about this logically. What does somebody do when they find themselves inexplicably in the middle of the forest?

Blood and Bone (ao3) - deadvinesandfanfics pepper/tony M, 40k

Summary: Peter… wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gotten here.

The room was dark, and silent, except for the repetitive thump-thump of a heartbeat from somewhere beside him. It sounded like Mr Stark’s arc reactor, with a soft tick accompanying every second beat: that, and the smell of motor oil and fancy cologne.

His head throbs, and his muscles ache. He feels like he’s just lost a fight with a brick wall, or several. There’s crusted blood on his upper lip as well as his temple. He can feel it matted in his hair, and he wants nothing more than to take a shower right now.

Looking around a little more, Peter realises that he doesn’t even know where they are. The room is nearly pitch black which makes it impossible to make anything out. He thinks he’s tied to some sort of cheap plastic chair; his hands are bound behind his back with a mess of rope and some thin metal handcuffs - so he assumes his identity is safe. No way whoever this was would leave him in just metal handcuffs if they knew he had his powers.

Then, a huff of noise off to his side.

“Mr Stark,” he blurts, panicked. “I think we might’ve been kidnapped.”

Desperate Measures (ao3) - blondsak, seekrest mj/peter T, 13k

Summary: Waking up in the medbay, groggy and weak but otherwise okay, Tony instantly realizes two things.

First, that he should almost certainly be dead—yet he isn’t.

And second, that Peter isn’t here—even though Tony knows there is nothing in the world that could have stopped him, not when Michelle had been hurt too.

At least, nothing short of his own death… or something far too close for comfort to it.

With growing dread Tony lifts his head to stare at Michelle who stares right back, her expression as grave as he’s ever seen it.

“What did he do?”

Fifty-Two Hours (ao3) - Eccentric_Grace T, 5k

Summary: "What did you do?" Tony asked blankly, staring at Ross with something incomprehensible, unholy, monstrous under his skin. "What the hell did you do to him?"

He looked over the kid again, feeling bile in his throat. Peter's knuckles were scraped and bruised and bloody red– he put up a fight, there wasn't a doubt about it.

'Please keep fighting,' he thought. 'C'mon, kiddo. We'll make it out of here. I'll fix it.'

or: tony and peter get kidnapped. tony tries his best to keep calm.

Five Times Tony Tries To Protect Peter (ao3) - Anonymous T, 12k

Summary: “I’m literally a superhero!”

Plus one time where Peter saves them all.

he gives his heart to strangers (ao3) - TheRoomWhereItHappened347 G, 10k

Summary: Peter loved New York, he really did, but there were many days when he doubted saving its citizens were worth it.

People needed saving but their pride stopped them from thanking him, or JJJ's scathing reports placed perceptions in their heads that weren't true. Thankfully, there were days when some people made all his suffering worth it.

Alternatively: 5 times Peter Parker saves New Yorkers and 1 time they save him.

it's always who is spider-man, never how is spider-man (ao3) - i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz harley/peter, wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 176k

Summary: "Stay?"

Peter finally looked down to see Harley Fucking Keener, Iron Lad, the boy who had caused his shoulder to be throbbing in pain all night, looking away with a slight tint to his cheeks. Peter opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.

And he sat back down.

OR: Peter had been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.

i wake up to the cold reality (and not a thing has changed) (ao3) - im_your_mom_now T, 49k

Summary: Tony paused mid-sentence, eyes darting to the crowd. Everyone's heads were turning left and right with confusion, wondering who the hell would boo Iron Man. He continued, "To international concerns over unsanctioned actions and consequences by—"

"This guy sucks!"

"—enhanced individuals and members of the Avengers to create a system of accounta—"

"Show us your tits!"

"Okay, who the hell—" Tony gave up and lifted a hand above his eyes, blocking the light to see the crowd better. His eyes scanned each person's face, trying to locate the shit that kept interrupting his speech, and followed everyone's gazes to the ceiling. He froze as his eyes fell on a red and blue clad vigilante sitting in the beams.

Spider-Man looped his legs around the beam he was on and swung to hang upside down. Cupping his gloved hands around his mouth, he shouted, "Tell a joke!"

