#this is killing me. i had this idea in my head for too long and i can't maki it right. like i can't draw it the way i want it to be

[spikedfearn]

Under The Blood Moon

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: in the humid belly of the night, you flee through the wild woods, breathless and bleeding, chased by a monster dressed in the skin of a man, and when he inevitably catches you, it's not to kill, but to keep. What follows is neither rescue or ruin, but a slow, savage claim written in blood, hunger, and heat.

wc: 8.1k

a/n: for this request, where anon wanted me to lean into Remmick's more monstrous side. My inbox is always open if anyone wants to submit more! also, thank you all so, so, so much for all the love, support, and general positivity you've all shown my fics lately—it genuinely means more than I can even put into words. I'm still blown away by the responses my fics have gotten in the last week, it warms my soul to no end every time I think about it <3 also have to credit axelboneboy for putting the idea of Remmick with a forked tongue in my head

warnings: heavy dubcon, blood kink, period sex, heavy breeding kink, monsterfucking, possessive behavior, coercive control, demon x human dynamics, religious imagery, breeding/ownership language, filthy talk, cockdrunk reader, forced orgasm, restraints/restraint kink, forced captivity, manipulation, southern gothic horror, explicit sexual content, obsession, violence, rough sex, blood play, dark romance,  somnophilia undertones (reader too weak to consent properly)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

MIND THE TAGS <3

Your breath saws raggedly through your throat as you run, legs scraping through the underbrush, branches slashing at your arms, the wet slap of mud against your calves. Your shoes are long gone, lost somewhere back on the splintered path—the soles of your feet raw and stinging with every frantic step.

Your dress, once a soft, homespun cotton in faded butter yellow, clings wetly to your skin, torn at the hem, heavy with damp earth and blood from shallow scratches. The thin petticoat underneath is ripped, the neckline torn where it caught on a low-hanging branch. Your bare legs gleam with sweat and dirt under the fevered gaze of the blood moon. The rough, hand-stitched seams bite into your skin with every frantic movement.

Behind you—

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate.

Not rushing, no.

He doesn't need to rush.

The blood moon glowers overhead, a bruised red eye in the sky, bleeding sickly light through the skeletal trees. The mist writhes around your ankles like grasping fingers, every breath clogged with the sour, choking scent of wet moss and rot. The forest feels alive—the cypress trees hunching closer, the swamp water sloshing in unseen black pools, the night thick with the buzz of unseen insects and the sticky slap of humidity against your skin.

You tear through a thicket, thorns slicing your thighs, the pain sharp but distant beneath the roaring panic. Your dress snags again—this time you rip free with a sob, fabric tearing in your frantic escape. You don't stop. You can't stop.

Your lungs burn. Your heart pounds a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs. Your hands are scraped raw where you shove branches aside. You don't know where you're going—only that you have to keep moving.

You think for one stupid, precious second that maybe you've lost him.

Then you hear it—

A low, rumbling chuckle.

The sound rolls across the mist like thunder, like a beast amused by the futile thrashing of its prey.

You shove yourself harder, feet slipping in the mud, the trees spinning in dizzy circles around you.

You should have listened.

The warning plays in your mind now, mocking and merciless—the old women in town, whispering in the feed store, their wrinkled hands making frantic crosses over their chests.

Don't go out on the blood moon.

There's something that walks these woods. A devil dressed in skin, hunting for its next meal.

You had laughed it off. Old wives' tales. A story to get unruly children to behave. Of course you didn't believe it...

Not until the heavy footsteps started following you.

Not until the woods seemed to shift, herding you deeper and deeper.

Not until the laughter—low, rich, and terrifying.

Your foot catches on a root hidden beneath the mist. You go down hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dirt and dead leaves cling to your palms as you scramble up, only to be yanked backwards by an iron grip around your ankle.

A scream rips from your throat as you're dragged across the ground, nails clawing uselessly at the earth, the taste of dirt and blood thick on your tongue.

"Well, lookie here," a deep, amused voice drawls from the shadows, thick with a Southern slur, soaked in heat and hunger. "Thought you could outrun me, lil’ hare?"

You kick, thrash, cry but—but it's useless.

He steps into view.

For the first time, you see him. Truly see him.

Broad-shouldered, wrapped in the kind of strength that speaks of old blood, of violence written into the bones. His bangs are slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead, catching the moonlight in glints of silver and soot. His mouth is a slow, cruel curve, teeth flashing when he smiles—serrated and sharp, dangerous in their promise.

And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Deep, burning red, like fresh blood spilled on freshly fallen snow.

They glint at you through the mist, pinning you in place, drowning you in a voracity so raw it almost hums against your skin.

You whimper, trying to crab-crawl backward, but he just tilts his head, slow and mocking, one hand reaching lazily down to wrap around your ankle again.

"You run real pretty," he murmurs, accent thick and sweet as sap dripping down the bark of a Maple tree, "but you ain't got nowhere left t' go, sugar."

The gnarled woods close around you, the mist swallowing your pitiful cries, the trees bending low to listen.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Grins as he pounces.

The world spins in a dizzy, mud-slick blur as he crashes into you, the full weight of him knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere—rough palms sliding up your trembling thighs, your waist, trapping your wrists above your head with a grip so strong it aches.

You thrash, wild and panicked, but it’s like fighting against a landslide.

Every frantic buck of your hips, every desperate twist of your wrists, every teary plea for help, only seems to amuse him further.

He straddles you easily, his thighs like iron on either side of your hips, his body radiating impossible heat. His breath ghosts over your neck—slow, savoring—and when he inhales, it’s with a deep, shuddering drag, as though he’s drinking you in.

You go still.

Frozen.

A scared little rabbit under the paw of a hungry wolf.

Slowly, he lifts his head, and when your eyes meet his, your heart lurches sickly into your throat.

Those eyes—

Red as the blood moon above.

Glowing, starving.

The corner of his mouth curls, a slow, predatory grin, delighting in your overwhelming fear.

"Y' smell it, don't ya?" he murmurs, low and thick with appetite. His nose brushes the curve of your neck, inhaling again, greedily, his voice gone almost reverent. "Sweet lil' thing...bleedin' just f'me."

Your stomach turns over, nausea and terror twining like barbed wire.

He slides lower, his body pressing yours into the soft, damp earth. You can feel every strong inch of him—the way the metal of his belt buckle digs into your hip, the way his thigh muscles tense against you like a coiled predator savoring the final moments before it goes in for the kill.

His nose trails down, brushing the hollow of your throat, the dip between your breasts—slow, agonizing, torturous.

You try to pull away—

He growls.

Not a human sound.

Something low, rattling. Monstrous.

His hand tightens around your wrists until your bones creak. His other hand snakes between your bodies, grabbing your skirt—what's left of it—and dragging it higher, baring your thighs to the muggy night air.

"No use runnin' now," he says, almost gentle, as if talking down a skittish animal. His accent thickens, each word dripping slow as syrup, artificially sweet. "Gotcha all laid out pretty...just how I like ya."

You whimper, twisting helplessly, but he just chuckles deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your ribs.

And then he goes still.

For one terrible, breathless second, he freezes—nostrils flaring, whiffing deeply, body tense as a drawn bowstring.

His gaze drops between your legs—to where your petticoat is soaked through, a dark, spreading stain betraying you to the night.

The change is instant.

A groan tears from his throat—raw, guttural, almost pained—and when his eyes meet yours again, they're molten red, desperate, devouring.

"God Almighty," he rasps, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Ain't nothin' in this world sweeter than a bleedin' cunt."

You sob, humiliated, terrified, as he shifts lower, his body dragging down over yours.

One hand shoves your thighs apart—roughly, possessively—while the other pins your wrists like shackles above your head.

"You don’t even know," he murmurs, almost tender, mouth ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath scorching hot, even in Delta’s sweltering humidity. "Don't even know what you’re doin' to me, sweet pea."

You can feel it now—his mouth, open and panting against the sensitive skin of your thigh, the tremble in his hands as he fights the urge to tear you open like a cat stretched over a fresh kill.

He presses his face against you, inhaling, low and deep, the sound of it filthy in the night.

And then—

He licks.

Long, slow, obscene—dragging his tongue up the seam of your cunt through the blood-slick cotton, a helpless whimper shuddering out of you before you can stop it.

He growls in response—a sound of such raw, savage pleasure you feel it bone-deep.

"That's it," he croons against you, dragging his mouth over you again, harder now, more desperate. "Let me taste it, baby...let me drink ya down."

You shake your head weakly, gasping, tears kissing along your water lines, vision blurry.

He only laughs —low and delighted—and tears the soiled remains of your petticoat aside with a quick, brutal rip of fabric.

And then there’s nothing between you.

Nothing but blood, skin, and his appetite.

Your thighs quake against the rough spread of his hands as he forces you open wider, his breath scorching hot against the most vulnerable parts of you, the parts that have never known a man's touch.

For a moment, he just stares—a low, reverent rumble building in his chest, vibrating through the muggy, blood-heavy air.

You choke on a sob, trying to squirm away, but his fingers dig bruises into your thighs.

"Nuh-uh, sugar," he murmurs, thick with amusement, the sharp scrape of his accent dragging down your spine like a blade. "You gone run enough."

You feel the shift—

Feel it deep in your marrow—

When he leans in and lets his mouth part against you.

A soft, wet, sinful sound fills the air as he licks—

And not just with any tongue.

When he drags it up your slit, you feel it—the unnatural split, the way the forked ends flick and curl separately, tracing obscene patterns through the slick, blood-slick folds of your cunt.

Your whole body seizes, a ragged, fragmented noise spilling from your throat.

He hums low—pleased, greedy—and licks again, slower this time, letting the twin points of his tongue tease your clit, your opening, flickering back and forth in a rhythm that makes your back arch high against the dirt.

"Mmm," he groans into you, nosing deeper, breathing you in like he means to fill his lungs with nothing but your scent. "Ain't never had a taste so fine. Like honey drippin' straight from the comb."

Tears streak from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, hot and shameful. You wrench your wrists uselessly against his grip, but he just pins you harder, his hand tightening like an iron shackle around your wrists.

He pulls back—just enough for you to see the blood slicking his lips, his chin—

And the red gleam of his eyes as he smiles, wide and mean.

"You wanna know what I was fixin' t' do t' ya?" he drawls, voice syrupy slow, full of wickedness. "When I caught ya runnin', I thought I'd rip that pretty lil' throat open. Watch ya bleed out all soft an' sweet beneath me."

You sob—broken, desperate.

His smile sharpens.

"Still might," he says, almost cheerfully, leaning back in, his nose nudging your clit so softly it makes your legs jerk. "If ya don't play real sweet for me, darlin'."

The implication settles heavy as stone in your gut—brutal, absolute.

Be good.

Or be dead.

You nod, trembling so hard your teeth chatter.

He croons a soft, pleased sound, rubbing his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat marking its prize.

"That's my girl," he says, thick and low, tongue flickering out to taste you again—slower now, more savoring. "Gonna treat ya real nice if ya stay still f'me."

You do.

You have no choice.

And he devours you.

The twin forks of his tongue work you open mercilessly—teasing, dipping, thrusting, flicking over the swollen nub of your clit in relentless, devastating licks. The sensation is too much—too sharp, too wet, too filthy—and you sob against the onslaught, your hips bucking helplessly beneath his iron grip.

He groans against you—filthy, hungry—and the vibrations make your vision white out at the edges.

"You taste like a blessin'," he mutters into your cunt, grinding the words into your skin with his mouth. "Sweet lil' Sunday sacrament, all laid out f'me t' worship."

You gasp, legs trembling violently, as the first orgasm builds—fast and brutal, cresting through you with the same merciless inevitability as the hunter pressing you down into the dirt, refusing to let up.

You don't want it.

You don't want it.

You can't want it.

But your body betrays you—spasming against his mouth, a shuddering cry breaking loose from your throat as you come, helpless and raw, against the wickedly incessant flicker of his tongue.

He moans as if your climax is the answer to damnation.

When you finally sag against the ground, limp and wrecked, he rises up over you—his mouth and chin slick with blood and slickness, his chest heaving, his cock straining hard against the rough denim of his trousers.

And for the first time—

There’s something in his face that’s not just hunger.

Something softer—

Something almost awed.

"Didn't think," he says roughly, almost to himself, "you'd be this damn sweet."

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours—a rough, possessive, almost tender gesture.

"Ain't lettin' ya go now, sweet pea," he whispers, voice cracking like a prayer. "Ain't never lettin' go."

His hands trail down your body—calloused, devout—and you realize with a sick, fluttering horror that he’s not finished.

Not by a long shot.

He’s only just getting started.

You’re barely aware of him moving—too dazed, too wrecked—until the earth suddenly tilts wildly beneath you.

He rises to his feet in one smooth, terrifying motion, hauling your limp body up like you weigh nothing at all. His arms lock around your thighs, hoisting you over his broad shoulder, your face bouncing helplessly against the curve of his back.

The rough weave of his shirt scrapes your muddied cheek, damp with sweat and the humid Mississippi night. His scent floods your nose—salt and soil, blood and musk, something darker, wilder, something inhuman.

You whimper—too weak to fight—as his hand slaps possessively against the back of your thigh, holding you steady like a trophy kill.

"Shhh," he croons, his voice a low rumble vibrating straight through the very marrow of your bones. "Ain't no good wigglin', sweet pea. Y'belong t' me now."

Your fingers scrabble weakly against his shirt, nails catching on the coarse fabric, but he just laughs—a low, satisfied growl that rolls through the mist like thunder.

He starts walking—long, lazy strides deeper into the woods—further from the safety of town, further from anyone who could possibly hear you scream.

The trees lean in overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the blood-colored sky, the cry of the cicadas like a chaotic choir, being taken deeper into the ugly underbelly of the forest.

The swamp breathes heavy and wet around you, the thick reek of stagnant water and moss closing over you like a suffocating shroud.

You can't see where he's taking you.

You can barely think.

Only feel—the slow, relentless sway of his body, the iron strength of his arms locking you in place as you look at the passing blur of gnarled foliage and plant litter every which way you twist your neck.

And his voice—

Low, filthy, almost tender—

Whispering promises against the slope of your thigh, each word branding itself into your skin.

"Gonna keep ya," he mutters, almost to himself. "Chain ya up nice 'n' sweet...keep ya all soft an' wet f'me...pretty lil' plaything, made jus' fer me."

You sob quietly, the sound muffled against his back, not that anything other than things that go bump in the night would hear anyways.

He doesn't stop.

Doesn't waver.

Just keeps carrying you deeper and deeper into the black heart of the woods, where no one will ever find you.

Where you’ll be his.

Body and soul.

Whether you want to be or not.

The world sways sickeningly with every step he takes.

Your body hangs limp over his shoulder, the thin fabric of your torn dress sticking to your skin, soaked through with sweat, blood, and the sticky breath of the Delta night. Every time he shifts you higher, the calloused drag of his palm across the backs of your thighs sends a tremor through your aching muscles.

The woods are different here.

Deeper.

Darker.

The trees older, skeletal and gnarled, twisted into shapes that look unnaturally human in the bloody moonlight, the knots in the bark large and gaping like mouths frozen mid-scream. The air thickens, heavy with the reek of standing water, mold, the cloying sweetness of rotting flowers.

You choke on it—each breath a struggle, sticky and wet in your throat.

He walks without hurry, the heavy tread of his boots sinking into the soft, muddy earth. The mist clings low around his legs, swallowing the ground whole. Crickets scream somewhere in the black, distant and frantic, but otherwise the world is eerily, horribly still.

You try to lift your head, try to see, but it only makes your vision tilt crazily, a low moan of sickness rising from your gut, feeling the bile trying to crawl up your esophagus.

He chuckles—low and knowing.

"Easy, lil' thing," he drawls, one broad hand stroking up the back of your thigh like a man soothing a spooked filly. "Ain't no sense gettin' y'self all riled."

His bloody fingers trail higher—under the torn remains of your petticoat, brushing the damp, sticky mess between your thighs. He hums, pleased.

"Still drippin'," he mutters almost to himself. "Still sweet."

The mist parts ahead like a curtain—and then you see it.

The chapel.

Or what's left of it.

A crumbling ruin of warped wood and sagging stone, half-swallowed by ivy and moss. The windows are shattered, jagged teeth of stained glass glinting in the blood moon's light. The steeple leans drunkenly to one side, bells long since stolen or fallen.

It should have been abandoned.

It was abandoned.

But now—

It breathes.

The mist coils around its dirty white skeleton, hugging it tight, the trees bending low like penitents around a grave.

He shoulders through the warped doors, boots echoing hollowly against the splintered floorboards. The air inside is thick—choking with mildew, smoke, old blood, the slow, sweet rot of something long dead, something long past salvation.

He carries you down the nave like a groom bearing a bride—if the groom were a wolf and the bride a carcass.

In the very center of the chapel, where once an altar might have stood, there’s only a low, crude bed—little more than a frame of old wood lashed together with vines and rope, a soiled mattress bowed low in the middle. Chains dangle from the bedposts, dark with rust, heavy enough to hold an ox.

Your heart stutters against your ribs.

He stops at the edge of the bed and lets you slide from his shoulder like a sack of grain, dropping you onto the mattress with a grunt. The springs wheeze under your weight. You scramble weakly, trying to push yourself up, but he just watches—arms folded, a slow, wicked grin playing at the corners of his bloody mouth.

"Look atcha," he says, voice dripping slow and fond. "All scared and pretty."

You whimper, trying to scoot back—away from him, away from the bed, away from the chains meant to shackle you to the floor. To him.

He lets you.

For a second.

Then he moves—faster than you can track—grabbing your ankle and yanking you back down the mattress with a savage jerk that knocks the breath from your lungs, chuckling low and mean under his breath, smiling like a predator playing with its food.

He looms over you—all broad shoulders and hungry red eyes, his chest heaving, his hair sweaty and sticking to his face. The crumbling roof of the chapel overhead caved in like a skylight created by time and erosion, the moonlight streaming in creating a bloody halo behind his head.

You kick out at him, weak and feeble. He catches your other ankle, spreads your legs wide with ease, and pins them to the bed.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

"Y'know," he says thoughtfully, almost conversational, "I ain't never done this before."

"Usually," he drawls, slow and deliberate, your blood dark and drying to his jaw, teeth sharp and daggered like the canines of a beast. "I catch my prey...an' I tear it open. Bleed it dry. Toss what's left t' the buzzards."

His hands slide up your calves, over your knees, rough palms mapping the shivering muscle of your thighs.

"But you..."

His grin widens, sharp and wicked.

"You got somethin' special in ya, sugar. Somethin' sweet. Somethin’ addictin’.”

His hands move higher, pushing the torn hem of your dress up around your hips.

"Gonna make a pet outta you," he murmurs, almost worshipful. "Gonna keep ya chained up nice and proper. Keep ya fed, keep ya warm...keep ya wet and loose."

You sob, twisting against the hold he has on your legs, but it only makes him chuckle low in his throat.

"Not just a meal, no sir," he says, voice thick with something like wonder. "Ain't never turned a meal inta a pet before."

He leans down, his mouth brushing your ear, his breath hot and damp and hungry.

"Gonna fuck ya every which way," he whispers, each word sinking into your flesh like thorns pricking your skin. "Gonna break ya in nice and slow. Make ya forget y'ever had a name b'fore me."

You shake your head, tears spilling over.

He just laughs—low and delighted—and kisses your temple, obscene in its mockery of tenderness.

"You'll see," he croons. "Ain't nothin' sweeter than bein' wanted, sweet pea. Nothin' sweeter than bein' kept and cared for.”

He shifts, reaching for the chains.

You hear the clatter of iron against wood, the heavy clink of rusted links.

Your blood goes cold.

You realize—

This isn't a nightmare you can wake from.

This is your life now.

Your body.

Your blood.

Your soul.

All belonging to him.

And the monster smiles.

The chains rattle in his fists, thick and rust-bitten, heavy enough to feel like fate.

You kick again, heart thundering in your chest, but it’s nothing against him.

He grabs your wrist with one hand, slamming it down against the splintered wood of the bed frame. The iron cuff closes around your wrist with a brutal finality, locking tight with a groaning snap of the old metal.

You cry out—a broken, pitiful sound that nothing but the cicadas will hear.

He shushes you—a low, almost tender croon—as he grabs your other arm, dragging it above your head and shackling it too.

The chains clink as you struggle, the cold bite of them against your bruised skin making you tremble harder.

"There we go," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work, red eyes gleaming under the dripping shadows of the ruined chapel. "All trussed up like a good lil' prize hog."

You sob again, humiliated, terrified—but he only grins, predatory and bright, his chest rising and falling with heavy, panting breaths.

Slowly, leisurely, he kneels over you.

His hands trail down your body—dirty palms leaving streaks of blood, sweat, and swamp filth over the ruined silk of your dress. He hooks his fingers into the ripped neckline and tears—a wet, brutal sound of fabric giving way.