_

OR: The Accords dehumanize and discriminate against enhanced individuals. Spider-Man isn’t very happy about this. (Spider-Man happens to also be a foster kid who is in dire need of a mentor.)

let's see how far you've come (ao3) - Stackthedeck T, 6k

Summary: “Do I look like a kid to you?” Peter interrupts.

Tony scans over Peter’s eyebags and stress gray hairs and the work bag he still hasn’t shrugged off because he has to be somewhere in an hour. He flinches at the scars on his face, the bruise on his cheek instead, his gaze lingers on his hands, strong and calloused, with grime under the nails.

“No,” Tony says, “no, you don’t.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time,” Peter says, “longer than you, longer than the Avengers, long enough to stop counting the years.”

(The Veteran hero Peter Parker Civil War rewrite no one asked for!)

lies do not become us (ao3) - graye T, 13k

Summary: Following the trip to Europe Peter is having nightmares. Which is normal, except they're different. Instead of abstract versions of what happened things are suddenly lucid; he's been essentially re-living past traumas for months, and the dreams don't even touch on what happened in Europe. It isn't until Beck finally makes an appearance in one of these nightmares that Peter realizes maybe there's more unfinished business than he thought.

-

His breaths quickened, it was getting harder for air to get in. In and out. Breaths by the sixes—

Wet hands. He had fallen in a puddle. He looked into the water and his reflection was changed. He was Spider-man now. The original one, the one Tony made fun of. Underoos. It was covered in blood. Torn and battered. The blood wasn’t his.

No. No no no no no—

Thick green smoke rose from the ground. It masked everything and he could only see a few feet in front of him. The sky was gone. Only the graves and him were left. Alone. He whipped his head around. Left and right. Nothing. His breathing turned ragged. There was nothing behind him either. He turned his head back and—

He was there.

Peter Parker's Home for the Wayward Villain (ao3) - BeanieBaby peter/wade, steve/bucky, pepper/tony T, 90k

Summary: A really long redemption story.

The Imposter (ao3) - multiworlds111 tony/pepper N/R, 5k

Summary: Tony and Pepper had traveled into the city for a few emergency meetings, but they promised they’d be back for dinner and left Happy in charge. Peter can’t find him, though, and he was just sitting on the porch and frowning a few moments before. As the tingle grows stronger, Peter feels adrenaline flood his system, along with a fair amount of fear. There is something foreboding about the soft sway of the branches in the breeze.

OR: Peter and Morgan are playing in the front yard when something triggers Peter's Spidey sense.

The Devouring Storm (ao3) - blondsak, mysterycyclone mj/peter, ned/flash T, 98k

Summary: The city is unusually quiet tonight. Oh, sure, he’s had his usual crimes: muggings, drug deals, a few break ins. Nothing special. Nothing that could possibly explain the thread of tension winding through him, slowly tightening like a noose. Ever since last night, his spidey senses have set off at a low, maddening hum, distracting him, needling him, filling him with a restless energy that’s robbed him of restful sleep. He’s used to dealing with his super powered anxiety, but this feels different somehow. More ominous. And what’s weirder is that other people seem to be a little more wary, a little more on edge than usual, too. Cops, firefighters, even one of the guys Peter caught snatching a purse commented on it from his web cocoon on a street light.

“You feel that, Spidey? The city’s all weird tonight. Feels like the whole place is holding its breath, waiting on something.”

the most chaotic of kidnappings (ao3) - OnlyForward G, 5k

Summary: a group of kidnappers decide to kidnap peter parker stark, the heir to stark industries, because he’s only a child and can't do them any harm. they are, naturally, extremely wrong.

feat. nicknames, badass peter and a healthy dose of scaring the hell out of everyone who cares about him.

tldr: don’t kidnap peter parker stark. this is why.

those bambi eyes (ao3) - WhyShouldEye T, 12k

Summary: The struggle was real when it came to keeping a secret identity. Especially when the identity was kept from a group of superheroes made up of a retired agent, a retired assassin, a retired super-assassin, a super soldier, a couple military men, some geniuses and a literal god.

Peter thought he would be able to keep his name and face away from the spotlight until he was at least old enough to drink. He hoped that his Parker Luck would hold out until his twenty-first birthday, maybe even past that. But a villain crawling out of the woodwork and a couple of life-threatening injuries were quick to change his plans.

Hopefully, he could just flash those Bambi eyes and get it over with.