Your dress peels open like fruit skin, baring your chest to the swamp-choked air.

He makes a sound then—not quite a growl, not quite a groan—something broken and devout.

"Goddamn," he breathes, one palm spanning your ribs, feeling your heart rabbit helplessly beneath the thin shell of bone and skin. "Y'look sweeter 'n a sunrise after the flood."

His thumb brushes one nipple, watching it harden instantly under the humid chill.

You try to twist away—shame burning hotter than the blood in your veins—but the chains rattle uselessly, locking you in place.

He chuckles, low and dark.

"Ain't no hidin' from me, sugar," he says, rough and sweet, dragging his knuckles down your trembling belly. "Ain't no shame neither. Y'was made fer this. Made fer me."

His hands find the bunched remains of your petticoat around your hips.

Slowly—cruelly slow—he tears the rest away.

Until you're laid bare before him.

Blood-slick, shaking, eyes wide and wet.

He stares at you for a long moment—drinking in the sight of you like a starving man at a banquet that hasn't been permitted to feast yet.

You can feel the weight of his gaze—heavy and hungry.

"Mmm," he hums deep in his throat.

"Prettiest lil' pet I ever seen."

He palms your thighs, rough thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh as he pushes your legs open wider.

You sob—mortified, helpless—but it only seems to please him more.

"Lookit that," he murmurs, dipping his head down, close enough that his breath fans hot across your cunt. "Still bleedin'...still so damn sweet."

And then—

The flicker of heat—

The twin points of his forked tongue lash out, slick and obscene, stroking along the weeping seam of your cunt.

You gasp—body jolting violently against the chains—a sharp, helpless cry tearing from your throat.

He groans deep, low and guttural, as he licks again—slow, deliberate—tasting the blood and slick pooling between your thighs.

He moves with maddening patience—the split tips of his tongue teasing either side of your clit, circling, flicking, taunting.

"You hear that?" he mutters thickly, rubbing his mouth over your cunt, tongue dragging up every inch of you. "Hear how messy y'are f'me, sugar?"

You can't answer.

You're beyond answering.

Your thighs quiver against his shoulders, muscles locking and spasming as he devours you—slow, relentless, merciless.

He pulls back only long enough to watch you squirm—your face flushed, your lips trembling, your hips jerking up helplessly as if chasing the wicked flick of his tongue.

"Poor thing," he croons, mock-sweet. "Y'bleedin', cryin', achin'...and ya still openin' them pretty legs f'me."

He laughs—low and pleased—and dives back in, feasting like a man who'd been starved for a hundred years.

You can already feel yourself unraveling—

Can feel it building again—

That terrible, traitorous heat coiling low in your belly, shame burning so brightly it tastes like iron on your tongue.

He tongues you deeper, forked tongue writhing against your soaked, blood-slick entrance, and you sob, straining against the chains as your body gives in.

You come—

Harder than before—

Your cunt clenching helplessly around nothing, your blood and slick gushing against his mouth.

He groans, hips grinding into the bed, rutting against the mattress like he can't stand it, like the taste of you is killing him.

He pulls back, panting hard, mouth and chin dripping in a fresh coat of crimson.

When he looks at you—

It's not just hunger.

It's possession.

"That's it, baby," he rasps, voice raw, shredded with want. "Give it all t' me. Ain't gonna leave nothin' behind."

You whimper brokenly, chains rattling as you pull uselessly at your bonds.

And then—

You see it.

Him undoing his belt.

The clink of metal, the low rasp of fabric sliding down heavy thighs.

His cock springs free—thick, veined, flushed red—already weeping at the tip.

Your mouth goes dry with terror.

He crawls up the bed like a predator stalking wounded prey, his glowing eyes locked on you, his smile wide and merciless.

"Gonna claim ya proper now, sugar," he says, his voice low and trembling with barely-restrained hunger. "Gonna fuck ya bloody, fuck ya dumb...make ya forget the whole damn world 'cept me."

You sob, head thrashing weakly against the mattress.

He just laughs—low, light, loving—as he fits the head of his cock against your slick cunt.

And pushes in.

The first push of him inside you is a shock—

Stretching, burning, splitting you apart on the thick, heavy drag of his shaft.

You sob, twisting against the chains, but he just groans guttural and filthy, shoving deeper with a slow, brutal roll of his hips that forces your body to open up for him.

"There we go," he pants, sweat dripping from his brow to your heaving chest. "Takin' me real sweet, ain't ya, darlin'?"

The stretch feels endless, unbearable—every ridge and vein of him dragging against blood-slick, swollen flesh.

Your body tries to resist, clenching tight, but he's relentless—grinding deeper, forcing himself past the trembling, fluttering grip of your cunt.

"You fightin' me," he groans, voice ragged with pleasure, "but ya can't stop it, can ya? Body knows. Body knows who owns it now."

Tears spill from your eyes, hot and helpless.

The chains rattle with every shuddering breath you take.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his skin sweaty and warm same as yours, trapping you together in the sticky, blood-sweet air.

"Y'made fer this," he whispers, voice breaking on the edges of worship. "Made fer me."

With a slow, grinding thrust, he bottoms out—buried to the hilt, your body stretched taut around him, trembling with the effort to contain him.

He doesn't move at first.

Just breathes—hard, shuddering—his cock pulsing hot inside you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you'll wear the bruises for days.

"Sweetest cunt I ever had," he murmurs, almost dazed, rolling his hips just enough to grind against the blood-slick walls of your cunt. "Sweetest thing I ever tasted."

You whimper, wrecked, overwhelmed.

He starts to move—slow at first, almost lazy, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in with a wet, obscene slap of skin on skin.

The bedframe groans under the force of it. The chains rattle. The chapel breathes with the rhythm of it—an old, rotted cathedral witnessing your ruin.

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, breath coming hot and ragged between clenched fangs.

"Fuck," he snarls, thrusting harder, grinding deep. "Ain't never...fuckin'...lettin' you go, sugar."

Each word is punctuated by a savage snap of his hips, driving you higher up the mattress, making the iron cuffs bite deeper into your bruised wrists.

Your world narrows to the brutal stretch of him inside you, the thick heat of his body pinning you down, the filthy grind of his cock dragging more slick, more blood from your battered cunt.

He groans again—a raw, broken sound—and pulls back to stare down at where your bodies meet.

Blood coats his cock, painting the base of it slick and glistening in the crimson moonlight.

He growls—a deep, vibrating sound—and slams in harder, hips jerking.

"Bleedin' all f'me," he mutters, awe bleeding into the filthy cadence of his voice. "Markin' me proper. Good lil' bitch, lettin' me ruin ya."

You sob—don't know if it's from the pain, the shame, the unbearable rush of something darker pooling low in your belly.

He leans in, dragging his split tongue up your throat—slow, languid—tasting the salt of your skin.

"Gonna fill ya up," he rasps, thrusting harder now, the rhythm getting ragged, desperate. "Breed ya good. Chain ya to this bed and fuck ya full every night till y'don't know nothin' but my cock."

Your hips jerk helplessly against him, legs trembling, blood and slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined mattress.

He bites down suddenly—not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise—right over the frantic pulse at your throat.

You keen—a high, broken noise—and the orgasm hits you like a lightning strike.

Your cunt clamps down around him, spasming violently, drawing a raw, broken snarl from his chest.

"That's it," he growls, fucking you through it, his cock thickening even more inside you. "That's it, dove, milk it. Milk it good."

You come undone—

Body locking, heart hammering, chains rattling—

As he drives you through wave after wave of brutal, bloody pleasure.

His rhythm falters—

Hitches—

And with a hoarse snarl, he slams deep one last time.

You feel it—

The hot, thick flood of him spilling inside you—

Coating your walls, mixing with the blood already slicking your thighs.

He stays buried deep—panting, shaking, his arms trembling where they cage you in.

For a long moment, the only sound in the chapel is the labored, broken gasps of breath—his and yours, tangled together in the hot, heavy dark.

He nuzzles into your throat, murmuring low, senseless things against your skin.

"My girl," he breathes, over and over, as if trying to convince himself. "My sweet girl."

You lie limp beneath him—wrecked, used, ruined—your body claimed in every way it can be claimed.

And somewhere—

Buried under the terror, the humiliation—

A dark, terrible heat begins to flicker in your chest.

You're his now.

There’s no going back.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Whispers that maybe, just maybe—you don’t want to.

The world feels soft and hazy when he finally moves.

You’re barely aware of it—just a weak, blood-warm ache where your legs sprawl open, your wrists burning raw from the chains. Every nerve ending feels stretched thin, humming with the aftershocks of being wrecked and claimed and ruined.

He shifts over you—his cock sliding free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you flinch—and you feel the thick, sticky mess of blood and come seeping down your thighs.

You whimper weakly, body too used up to fight.

But instead of leaving you—instead of walking away like the monster you thought he was—

He stays.

He kneels between your ruined thighs, the broken mattress sagging beneath his weight, and for a moment he just looks at you—head cocked, hair wild and dripping sweat, red eyes burning.

Something like awe flickers across his face.

"Sweet lil' mess," he murmurs, voice thick, almost tender.

One large, calloused hand cups your knee—thumb stroking slow, idle circles into your bruised skin—as he leans in.

You feel the first press of his tongue before you can even gasp.

He drags that wicked, forked tongue up the inside of your thigh again, lapping at the blood and slick smeared there like it’s the finest ambrosia.

He groans deep in his chest, his hands tightening on your trembling legs to hold you wide open for him.

You sob—broken, humiliated—but he just keeps licking, slow and steady, cleaning you up like a beast grooming his mate.

"Can't waste none of it," he mutters between licks, his breath damp against your skin. "Every drop...mine."

You twitch beneath him, wrists jerking weakly against the chains, but there’s no strength left in you.

There’s no fight left at all.

He licks higher—over the tender, battered folds of your cunt—gathering the mixture of blood and seed with obscene thoroughness, his tongue darting deep, savoring every taste.

You shudder violently, a broken whimper escaping your throat.

He shushes you again—so softly, so lovingly it makes your heart twist.

"Easy, sweet pea," he croons against your skin. "Ain't hurtin' ya now. Jus' takin' what's mine."

His tongue splits and flicks, teasing your clit, making your hips jolt despite yourself.

"That's it," he murmurs, smiling against you. "That's my good girl."

When he’s satisfied—when every drop of blood, every smear of slick has been licked from your trembling body—

He pulls back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand.

He looks down at you sprawled out on the soiled mattress—swollen wrists chained, thighs open, skin sticky with sweat and tears—and his smile softens.

"Pretty lil' thing," he murmurs, reaching out to thumb the tear tracks from your cheeks. "Took it so good. Knew ya would."

You try to flinch away from his touch, but it’s pathetic—a trembling, fragmented twitch.

He hums low in his throat, pleased.

Slowly, purposefully, he reaches for the shackles binding your wrists.

For a sick, dizzy second, you think he’s going to tighten them—punish you for even thinking of pulling away.

But instead—

You hear the click of old iron locks giving way.

The weight of the cuffs falls from your wrists, leaving raw, angry bands of flesh behind.

You sag back against the mattress like a puddle of liquid bones and flesh, too stunned, too hollowed out to move.

He watches you for a moment—head tilted, red eyes gleaming—like a man admiring the final brushstroke of a masterpiece.

Then he moves.

He scoops you up with terrifying ease—one hand under your knees, the other cradling your back—lifting you like you're weightless.

You make a weak, pitiful sound against his chest, but he just hushes you—soft and sweet—pressing a rough kiss to the crown of your filthy, sweat-drenched hair.

"Shhh, baby," he croons. "Ain't gonna hurtcha. Ain't gotta run no more."

He carries you to the far corner of the chapel—to a weathered old pew tucked into the shadows—and settles down onto it, shifting you into his lap like you belong there.

Your thighs straddle his hips, your chest crushed against his filthy shirt, your legs dangling uselessly on either side of his body.

He rocks you—nice and easy—the way a man might rock a newborn calf.

And all the while, he talks.

Low, sweet, steady.

"Got a place fer ya," he murmurs into your hair. "Back in the bayou. Little cabin where nobody'll never find ya."

His hands roam lazily over your battered body—soothing, petting, possessive.

"Got a bed there," he goes on, voice almost dreamy. "Big enough to tie ya spread-eagle. Big enough t' keep ya wet and ready all the time."

You shudder in his lap—a broken, helpless thing—but he just rocks you harder, nuzzling into your neck.

"Teach ya how t' live on nothin' but my cock and my seed," he whispers. "Keep ya full, keep ya heavy...make ya forget the whole damn world but me."

You sob softly against his chest.

He smiles against your hair.

"That's it," he croons. "That's my sweet girl."

His hand slides between your thighs again—unhurried, filthy—and cups the used, swollen heat of your cunt, thumb stroking lazy circles into the mess he left behind.

You twitch helplessly in his lap.

"Always knew I'd find somethin' special out here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Didn't reckon I'd find my forever meal...my lil' blood-slick pet."

He presses his mouth to your temple—a kiss, obscene in its tenderness.

"Mine now," he whispers. "Mine 'til the river runs dry."

The chapel groans around you—old wood settling, whispering, watching—as he rocks you slowly in his lap.

You’re weightless against him.

Soft.

Malleable.

The chains are gone, but you’re no freer than you were before.

Your body has surrendered.

Your mind—

God help you—isn't far behind.

He hums low under his breath, a tuneless, lazy thing—some old hymn twisted into something darker. Something damned.

His hands roam over you without hurry—stroking your bruised thighs, cupping the raw stretch of your hips, smoothing down the arch of your spine.

One of his palms cups the back of your head, pushing your face against his chest, holding you there like a possession too precious to lose.

"You feel it, don'tcha," he murmurs against your hair. "Way y'body melts into mine. Way y'cunt still pulses f'me even now."

You whimper—soft and splintered—and he smiles, wide and slow.

"Don't fight it, sugar," he says, low and coaxing. "Ain't nothin' left but me now."

You feel the slow, lazy roll of his hips beneath you—the thick, heavy press of his cock, still slick and blood-warm, nudging insistently between your thighs again.

You sob weakly, your body jerking against his.

But it’s useless.

Inevitable.

He shifts you higher, lining himself up, one broad hand guiding your hips as he pushes back inside—slow, deep, claiming.

You choke on a whimper, trembling violently in his lap as he fills you again—stretching your battered, blood-slick cunt to the limit.

"There we go," he croons. "There she is."

He rocks you on his cock—gradual, thick, obscene—grinding deep with each lazy roll of his hips, never pulling out, never letting you escape the feel of him inside you.

His mouth finds your ear, breath hot and heavy.

"Y'ain't even know my name yet," he murmurs, almost laughing. "Been takin' ya, ruinin' ya, bleedin' ya dry...and you don't even know what t' call me."

You shudder helplessly against him.

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw—filthy, tender.

"Remmick," he breathes.

"That's what ya call me, sugar."

Another slow grind of his hips—another thick, aching thrust deep inside your ruined cunt.

"Say it," he whispers, voice breaking sweet and sharp against your skin. "Say my name."

You sob—mind reeling, body burning—but the word tumbles out of you like a rejected prayer.

"Remmick."

He groans, raw and reverent, and rocks you harder, the weathered pew creaking beneath the slow, punishing grind of his body.

"Good girl," he pants, forehead pressing to yours. "Sweet lil' thing...mine now. Mine forever."

He kisses you then—

A brutal, clumsy thing—

Mouth crushed against yours, tasting of blood and salt and something older. Something primordial.

You sob into the kiss, legs trembling against his hips, your body clinging to him without thinking, without reason.

Remmick smiles against your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Ain't no runnin' now. Ain't no leavin'."

He rocks you again—slow, deep—every thrust branding you, sinking you deeper under his spell.

"You got my name now," he whispers, voice thick with triumph and devotion. "And soon enough, baby...you gonna carry the rest of me too."

His hand slides down, splaying wide over your lower belly—

Possessive, filthy, promising.

"You gonna carry me inside ya, sweet pea," he breathes, voice almost shaking. "Gonna grow fat an' heavy with me...my blood, my seed, my babies."

You sob against his chest—wrecked, overwhelmed—as he rocks you through it, slow and relentless, every movement carving your fate deeper into your body.

And Remmick—

The monster, the devil, the man—

Just holds you tighter, crooning low and filthy against your skin.

"My girl," he whispers. "My sweet, bleedin' girl."

The slow grind of him inside you never stops.

Remmick rocks you lazily in his lap—the pew creaking under the weight of his possession—each slow thrust pushing you deeper under, erasing everything but the burn and the stretch and the unbearable, filthy tenderness of him.

Your head lolls against his shoulder, sweat-soaked hair sticking to your temples, every nerve frayed to a live wire.

He strokes your back in long, rough sweeps—the calluses of his palms rasping over every bruise, every bite mark, every blood-smeared inch of you.

"You feel it, don'tcha, sugar," he breathes into your ear, voice sweet and sticky as syrup. "The way yer body listens to me now. Way it wants me even when you don't."

You sob weakly, too broken to deny it.

His arms tighten around you—one locked around your back, the other spreading wide over your hips, guiding you up and down the thick, blood-slick length of his cock.

"You was made fer this," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Made t'be mine. Made t'be fucked full, bred fat, kept warm an' wet in my bed."

He rocks you harder—deeper—the swollen head of his cock grinding up against that raw, aching place inside you, making your whole body jolt and shudder helplessly.

Your wrists curl weakly against his chest, the instinct to cling overpowering even your fear.

Remmick hums low, satisfied.

"Good girl," he praises, voice rough and ragged. "Good lil' thing, clingin' so sweet."

He kisses the side of your throat—a slow, open-mouthed drag of lips and teeth—and you feel him smiling against your pulse.

And then his voice drops lower—softer, darker—as he begins to whisper.

"But if y'ever think about runnin'..." he murmurs, rocking you a little harder, his cock dragging thick and slow inside your cunt, "if y'ever try t'leave me, lil’ hare...I'll hunt ya down."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I'll drag ya screamin' back by that sweet lil' ankle," he whispers, almost lovingly. "Chain ya tighter. Fuck ya harder. Make sure next time ya can't even walk."

You sob—broken, breathless.

He kisses your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears.

"Maybe I'll break that pretty lil' ankle," he muses, his voice so soft it’s almost a lullaby. "Keep ya bed-bound...keep ya needy...make ya beg for me t'feed ya, to fuck ya, to touch ya."

You whimper, hips jerking against him without meaning to.

Remmick groans low in his chest, thrusting up deeper inside you.

"You'd look so pretty like that," he pants. "All bruised up an' cryin'...beggin' me to keep fillin' this sweet lil' cunt."

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit—swollen, aching, blood-slick—and starts to rub slow, relentless circles.

You gasp, high and needy, clutching at him, legs trembling where they sprawl weakly around his hips.

"That's it," he breathes, rocking you harder now, rubbing you faster. "Cum f'me, sugar. Milk me good. Show me who ya belong to."

You sob, mind fracturing under the thick, unbearable pleasure—under the dirty, endless tenderness of his voice—under the awful, overwhelming rightness of it.

Your orgasm slams into you—sharp, brutal, dizzying—your whole body clenching down around him, sobbing his name against his throat.

Remmick groans, burying his cock deep one last time, grinding slow and thick against the fluttering spasms of your cunt.

"That's my girl," he whispers, voice cracked and worshipful. "My sweet, bleedin' girl. Mine."

He holds you through it—rocking you gently, slowly—cooing filthy promises against your skin.

"Never lettin' ya go," he breathes, voice drunk with possession. "Never."

And you know—

With a dark, shattered certainty —

That he’s telling the truth.

Your body trembles in his lap—used, slick, overflowing—and still, Remmick doesn’t stop.

Still buried deep inside you, he rocks you lazily—thick, slow drags of his cock against your raw, battered walls, the wet, messy sound of it filling the ruined chapel.

You whimper, limp and broken against his chest.

He shushes you, petting your hair, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your throat.

"That's it, sweet pea," he praises. "Just keep takin' it. Keep takin' me."

His hips move slower now—deep, grinding thrusts that make you feel every vein, every throb of him inside you.

You sob weakly when you feel the telltale pulse of his cock thickening again—feel the way he holds you tighter, groaning low in your ear.

"Poor thing," he breathes, voice shaking with hunger and something darker, deeper. "Ain't built t'keep up, are ya?"

He rocks you harder, the sticky, bloody mess of your body clinging wetly to him.

His mouth finds your ear again—voice low, filthy, almost laughing.

"Y'know why?" he whispers. "Y'know why ya break so easy f'me, sugar?"

You whimper, unable to answer, unable to think.

He licks the shell of your ear—slow, lazy—before speaking again.

"'Cause I ain't no man, sweet thing," he says, voice rich with wicked delight. "Ain't no mortal that tires out an' falls asleep after one fuck."

He grinds deeper—hips jerking, cock twitching inside you.