Under the Impression (ao3) - Assayist T, 26k

Summary: Fourteen years old looks a lot different in person than it does on paper.

When he actually meets the kid behind the Spider-Man mask, Tony Stark starts to doubt. Can he really drag a kid into the dangerous world of professional superheroes? Even if it might be their only chance to save Captain America & Co.?

[myristicisms]

@strifesoldier || Cloud Strife says;;

" You shouldn't have seen that. "

The 'that' in question isn't even something he can fully wrap his mind around to begin with; Sure Zack knew Cloud and his group of friends were... Eccentric to a degree but there's a line where eccentricity ends and falters to deranged to some degree and that's what his confused brain managed to settle on. He knows he can't make choices for other people, if he could then half the hardships he'd endured in his life would have been nothing more than whispers to the wind known only by whoever the hell decided that perhaps those woes needed to be settled upon Zack. What he can do is try to fight the lingering disappointment that had settled upon his features. “ What? That you're part of AVALANCHE? ” He remarks almost sarcastically.

“ Y'know, the whole point of breaking from the lab was to escape ShinRa, ” He continues, and it's mortifying how he'd seemingly picked up Angeal's habit of lecturing many years past the man's death. “ Which also includes not joining an organization that can't seem to stay the hell out of ShinRa, even if it's for ‘ teaching them a lesson ' or whatever it is they do. ” Even worse a feeling is knowing that the bubbling ire he was feeling had nothing to do with Cloud being in AVALANCHE and everything to do with the ever present fear of their freedom being stripped away from them again, of Cloud being taken back by ShinRa and Hojo.

He'd willingly put his life on the line to prevent that happening once and as is, he'd do it again; Though that doesn't mean he'd be all too appreciative of that fact and that thought only bunches dark eyebrows together in further frustration. He's so selfish, naïve to a fault too and this damned hero complex really is gonna get Zack killed some day. ( Though is that really a bad thing? Yeah, I guess. ) The raven haired man recognizes the fact that Cloud doesn't need a hero, doesn't need Zack of all people to hound him for his choices.

“ Clearly it's none of my business though seeing as I'm not supposed to know anything. ” And that's what hurt the most in this little predicament; Secrets being kept, then again what reason would Cloud have to share that with Zack? As far as the blonde knew, Zack was just a mercenary nowadays but that's even more reason for him to be trustworthy outside of the obvious past the two shared and that's something he can't quite understand either. “ I'll leave you to your eco terrorism, not my problem and I won't make it my problem. ”

[adriixboo]

i hesitated on posting this, i am almost ashamed, but the damage has been done. i have been told that we are in need of cringe SO MAMA HAS SUPPLIED 🔥 get ready

also, sometimes i refer the "reader" as "yn" or just use "you" 🕺

combining both of my worlds into one, this is lengthy.

undertale!yn/reader and rise of the guardians ok hear me out (or don't)

in other words, welcome to monster!yn crushing on the guardians, and having joking around with jack frost, he kind of reminds yn of someone they know..

i also want to point out that i'm not never sure about yn hitting on jack, he may have been alive for 300+ years, yet he has the appearance of a teenager, and im pretty sure he was around 17 when he died??

yn's kinda old. in monster years, at least. more to be explained soon.

~

if you've been around my blog for a while, i watched rise of the guardians again after YEARS, and i have spiraled since. around this time, i was also in my undertale spiral lol (more coming soon) and bc my brain refuses to shut up, i was thinking, 'why not combine both?'

i'll show u why 🙄 am i proud of where i am in life? no, not really but im vibing, but man oh man i have to express myself now

moving on 😏😼 time for the content,

- takes place during the ROTG movie😏

more under the cut 🤤

•••

yn is a monster from the undertale universe 🕺, and somehow finds their way to the rotg universe and is like

"🤨🤨?? wdym ur the toothfairy????"

honestly this could go in SO many different directions. for examply, let's say yn has magic similar to the skele bros and then some other stuff? i dunno like this bitch can float or something 😼 space and time manipulation, honestly this is up to y'all, as i may or may not write and post more so please give me ideas

yn is aware of timelines, resets, saves, alternate universes, and has some knowledge of the science behind it, has theories, probably doesn't know too much about quantum mechanics, but knows enough.

sans is more in tune with that..

yn arrives somewhere on the 'surface,' as far as they know, and is immediately, slightly panicking. i mean, who wouldn't? you're just chilling on someone's couch relaxing one moment and all of a sudden *poof* and now you're standing on some GRASS???