"A demon’s stamina," he murmurs, "ain't like a man's."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I can do this," he breathes, voice low and full of terrible promise, "forever."

He thrusts again—slow, heavy, final—and you feel it.

Feel the thick, molten flood of him spilling inside you again—hotter, heavier than before, painting your ruined cunt, seeping out around his cock.

Remmick groans low, deep in his chest—a sound full of brutal satisfaction.

He holds you there—stuffed full, pinned tight—grinding the mess deeper with lazy, possessive rolls of his hips.

"There we go," he murmurs against your throat. "Fill ya up good. Mark ya so deep ya gonna leak me out fer days."

You sob, a broken little sound that only makes him hum in pleasure.

He strokes your hair, your back, rocking you gently in the wreckage of the chapel.

"You're mine now," he whispers. "Ain't no priest, no preacher, no god up there that can take ya from me."

He kisses your temple—filthy, loving.

"Belong t' me, sweet lil' thing," he breathes. "My pet. My meal. My mate."

You lie limp in his lap, broken open, owned.

And you realize—with a dark, awful clarity—that you don't even want to run anymore.

You belong here.

With him.

Forever.

And the monster—

The demon—

Your Remmick—

Rocks you slowly into the night, crooning sweet, filthy promises against your skin.

[msmk11]

hey! I’m kinda new to requesting anything so sorry if I mess it up 🤦🏽‍♀️

I was just wondering if you could write some angst + fluff about poly! marauders + Lily x fem reader. I love your writing style 💕 I don’t have any specific trope, maybe the miscommunication one?

Have a nice day 💕 thank you in advance

Hi lovely! I’m so sorry this took wayyyyyy too long for me to respond to, but here is my best try!

If your partners ask, you’ll deny it. But, yes, you are, in fact, hiding from them right now and sulking.

Why?

Because you’re too clingy. Apparently. You know they hadn’t meant for you to overhear it. They thought you were still asleep. But you did.

“They're clingier than Pads and Prongs combined” Remus had said, “and my limbs starts to hurt after a while when I can’t move with them on top of me.”

“I get so hot too,” Lily complains, “it’s too warm in the summer for cuddling but they insist.”

They hadn’t needed to name names, you knew Remus and Lily were talking about you. And you felt awful. You’d always worried you were too clingy and annoying and now it’d been confirmed.

You’re back in bed again, buried under the covers with a sleeping Sirius next to you. Of course, your skin itches to curl towards him, but you ignore your screaming instincts. Instead, you grip onto the pillow beneath you even tighter and huff frustratedly.

While you lay there agitated, you hear the door to your shared bedroom open. By the footsteps alone you know it’s James returning from his morning workout to take his shower. His heavy trod pauses near your “sleeping” body and then you feel his warm fingers dust across your cheek. Against your wishes your eyes flutter open and you’re met with James’ handsome face and lovely curls slicked with sweat.

Despite his protests that he smells after the gym, you quite like his musky scent of cologne and sweat. You always demand at least ten minutes of cuddle time with James post-gym before he showers just so you can soak up his scent.

So when you don’t instantly reach out to pull James down on top of you into bed, he frowns.

“What’s wrong, angel? Are you sick?”

He presses a kiss to your cool forehead.

“Nothing is wrong,” you murmur into the pillow.

“You’re not begging for your morning cuddles,” James pouts.

You wanna kiss that pout off his lips.

“I’m just not in a cuddly mood this morning.”

A voice behind you scoffs and Sirius’ tattooed arm suddenly snakes around your waist, pulling your back against his chest., “that’s bullshit. You’re always in a cuddly mood.”

“And your post-gym cuddles are always my favorite part of my morning,” James adds, “What’s going on, angel?”

“Tryingtobelessclingy,” you mumble under your breath.

Sirius kisses your bare shoulder, “you gotta speak up sweet cheeks.”

“I’m trying to be less clingy!”

James’ eyes widen and Sirius’ grip tightens at your petulant tone.

“Why the hell would you ever do that,” Sirius responds, his voice heavy with horror, “are you trying to kill me?”

“What he means,” James clarifies, “is that we love your clinginess. What put the idea in your head that we don’t adore how much you wanna touch us?”

You go quiet and bite your lower lip.

“Well?” your most dramatic boyfriend huffs impatiently.

James gives him a scolding look.

“Rem and Lils,” you nearly whisper.

They both go incredibly still and silent- more than you’ve ever seen them- and then Sirius is clambering over you and taking two steps at a time down to your living room. You sit up startled and James wraps his arms around you, pulling your head back against his chest. He kisses your temple, “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this.”

Despite the feigned indifference on your face, you’re quite relieved by James’ embrace and Sirius’ quick action.

Three sets of footsteps pound up the steps and you’re suddenly being fawned over by four pairs of hands.

“Dove, please let us explain!”

“Baby, you only heard part of the story.”

“I’ll always cuddle you as much as you want.”

“Let them take a breath.”

The last is said by James and your other three partners freeze and drop their hands.

“Sorry, dovey,” Remus murmurs softly.

Lily tentatively sits by your knee with pleading eyes, “just let us explain.”

“Not sure if you both deserve to explain,” Sirius answers stubbornly.

“It’s okay my love, you tell Sirius,” and you pull him down on your lap as you sit in James’ lap.

He nods quietly and takes your fingers into his, playing with them gently.

You watch Sirius as you murmur, “it’s okay if I’m too clingy. I’m sorry that I’ve made you both uncomfortable.”

A pair of pale fingers that belong to your girlfriend hook under your chin and force you to look into her green eyes.

“Baby, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong, I promise. You just caught the wrong part of the conversation.”

Remus clears his throat, “yes, we were calling you clingy.”

Your heart drops.

“But,” Remus insists, “we didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“You said it hurts your limbs when I lay on you for too long. And Lils said she gets too hot.”

They both have the decency to look embarrassed.

"Both are true," Lily confesses, "But that doesn't mean we want you to stop. We all love your cuddles very, very much."

"I just don't want to be a burden."

Your girlfriend places a kiss between your brows, "you're never a burden. Just think of it like this- sometimes Sirius' yapping gets a little much, or Jamie's worrying, or Rem's grumpiness, and my stubbornness. But you love us all the same, right?"

You hesitantly nod, "of course."

Remus squeezes your free hand, "there you go. It's just the same. We may whine a little, but that doesn't mean we want you to stop."

"And you better not, or I'll never let you hear the end of it," Sirius promises.

You believe him, and you believe Lily and Remus too. How could you ever distrust one of them when James is holding you so tightly, Sirius is touching you so softly, Lily is saying such pretty words, and Remus is looking at you so warmly?

[iluvsieunsveinydihh]

Hellooo pls dont mind my grammar im not very good at english but anyways can you do a geum seungje x reader ff that the reader is go tak's sister and is very bratty when reader finds out abt what seungje did to her brother she decided to plan a revenge then she decided to team up with hu-min the mission is to make seungje fall in love with her and then lure him somewhere private then let hu-min probably kill him? But little did she know seungje is very much aware of her plan idk you can improvise the other part of the story you can make it a oneshot or series but pls include a smut?? If possible

Fool Me Once


Geum Seungje x Reader (Go Hyun-Tak’s sister)


warnings: Revenge, manipulation, enemies-to-lovers(?) tension, betrayal, smut, power play, angst.

You were always the brat. The loud one. The one who clung to Hyun-Tak’s arm and stuck your tongue out at his idiot friends, always the kid sister no one took seriously. Until Seungje broke your brother — and something in you broke too.

It started with fury. Pure, blinding fury. You watched Hyun-Tak fade — from your proud, protective little brother to a shell who barely looked you in the eye anymore.

You wanted Seungje to bleed for it.

Hu-min had the same idea.

He didn’t like you at first — called you loud, spoiled, said this wasn’t a game. But you knew how to get under people’s skin. Especially guys like Seungje.

“He’s arrogant,” Hu-min had said. “He’ll fall for you. You’re just his type. Pretty, bratty, loud — like a challenge he can break.”

And so you played your part. Tight skirts, glossy lips, batting lashes.

It didn’t take long.

Seungje liked to win — and you made him chase you like it was a war.

He kissed you the first time in a stairwell, hand slamming the wall beside your head, tongue pushing into your mouth with a force that made your knees buckle.

“Didn't think your brother would let you run around like this,” he muttered against your lips.

You smirked. “He doesn’t let me do anything.”

The irony tasted sweet.

You knew every touch, every stolen moment was a step closer to your trap. You let him drag you into corners, let his hands explore, whispered in his ear like you wanted him.

And maybe, sometimes, you did.

That scared you.

But you kept going. Because he deserved to suffer.

So when you texted him to meet you in that empty apartment — the one Hu-min had prepped — you wore a very short skirt with your uniform.

The one that clung to your hips and made Seungje’s eyes darken every time.

He came. Of course he did.

You smiled as you let him in, door clicking shut behind him.

“You alone?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Thought we could finish what we started.”

His eyes raked over you. “You sure you’re ready for that, brat?”

You walked backward, pulling him by the belt until he hit the wall.

“I’ve been ready.”

His mouth crashed into yours — rough, desperate.

His hands pushed your dress up, fingers digging into your thighs, lips trailing down your neck.

“Been thinking about this every time you strut around like you don’t know what you’re doing,” he growled. “You like playing with fire?”

You gasped when he slid his hand up your skirt into your panties, fingers teasing, circling.

“Say it,” he said. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want it,” you whispered — breath hitching when he slid a finger in, slow and taunting. “I want you.”

But something shifted. His other hand grabbed your wrist — the one behind your back, the one you’d used to signal Hu-min.

“You think I’m stupid?” Seungje’s voice dropped to a venomous murmur. “You think I don’t know what this is?”

Your blood ran cold. “W-What?”

He pulled his hand back, and suddenly you were slammed against the wall, your back hitting hard — his body pinning yours.

“I’ve known since the beginning. The looks. The timing. You think I don’t know who your brother is to me?”

You struggled, heart pounding. “You don’t know shit.”

He smirked. “I know you wanted me to fall. Too bad I like being in control.”

Then his lips were on yours again — harder, hungrier, like he was proving a point.

Your body betrayed you, hips grinding against him, heat pooling between your legs despite the panic. You hated him. You wanted him. You couldn’t stop. “I’ll let your little friend show up,” he whispered, licking a stripe up your neck. “But you’re not walking out of here the same.”

His hands were everywhere — bruising your waist, tugging your dress down to your hips as your back scraped against the wall. The room was dim, cold, and silent except for your uneven breathing and the thud of your heart.

“You thought you were running the game,” Seungje growled against your mouth. “But I’ve been playing you since the start.”

You tried to twist away, but he caught your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You want to hate me so bad. But you’ve been getting off on this — on me.”

His fingers trailed down your chest, over your bra, then yanked it down with one swift pull. You gasped — from the shock, the cold, the way his mouth closed around your nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing.

Your body arched — traitorously.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me this isn’t what you came for.”

But you couldn’t. Because you didn’t know anymore.

The plan was to seduce him. Use him. Get your revenge.

So why were you melting under his touch? Why was your core throbbing for him, even with your brother’s broken face etched in your memory?

Because he knew. He saw through you — and still wanted you.

You didn’t say stop.

Instead, you gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, your lips crashing into his.

That was all he needed.

He turned you around, bending you over the arm of the dusty old couch. Your panties were ripped down, your skirt bunched around your waist.

“You wanted to play games?” he murmured, voice low and lethal. “Let’s play.”

He didn’t tease this time — just slammed into you in one hard thrust.

You cried out, fingers clawing the cushions, back arching as he filled you completely.

The stretch, the burn — it was brutal, and you loved it.

Seungje grunted behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair to yank your head back.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you wanted from the start.”

He set a brutal pace, each thrust rocking your body against the couch. You were gasping, moaning, cursing him — hating how good it felt.

“Louder,” he snapped. “Let your little partner hear how much you love being ruined.”

Your eyes widened. “H-Hu-mi—?”

Seungje laughed darkly. “He’s outside. Has been the whole time. Watching. Waiting.”

You clenched around him — part fear, part shame, part sick thrill.

“You’re lying—” you gasped.

He leaned down, breath hot on your ear. “Then why are you so wet?” You hated him. You hated yourself more. Your climax hit like a freight train, making your knees buckle. You cried out, back spasming as he kept pounding into you, chasing his own release.

When he came, it was with a groan and a bite to your shoulder, his grip bruising, possessive.

You both collapsed onto the couch — sweaty, breathless, tangled.

Silence. Until his lips brushed your ear. “Tell your brother I said hi.”

[rtv-puzzlevision-studios]

☆ THE RTV!PUZZLEVISION TOUR [Part 3]

Note: I didn’t want to push the post back again, so you’re getting it the next part now, and I will add more drawings later!

Participants actions:

Becky

Nicknack

Lucas

The Scammer

Marie

Creature

Lilith

Grinnames

Messy

Lari

Rayas

Nira

Nia

Harley

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A few minutes before the vote…

The purple meme guardian figured to stay in the main hall for now, leaning against one of the pillars of a nearby door.

Waiting for questions, so he could distract himself.

Most for now were going to Meggy, probably because he didn’t look to be in a too good mood and while he appreciated that the people seemed to respect that, he also really hoped for a distraction right now.

It didn’t take long until one arrived.

The asker was a black haired girl with black and red horns and long red ribbons that were wrapped around her torso.

What SMG3 focused on more were the sharp toothed grin and swirly eyes however.

A pretty sick look, he approved of everything except the fact she wore no shoes.

Who did that?

“Question! For all of you!  Why did y’all start working here? I was wondering because well… as cool as working for Mr. Puzzles is, it seemed surprising to me that all of you just got up and began working in a film department all of the sudden! So… what made you want to work here? Why the change?”, she now voiced her question.

Ah, what a question to start off.

“Well, Mr Puzzles first made us the offer after, uhm, the whole incident with the old home.”, Meggy awkwardly began. “Back then SMG4 rejected it on behalf of us, but we eventually agreed to star in a few movies anyway, you know for trial, before….well…”

“E-either way!”, Tari now cut in, awkwardly rubbing her neck with her one remaining hand. “After the whole incident with SMG4…we kind of needed to take our mind off the whole thing. Find something new. So, Mr. Puzzles offered that we could work for him instead! Surprisingly enough our movie somehow still was successful besides all…well-”

“Besides 4 losing his marbles and nearly killing Mario.”, SMG3 added dryly, before noticing the eyes on him and clearing his throat. Damn it. “Sorry.”

Yep, maybe answering questions wasn’t a good idea after all.

“I will, uh, check on Eggdog.”, he quickly excused himself, escaping the look of very that had once again settled in the eyes of his friends.

God, he was starting to get sick of it.

Having escaped that awkward conversation, he took a deep breath, before starting to walk through the hall without any real destination.

That was until he noticed a girl with a fox-like appearance and striped vest step a bit too close to the staircase to his liking.

She better not think about going up after he just told everyone the room was off limits!

Now changing course over there, he made himself known by clearing his throat, before noticing the plushies on the floor and picking them up for her.

Right, they handed those out at the Art Department, right?

“I apologize…”, the girl now started rambling. “I came to pick up my plushie... um... Animsay came and... I got spooked badly... I wasn't going up the stairs. I would never go against the rules you set. Oh... and Hi.”

Of course it was Animsay, that one was nothing but trouble.

He was about to reply as the muffled whine of Eggdog could be heard from upstairs.

SMG3 sighed internally.

Sorry buddy, but those were too many people for you and Mr Puzzles doesn’t like you either.

SMG3 still remembered the last time Eggdog growled at the tall TV head for the entirety of their meeting.

“Is there... a dog up there?", the girl now casually asked, the previous nervousness replaced by curiosity.

"...Yes. But, I cannot bring him out. And if you are curious, I already fed him before you guys came. And, again, not going up the stairs.", he quickly responded before she could get any ideas.

Fans could be like that after all.

"Alright.", she answered politely to his surprise. That easy?

SMG3 now handed her the Mr Puzzles plushie back.

Okay, maybe he was being way too uptight here.

Relax, SMG3, relax.

“Hey SMG3?”

He turned around to come face to face with the ribbon girl from before.

Come to think of it, he should probably apologize for leaving like that just now-

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re the reason I came to the tour. I just loved watching you be yourself, so confidently and unafraid!”

Oh.

Well, this was another pleasant surprise.

Especially given he, uh, wasn’t exactly at his best today.

“You inspire me, man!”, the other now continued, bowing her head. “ I wouldn’t have started watching the show without you!”

Show?

Ah, she probably meant one of the many they starred in lately.

“Thank you, heh.”, he now meant, actually managing a somewhat proud grin. “Always happy to cast inspiration into the world.”

"Anyways! I hope you and the crew don't mind a special surprise in the fridge later!”

SMG3’s grin got a confused edge. “In the fridge? Wha-”

Aaaaand she was gone.

Well, he guessed he would have to find out later.

Mood slightly lifted, he figured he could return to answering some questions.

Maybe even show off some old props, add more to the tour day and all that.

He also noticed that brown haired girl with glasses and blue-eyes watch him before, so maybe she had questions.

Turns out, someone had other plans because in the next second Boopkins joined him out of the guest room.

“Three! You should totally join us in watching some anime! It’s really fun!”

The meme guardian visibly grimaced because he was well aware that his and Boopkins taste in shows was VERY different.

Still, it wasn’t like had anything better to do right now…

“Ugh, fine.”, he agreed, to which Boopkins replied with a “Hurray”, grabbed his hand (cmon man, he had an image to keep!) and dragged him over to the guest room.

In it were a few other participants including a girl with cat ears and pink eyes and the girl with the striped vest and fox features from before.

"...Fine, what are we watching?", he now grumbled to Boopkins who happily walked over to the seats.

"We are watching a Pokemon short! It's pretty good.", the fish replied, now waving to the fox girl. "And she picked just the right one that is an old classic."

SMG3 looked over to he at that, raising an eyebrow.

The other simply nervously evaded eye contact.

A shy one, he figured.

“Decent choice", SMG3 now commented, relieved that not one of those weird romance flicks had been chosen.

Not that he minded romance per say, but Boopkins had a peculiar taste that he found horrendous.

Guess he could stay here for a while and enjoy some good old pokemon.

☆

A few minutes later the results were in.

“ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! WE ARE GOING TO THE SOCIAL MEDIA DEPARTMENT NEXT!”, RTV announced, before turning to Swag, Lucian and Chris. “Do me a favor and get the rest of the participants if they aren’t here ALREADY. We don’t need some getting left behind.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Ugh, you take the guest room, Chris, I don’t wanna deal with all those otakus-”

“I literally saw you watching anime this weekend-”

“Nu-uh.”

“I did.”

“You did not. Anyway, I can’t hear, you bye-”

“Swag, I swear to-”

BAM!

Chris turned around with a slightly embarrassed smile as Swag slammed the kitchen door in his face, before pointing towards the guest room.

“I, uh, will be on my way.”

With that he quickly walked away to gather the rest of the participants.

“I’m honestly surprised they haven’t blown anything up yet…”, SMG3 muttered to Lucian who let out a loud sigh.

“Don’t jinx it. I had to confiscate a rocket launcher last week.”, he meant, before patting the man’s back and moving out to the gaming room. “Hang in there, man.”

“Always…”, SMG3 muttered back, before stretching and looking up to RTV who seemed to be thinking about something.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be too good as his expression was turned into a scowl.

SMG3 followed his gaze and saw it land on the head of the Social Media Department.

Why she was even here, he had asked himself the second she walked in. 

Where had she been all this time anyway?

He heard something about a vacation, but this was a bit of a spontaneous return, no?

Honestly, given the boss and her seemed to have a disagreement in opinion (and she rarely did her work), he thought she either quit or was fired.

Shrugging to himself SMG3 turned his attention away from Animsay and now spun back around to RTV.

“Uhm, I will go check on the storage area since nobody seems to be looking there…?”

The TV head took a second to register that Three was talking to him, before his smile was suddenly back as he looked down at the meme guardian.

“Sure, you do THAT!”

“Alright…”, SMG3 mumbled, before strolling in the direction of the door.

“Oh, and Three?”

He halted, looking back.

RTV had his head slightly tilted, giving SMG3 that knowing look that he knew all too well by now.

“If you would LIKE we can talk later.”

Ah great, he probably saw how rudely he had dismissed the kid earlier on.

“Yeah….yeah, I will think about it.”

With that SMG3 quickly continued his way to the storage.

It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate the offer to talk, really, it was nice to be offered to talk about your problems.

Especially when your friend group hadn’t been what it was before and the people you were closest to were gone.

However, recently things have gotten even worse.

Stress, Fights and the slow but sure dread of starting to doubt his own memories.

At times past events just seemed foggy and every time he tried to look past it, a headache immediately followed.

Was it amnesia?

Is this how Alzheimer started?

He had no idea, but he had been through these one-on one talks with Puzzles before and while they sometimes helped, he felt like this was something he would have to start dealing by himself.