..maybe papyrus' spaghetti needs more time in the oven.

next!

-

as far as yn's concern, monsters haven't resurfaced yet in their current timeline and maybe it's best to lay low, if possible. they also notice a lack of magic in their area, which is off-putting. they are not so sure as to what's going on.

did they jump timelines? somehow FAR off in the future? or was it jumping universes? oh god, where's the line drawn from jumping universes to appearing in a different dimension? what classifies as an alternate universe as well as a different dimension?

-

it's gets REALLY weird when manny, the man in the moon himself, is somehow aware of what has happened and alerts the guardians. coincidentally, right after showing the big four™ the next new guardian.

did manny do this? did he put yn in this predicament ?

was it gASSter? what an asshole.

-

ok so i was gonna have a segment here of yn meeting everyone, including jack frost and whatnot but i straight up have no ideas LMAOOOO send help

anyway

-

everyone's confused as to why yn can see the guardians.

yn is especially confused when THEY are confused when yn mentions the monster race and that damn mountain that has them trapped. yikes, imagine yn's shock and panic upon learning that there is no mt. ebott, that there is no monster race that yn speaks of.

also, yn's not a believer. how could they believe in santa claus and the toothfairy when they go through endless cycles of resets? in fact, they carry some nihilistic beliefs. yn's not insufferable nor are they miserable company. far from it actually.

yn likes to believe they are a delight to be around.

-

yn has a theory that it may have to do with the magic in a monster's soul.

oh man. how do you explain monsters, monster magic, and souls to these people??????

matter of fact, how will THEY explain themselves and their roles to you?

-

also how do you explain the easter bunny to yn? "what is an "easter bunny" and why r u so tall" yn says to a bewildered bunnymund.

"What do you mean 'what is an easter bunny'???"

"those bigass ears and u didn't hear me????????" what an inpression you've made yn. at least jack found it amusing.

-

yn just wants to go home.

god how they miss and love doing absolutely nothing with best friend sans™ and supervise over papyrus and undyne while they cook.

...not to say that they haven't been doing that, doing nothing. it's just different (and better) doing that back in their home.

just as much as they love doing nothing, they love being useful, which is kind of hard to keep track of. i mean, you hate doing stuff but you love being/feeling useful. clearly ya got something to work out. it's okay, i do as well

-

things are getting odd when yn is trying to explain the difference between the monster race and the monsters that the guardians know of.

like no man, yn is NOT going to "strike fear into the minds and souls of children for their own benefit and then eradicate all light and love from the world" stars, are you INSANE??? who put that narrative out there? but all yn can do is blankly stare and raise their eyebrow (bonebrow idk, whatever monster you are teehee)

...this is a very awkward monster lesson with professor yn™ about how monsters are of magic and their souls out of love, hope, and compassion. it also gets awkward when yn has to inform them about HoPe, LV, and/or EXP. yn isn't sure what to ignore, if they should withhold some information or tell them what it is. i mean, it IS factual, but yn hasn't actually fully trusted them.

at this point yn is just saying shit and probably doesn't make any sense but do they care? not at that moment, maybe they hit their head too hard. maybe this is just a dream? a real screwed up dream, that is.

-

yn has made the discovery that this is NOT a dream and that these people are old. like really, really old. their mind short circuits.

this gave yn the idea of telling them monster years and age. they explain that where they're from, monsters age differently than humans.

this led yn to reveal themselves being a boss monster, and how boss monsters age differently as well.

"boss monsters' souls can persist for a few moments after death." yn begins.

"there isn't really an explanation as to why. but for a human, it's because of their determination. now, monsters do not have enough physical matter to handle higher amounts of determination. remember when i mentioned what monsters are technically made of? because of the lack of physical matter, and that we cannot handle such amounts, humans are far stronger than us, with their physical forms.

as for a monster's age, specifically boss monster's, can only age when their offspring do. so in other words, we can live forever if we do not have a child. when a boss monster has a child, the power from the parents' souls, transfer to the child, aging both.

stands within reason that i can live forever. that is, if nothin happens to me and i don't have a kid."

man. what a lesson. everyone in the room seems to be listening closely, surprisingly so. though, it is inevitable that they get confused. they've been alive for many centuries, but they've never experienced this.

-

yn does not mention dusting.

yn does not mention the void.

yn does not mention timelines or alternate universes.

or resets.

they don't need to know that.

-

maybe yn should have began with telling the guardians the story of the war that started everything. maybe some confusion could've been avoided. oh well, yn couldn't care less, they're not a licensed professor, not like they have a guideline to follow. yn's too lazy to think straight.

"any questions? no? ok good!"

many questions left unanswered.

-

the amount of jokes, japes, and puns yn could make. imagine that.

-

......zzz zzzz zZZZ

it's no surprise that yn and the sandman are now officially nap buddies™

"please give me a good dream for once."

the sandman is concerned... 'for once??'

you don't elaborate.

he's kind of a cutie tho.. and good lord he's shorter than sans,

stars, he's adorable. you resist the urge to pick him up and squish him. but manny knows how much you want to.

-

toothiana is certified woman crush™.

tooth stares at yn's white teeth from across the room, barely able to contain herself. she's practically vibrating where she stands—flies.

until she cracks.

yn's teeth separated in shock, beautifully sharp canines on display, is that a gold tooth?

stars, tooth is such a beaut. yn shamelessly admiring her colors.

it also seems that tooth's little companions seem to have taken quite the liking to the monster. their wings fluttering excitedly, yn swears they could hear desperate squeaks, begging for their attention. man, a wave and a shy, friendly wink destroyed them all.

...did one of them just faint?

-

yn was lucky their eyes hadn't threw them under the bus and expose them to queen tooth and sandy.

man, that'd be bad. yn couldn't imagine the embarrassment and would not handle any teasing.

-

unfortunately life hates yn and fucks them at every given moment.

yn is staring at the huge ass bunny that's across the room. 'is bro a bunny???? i don't know wtf' as if this wasn't already talked about during introductions.

they can't help but also admire the large figure, now known to yn as bunnymund. oh my stars, he looks so cool, borderline attractive, they thought.

at one point, yn was barely to notice, but they did anyway. they felt the slightest change to their eyes.

'ah shit.'

small hearts had manifested in their eyes for a split second.

and that damn bunny noticed, and gave them a smile.

yn had almost dusted on the spot and teleported away, much to the dismay of the damn bunny.

and his accent. STARS, the accent. yn's about to loose all composure.

-

when yn finally comes face-to-face, (or not, this guy is tall, and i am not💔), yn's dumb mouth had to open.

"there's no way papa hunka hunka over here is santa claus." is how yn decided to make a fool of themselves, yet again.

'this man is lowkey so fine FUCK.'

yn couldn't help but giggle a little upon remembering sansta.

wonder what sans is up to.

"????????"

anyway, north's workshop is pretty sick. the elves are fun to mess with, same with the yetis. in fact, yn had shown a bit of their magic on one of the elves. their magic is actually their favorite color, which is always a nice plus. there was a glow of their magic surrounding the elf as yn moved them slowly across the room, being careful not to harm the laughing elf. he seems to be having a good time.

rock on elf🔥

sometimes yn likes to mess with the yetis slightly. there's a yeti holding a toy? not anymore. it's floating above the yeti. there's a yeti looking for something? that something is then floating around the yeti, taunting him.

poor phil 😔

yn is curious if they are on the nice list or on the naughty list. this is a bit of a mystery since yn isn't really from around here so...

regardless, yn likes to think they are a good noodle.

for the most part.

-

that guy with the frosty blue hoodie is a different story. he reminds yn a bit of sans with the blue hoodie, the white hair, the jokes he makes and the pranks he pulls.

way too much energy though..

but he was rather easygoing.

he had that carefree attitude, all he wanted to do was to freeze shit and have fun and honestly, yn could get down with that. still too much energy.

they've been in snowdin countless of times / they live(d) in snowdin for fucks sake.

remember the lesson with the elf? during the lesson, yn threw the elf in jack's direction, effectively hitting him in the face.

"...that wasn't me."

"I just SAW YOU????"

yn views this guy as that annoying younger brother. he's constantly messing with them, gets a good laugh from them though. yn likes to move his staff with their magic whenever he's leaning on it, just to see him take a tumble.