It was also not lost on him that his headaches often appeared after his “therapy” with Puzzles.

So until he figured out what was happening, he would kindly reject the offer.

Maybe he would ask the head of the Health Department later vaguely about issues with memory.

However, as he scanned the area for the white squirrel that was part of said department, he could not find her.

Later then.

SMG3 reached out for the door handle, before having to sidestep before he was able to be hit by the door that opened in the next second.

“Hey-”

The person coming out wearing a long hoodie and jeans, halted briefly, the cap with the Puzzlevision logo hiding their eyes, the rest of their face features being hidden by a black mask.

“...sorry.”, they muttered after freezing for a split second, before quickly moving past Three.

Three gave them a perplexed look, before opening the door back up for him to step in.

For some reason the voice sounded awfully familiar…

He sighed.

Probably a fan he met before or something…

The storage area was dimly lit, old props and furniture collecting dust on the shelves and in corners.

For now, it seemed like everyone had cleared out of here already.

Not much to do after all.

Letting himself flop on a nearby box, SMG3 grabbed a framed picture from next to him, brushing off the dirt and dust with his sleeve.

The smiling faces of the old SMG4 crew looked back at him.

To think there was a time where he disliked them all.

Right now, he was just really missing the old times.

The times where he would fight with them over the most stupid stuff for entertainment only, the times where they teased each other without feeling like walking on eggshells, where Saiko and Bob still talked to him and when Mario and SMG4 were still there. Before SMG4 lost it.

In hindsight he should have seen the signs.

It was him who went through similar struggles, he was the one helping SMG4 out of that perfection mania and yet he failed to see that SMG4 never got better.

Why else would he do this to Mario?

To his friends?

If Puzzles wouldn’t have been there…

…

…now with all these questions being asked…when exactly did they first meet Mr. Puzzles? It was right after they lost their old castle, right?

So why did it feel so-

SMG3 hissed at the sudden stinging in his head, massaging his temple with one gloved hand.

Alright, enough of this.

He didn’t need another headache today.

This whole thing was one already.

Putting the picture to the side, he stood back up before making his way over to an old mirror, giving his reflection a critical look.

Man, he looked like shit.

And here he tried to at least look presentable.

Hah, he must have looked like a roach next to Mr. Puzzles.

Trying to somewhat sort his dark hair by brushing through it with his fingers, he suddenly spotted something that made him frown.

The trapdoor in the far corner of the room was left open.

It never was supposed to be, Security made enough of a fuss about it.

Walking over to it, SMG3 closed it with a quick shove, before pushing a narby box over it.

Problem solved.

He would scold Boopkins later for it, the guy always forgot to close stuff.

Hands in his pockets he now walked back out, watching how everyone started to huddle up in the group again.

He now briefly noticed that Rayas wasn’t there, probably having gone to somehow take that drawing off her vest.

From all participants, she had probably been the most chill to speak to.

Though, he also couldn’t put the dish from Grim- Grinnames (?) aside, that one was hella good too.

Whatever it was.

In hindsight, he probably should have asked.

But yolo, right?

No risk, no fun.

While his mood has slightly taken another drop down, he still noticed how much at ease the gang was right now.

Tari seemed more cheerful, Meggy seemed more content and Boopkins, well, was still as happy as always.

It felt good, seeing them like this…

He just wish he could be the reason for them to be like this.

☆

Back in the main hall, Animsay meanwhile had taken a seat at the railing of the stairs, kind of just waiting for the voting to end.

When the result was announced, she made a triumphant gesture which quickly was hidden by an innocent wave in RTV’s direction who was glaring at her.

Too bad, too sad, they were going to her department after all.

Jumping down the railing, she now watched how the people started to gather.

Her gaze briefly fell upon the blonde scammed who he seemed to hide something beneath the stairs.

Who knew what she was doing, Ani sadly didn’t despite knowing what was written down right at this moment.

Some viewers liked to keep it interesting, she could respect that.

Walking past the blonde woman, she gave Marie who just returned from her talk with Meggy and Tari a wave, before jumping over Creature who was still watching the stars with amazement in their one eye.

How long had it been for Ani since she last watched the stars?

Hm, not too long.

Way too long for me.

Yeah, well, your point of view didn’t matter right now.

Humming the smaller TV head walked in the direction of the bathroom, giving Becky a peace sign as she passed her, noting that she looked quite better than a few minutes before. As Ani passed Lilith, she briefly gave the sketch a look.

Man, was she motivated to draw right now, but duty came first.

“Looking good!”, she commented, her screen giving a long smile, before she finally moved on to her actual destination.

“Knock, knock!”, she called, while actually knocking against the bathroom door.

When Nicknack heard Ani's familiar voice she almost choked, triggering a coughing fit, but she quickly covered it up with a harsh groan.

She took her head out of her hands and looked over to the shut door, now speaking more groggy and pissed to cover up her emotions.

But we know better, don’t we dear readers?

"WHAT the hell do you want, Ani?”, Nicknack’s voice sounded through the door.

“Well, I kinda wanted to see how you’re doing and this sounds like your average mood which means you’re super duper depressed.”, Ani smoothly replied leaning next to the door. “Anyway, the tour is continuing!”

Smiley face.

Nicknack remained quiet for a second, the Ani could hear her starting to shuffle around.

The sound of her getting up.

Ani never really understood why she didn’t just refuse to do what RTV wanted of her.

What’s the worst he could do?

Fire her?

He ruined her eye.

Yeah, okay, but it could have been worse plus he wouldn’t pull that in front of all these participants.

Personally, Ani was quite happy when Nicknack finally stepped outside now, looking grumpy as ever. She liked her, she was very entertaining with all her misery.

Angst always was good stuff.

Who she didn’t expect though was the small white squirrel following her out.

Nira of the Health Department, another last minute one she now remembered, silly her.

“Heyaa!”, Ani greeted the smaller head, a grin plastered on her screen as usual.

“Let’s get this over with….”, Nicknack sighed, to which Ani gave two thumbs up, before skipping over to the main group. 

“Thaaaanks for that, Lucian!”, she grinned, taking the latte which the head of security had been handed previously handed by Rayas, before stuffing it in Nicknack’s hands.

Rayas was right, the girl needed it alright.

“...you’re welcome…”, Lucian grumbled, following them back to the group.

Time to get back to the main event!

☆

Most of the people had gathered back by now, getting ready to move to the next department.

Lucian now took his position at the end of the group, waiting for RTV to take the lead again.

Absent-mindedly, he noted how another person with a cap had now joined the people walking more towards the end of the group.

Hm…

Did he see him before…?

Motion from his side, made Lucian turn his attention towards another masked participant now coming towards him.

There was something slightly eerie about the many eye holes the participant’s possessed and the general way she carried herself so Lucian couldn’t help but slightly tense as she came closer.

“Relax partner, I’m not here to do anything bad…At least not to you or your fellow pals." 

How…very calming.

Still, he noted how she wasn’t nodding in RTV’s direction at that.

Another one who had a quarrel with the boss it seemed.

Well, who was he to blame?

"And what do you want?", he asked, before scolding himself lightly to come off this harsh.

She hadn’t even done anything.

“I just wanted to give you this…”, the other replied, before handing him a piece of

[Oh?]

When Lucian took it and unfolded it, he slightly froze at the drawing of him and Colores.

Happy, without a Puzzlevision uniform.

Something that could have been.

He felt his heart ache.

"Let’s be honest…You and her don’t get nearly as much credit as you both should. I mean- if it weren’t for you two, I’m pretty sure RTV would have taken more punches in the face than can be counted on fingers, or he would’ve gone insane from managing all the fan-related stuff, haha!" 

Lucian was only partially listening, most of his attention still focused on the drawing.

Why he wasn’t this appreciative of art before, he didn’t know.

Right now this piece of art was the only thing showing him what a better world could be like.

"...Hey bud...I hope everything works out for you and your sister, and you don’t have to keep the drawing if you don’t want to! I just thought it’d be nice to give you both a bit of recognition- without, ya know...Having to deal only with the "you-know-who" fans.", the girl now continued, before punching his shoulder lightly.

He finally managed to snap out  of his trance at that.

“Alright, enough of my yapping…Take care, and thanks for your time.", she now added before making a sudden turn around, quickly disappearing in the crowd, while Lucian still was fighting with his words.

“Thanks…”, he now spoke to air, before looking back at the drawing, one thumb gently stroking over it.

This.

This was what he was enduring this for.

With a swift motion, he then carefully folded it in half, before putting it in a side pocket of his utility belt before anyone could give him weird looks.

He really had needed a reminder for what he was still working for.

☆

RTV in the meantime had waited until everyone was gathered before taking the lead again.

“Well, if you’ve said your GOODBYES then we can get moving again!”, he spoke, before leaning down to Lucian. “Do what I TELL you for once and keep an eye on her.”

He nodded in Ani’s direction.

She had been way too civil for his liking and he didn’t trust it.

Usually it meant something was about to happen.

Lucian followed his nod before sighing.

[Come on.]

“You’re asking something impossible of me.”, he flatly gave back, but still followed the order and joined Ani who gave him a cheerful wave.

Odd, he had expected more complaining.

RTV scoffed, now taking the lead again, opening the doors of the castle again with a swift motion, before leaving Chris and Swag to keep them open.

“BACK we go to Block B! No worries though, you don’t have to walk the STAIRS again. The Social Media Department is on the ground floor!”, he explained, now leading them back out again over the courtyard.

☆

Close to the end of the group, the participant that had previously nearly run into SMG3, was now trailing along as well.

Pulling the cap deeper into his face, a set of blue eyes was nervously flicking from one side to another.

So far nobody seemed to have noticed that SMG4 hadn’t even been part of the group before, but for how long?

At least the Puzzlevision logo and mostly hidden face seemed to keep the system from recognizing him, but still.

This plan was reckless and that meant a lot for his standards.

Yet this weird tour had also one of the very few chances they had to get in without anyone ringing alarms.

Unfortunately, despite a bunch of unholy amounts of planning and screaming at each other, the plan already was horribly derailing

The plan had been the following: Use the underground tunnels to gain access to the castle: Check.

Let SMG4 sneak into the castle: Check.

SMG4 sneaks into his old room and uses the pc there to gain access to the headquarters files and system: Gone horribly wrong.

The blue meme guardian had just been about to walk up the stairs after having a near stroke following the surprise encounter with SMG3, as he was stopped by Chris who had started rounding people up in that area.

Arguing wasn’t an option, least he needed was more attention, so SMG4 begrudgingly had followed him to the group, ducking his head more and more when not only half his old crew, but also enemies game into view.