-

yn had to restrain themselves from literally giving them heart eyes (again) AND punch jack. they don't even trust that easy and NOW they're folding to a group of guardians???? strike them down now.

... it also took a lot of effort to not do a check on all of them. yn does not know if they'll be able to feel or know. they don't even know if they can. do souls manifest here like they do where they're from? they just have to! maybe.

yn wants to view their stats, see if they're dangerous. man, they should have done that in the beginning. but now look where they stand. yn wasn't always so careless. what's happened now?

'geez, people show you kindness and give you attention and all of a sudden you're down bad." my fault, brain 🧠.

though, considering they are the "guardians of childhood" and whatnot, yn doesn't perceive them as a threat.

...but they still want to do that check.

-

i'd be honored if y'all could give me more ideas for this writing 🙏 the cringe-fest must continue.

i want to figure out:

•how the five meet yn

•if yn was present during that fiasco of jack frost finding out he's a guardian

•what would the five stats be like? what about soul traits?

•meet pitch at tooth's palace? 👀 all pitch really has to do is make eye contact and knows yn's fears. now that's a can of worms. maybe yn has to finally discuss "dusting". eugh..

if you find this cringe, KISS MY ASS 🗣️

or! if you have something better to add or adjust, i'm all ears👂, or eyes 👀 since im readin

love u bye!

[komoonyoungah]

I have too many thoughts and, as always, I can only let them out here.

The Tortured Poets Department. In my opinion, the reason this album is so divisive is because you need to be at least 25 to understand the complexity of it. As a 33 year-old woman myself, I know all too well what it feels like to have given your entire youth to someone only to realize they were stringing you along for the ride. Feeling so close to ever after only for it to be called off when you almost taste it. Then you deal with being a spectacle for everyone in your life, their faux concerns, clutching their pearls “how did it happen? Trust me I won’t tell anyone!” But you know they’ll turn around and whisper behind your back to their spouses or cousins or friends, “poor thing lord help her,” shaking their heads with the superiority of having what you don’t.

Meanwhile, you desperately try to find someone to replace your “groom” with so the first person that comes along offering what the ex didn’t is the one you feel was sent by the universe to save you. So you ignore your friends and well wishers who are trying to warn you. He’s bad news. You shouldn’t dive head first. But you pay them no heed because he wants to marry you!

It doesn’t matter if your parents approve or not. It doesn’t matter if your best friends think it’s right or not. It doesn’t matter if you know it’s wrong. What matters is that this is your last chance and must cease it. So you lash out at anyone who dares to question you. Apparently no decent man is able to stay with you so maybe you’re the problem and this is the kind of man you deserve anyway. The clock is ticking and you still want marriage and children. For all intents and purposes, this is your last chance.

You start to look back on your life, your childhood, your relationships, your decisions, everything that brought here. Is it because you always bolt from a relationship at the first sign of toxicity? Maybe if you try to make this work no matter what, it’ll happen for you this time. Maybe he’ll choose you and he’ll stay and he’ll marry you like he said he would. You just need to focus on him.

Looking back, you try to pinpoint the exact moment your life fell apart. You decide to pin it on your biggest bully. While they did wrong you, they didn’t actually force you into your current predicament but you feel like they were the trigger that sparked the ripple effect that brought you here today. If they didn’t edit that phone call, you wouldn’t have been canceled, and you wouldn’t have been forced into exile, and you wouldn’t have ran to him, and you wouldn’t have stayed with him, and you wouldn’t have left him, and you wouldn’t have ended up with the worst man on earth right now. It’s their fault really.

Is life even worth living anymore? Perhaps if you got busy? Maybe you can force yourself to get up and go to work everyday. Maybe then things will get better. But now you feel like a circus monkey putting on a show. And people seem to believe you’re happy when you’re dead inside. And now you feel even more isolated. You spent your whole life performing for their entertainment and they can’t even see you struggle? They can’t even understand that you can’t do more? You feel like crazy and alone.

Somehow, even the worst man on earth, who you fought everyone for, doesn’t want you anymore. How does this happen every time?! How come even when you decided to settle for the worst, the worst still doesn’t want you? Can it ever be me? Is there anyone who’d ever choose me?

Then the universe sends someone. And you feel 16 again. Your chance at a do-over.