It was a wonder nobody had recognized SMG4 yet, but he knew the more time he spent here, the more likely it was going to happen.

And then it would be a goddamn miracle if he survived.

Taking a deep breath, SMG4 tried to keep at the back of the group, but also not the far end.

Unfortunately, he also had his run-ins with Puzzles’ hitman and he still remembered all too well the view of the gun barrel in his face.

Lucian on the other hand probably still remembered the knife that Beeg lodged into his shoulder afterwards.

And what was up with the tour anyway?

SMG4 had long known that Puzzles was meddling with things he shouldn’t but who the hell were these people that looked exactly like some of his fellow resistance members?

For example he was pretty sure that the masked person he saw talk before to Lucian had been Lari, or did look a LOT like her, because he could recognize that hair anywhere.

He then looked forward where a certain dragon shapeshifter was walking, wearing a cap like him, vigilant and having that same unmistakeable armband that the Marie he knee was wearing too.

If both hadn’t previously walked past him without even sparing him a glance, he really would have believed they followed him from their base over here.

But they didn’t.

So who were these people? 

As several more people passed him, the meme guardian quickly pulled his cap a tad more over his eyes, before hiding his hands in his hoodie.

Looks like he had to trust in another part of the plan.

Beeg and the rat keep an eye in case things go wrong: In progress.

☆

“I say we leave that dimwit.”

In one of the underground systems beneath the studio, Mickey Mouse was currently about to leave and call it a day.

Unfortunately, a certain mini sized version of the same idiot that messed up the plan was now holding him back by his tail.

“Ugh.”

“Listen.”, Mickey argued, folding his hands together in a pretend calm gesture. “We kept an eye out, nobody ever said anything about going in and saving his back!”

“Uuuugh.”

Mickey frowned, before sniffing a crossing his arms, turning his head away.

“Hah, I’m above that!”

A sharp tug on his tail made him flinch and he snapped around again to glare at Beeg.

“Fine! You’re going to lose anyway!”

“Rock, paper scissors!”

“Augh, ugh, ugh!”

“...”

Mickey squinted at Beeg’s round hand stump that had suddenly grown two fingers to cut his flat paper hand.

“Oh, you cheater!”, he exclaimed, throwing hands in the air in resignation, before wiping a tear from one of his cartoon eyes. “I’m so proud…anyway!”

They both now turned to the open vent through which they had previously watched what had been going on in the castle.

“Guess we are going back in there…”, Mickey meant, unenthusiastic about the thought of getting dust on his already battered clothes again. “Do you still have the map?”

As an answer, Beeg pulled out the map of the ventilations system from who knows where, before rolling past Mickey and straight into the shaft.

“Don’t think about sneaking to that dog again! Your weird shaped friendship almost got us caught!”, he called after the little guy, only receiving a slight echoey grunt as a response.

With a loud sigh, Mickey now followed back in, trying to keep up with the rolling blue thing that was Beeg in front of him.

Previously, before SMG4 went in by himself, they tried to save themselves some trouble by accessing SMG4’s old room through the vents.

Unfortunately, the area there had been riddled with motion triggers, triggers that were even for his cartoon shape difficult to pass by and Beeg almost jumped right in when he heard that egg shaped dog in the room below whine.

So that was quickly scratched off the list of options.

The other option, SMG4 just managed to fail, so in Mickey’s option this whole thing was done.

But no, rescue operations had to commence.

This was what he got for letting Didney make hero propaganda in the masses.

Grumbling, Mickey crawled through the thin metal system, his round ears having been pressed flat on the ceiling.

Probably serving as a good mop for all that dust.

“You know, there is absolutely no way the TV snob doesn’t know about these tunnels when he even rigs the ventilation.”, Mickey now spoke up again. “My best guess is that either the system is too big or that he didn’t think someone would use them to get in and that’s why we are still here.”

“Augh…”

“Okay fair enough, he probably also didn’t expect us to enter through the sewer system and break a way through those sealed off entrances.”, Mickey admitted, before sniffing at his clothes. “I didn’t expect myself to do that either…”

Beeg now stopped, letting out a grumble, before rolling to the side into another shaft, revealing to Mickey the placement of yet another row of motion triggers.

“This way too? Well, I tried to tell you, guess we have no choice-”

Another grumble and a threatening move into the mouse’s direction.

“Hey, hey, hey! I was just joking! Fine, let’s find another way to the….Social Media Department? Where are we anyway? I lost track a few minutes ago…”

“Aeugh...”

“...what do you mean you don’t know?!”

Mickey now robbed closer, trying to spy through the grid nearby.

Just a hallway, could be one of many in this maze of a building.

“I thought you could read the map!”

“Ugh!”

“You guessed?!”, Mickey repeated, before letting out a dry snicker. “Yep, that’s it for me. See you, I’m out!”

When Beeg attempted to drag him back by his tail this time Mickey retaliated.

With a frown, he snapped around, arm growing comically longer as he tried to get the other to let go by dragging and pulling him.

But the little shit was tough.

And grew just a little bit bigger before rolling on his side.

Squishing Mickey’s hand.

Letting out a few curses that would certainly fall under Didney censorship, Mickey flinched back, ready to kick that oversized ball of a menace right through the walls of the vent-

Beep. Beep.

Both froze.

Then they slowly turned to look at Mickey’s tail whose tip hung right in front of one of the motion triggers.

“Oh boy…”, Mickey gulped.

☆

For a second, RTV meant to hear a distant yowl and he turned his head back to the hallways they came from, but could not spot anything.

Hm, probably just his imagination. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he now opened the next double door, before pointing forward at the corridor of doors similar to the of the Art Department above.

“Welcome to the Social Media Department!”

His smile slightly strained as the head of said department ran past him in the next second, spinning once around.

“Whooooo! Home sweet, home!”

Decisions had been made and oh, how he regretted them right now.

Letting out a low sigh, he then motioned towards Animsay.

“Animsay will now explain to you the BASICS of this department.”, he explained, before stepping into the corridor where Animsay now opened the door to the biggest office room of the department.

As soon as she entered, each monitor that sat on the many desk rows including the giant screen at the end of the room flickered on, displaying the Puzzlevision logo.

“If you prefer old-school you’re absolutely in the wrong place here.”, Animsay now said, before jumping on the long desk at the end of the room to give herself a better view over the participants that now entered the room. “We are all digital, baby!”

Putting hands on her hips, she now gestured around the room.

“We are mainly responsible for making ads AND as the name says, manage pretty much everything connected to social media!”, she now began pacing on the desk, raising a finger. “Into that counts the creation and coding of websites, boosting and advertising Puzzlevision media and posts, but also…moderation.”

She now stopped pacing, folding her hands in front of her, head tilted to the side.

“After all, the internet can be a nasty place! Accusations are thrown around to defame, insults are spam posted, inappropriate content, yada, yada, you know it all!”

She pointed at herself.

“We take steps to dim it all a bit down, keep it cool…”

A shrug.

“And sometimes when alarms are being raised due to threats and concerning comments or we simply find information that may be searched for, we give the goods over to security and law enforcement! Ain’t that right, Swag?”

Said guard frowned, pointing an accusing finger at the smaller TV head.

“You sent the cops my address three times!”

As a response, Animsay made a slow bow.

“Only to show you the dangers of sharing it with others online!”

“It was just our employee group chat!”

“Yeah well, personally your comments about your tank also made me very uncomfortable and so for the sake of society, I thought it was time to act.”

“Oh, you bi-”

“Back to TOPIC.”, RTV interrupted them, feeling a headache coming.

“Sure!”, Animsay meant, the scribble smile never having left her screen. “What else is there to say? Well, my office is next door but that’s not really interesting. There are a few side offices as well for brainstorming or if you prefer a smaller environment. Oh yeah and then there is the room to the room one day further where we talk to-”

For a second, the line on the screen seemed to glitch out and Animsay halted, before moving on like nothing happened.

“Well, sadly it’s off limits! Unless, boss over here allows a look?”

She now turned over to RTV whose expression temporarily turned into a frown.

Last thing he needed to explain was the whole contact past the 4th wall and the tumblr inbox.

“Off-limits I’m afraid.”, he curtly answered, offering an apologetic smile into the round. “VIP only.”

Animsay now clapped her hands together.

“Welp, that’s all then! If you have questions they can be asked now!”, she grinned, now flopping down to take a seat.

☆

While Animsay went on to answering questions, RTV kept a close eye despite having almost all of the security watching her.

Lucian because he ordered him too and Swag because he was still not over his little dispute with her.

There were reasons why Animsay wasn’t too loved among staff and aside from her too cheery attitude, it was also the fact she was one big troublemaker.

Older staff would sometimes tell the stories about how calm and docile Animsay had been once upon a time and then she suddenly switched, changed her name, changed her attitude, personality and then one day she started to appear with the TV head.

RTV gave the clunky thing a glance.

At least the program seemed to work well enough to keep her from spilling anything confidential for now.

Bzzt.

Pulling out his phone, RTV briefly noticed that he had not been the only one getting a message, in fact Lucian had too, meaning this was from Wr3n.

The fact that he was messaging them both could only mean so much good.

We got a rat in the building. The mini version of SMG4 is there too.

Got them out of the vents. Taking chase right now.

Elimination or Capture?

RTV’s hand visibly tightened around his phone.

Of course.

Of course they would take the chance when he got almost all of his staff at home.

Eliminate.

He didn’t need to read Wr3n’s next message.

It popped into his head the second he read the first text.

A rat never came alone.

It’s likely SMG4 is here too. 

There was no way he would refuse the chance to visit his old friend.

Look how his dear friends were holding up.

With a motion of his hand he ordered Lucian to give the sign to blockade the exit.

The head of Puzzlevision then started to slowly walk through the group, giving each face a close look.

He could skip all the non-humans already, the girls too, look out for clothing that hid facial features.

In the middle of the room, he stopped, before slowly turning towards a guy with black hair, a cap and black mask attempting to hide the familiar facial features. They did at first, the Puzzlevision logo also keeping him safe from Wr3n’s detection.

But now that RTV was looking closely, there was no more hiding.

He would always recognize this thorn in his side.

“SMG-”

In the split of the second he reached out, the meme guardian had suddenly pulled something out of the pocket out of hiss hoodie.

And shot.

RTV didn’t feel a bullet bury itself into his screen.

Instead something akin to an energy ray hit him.

In the next second the whole room could watch how RTV’s TV head heavily glitched out, before instantly growing black.

Not a moment later the whole man fell to the floor with a loud clang, screen splitting slightly at the impact.

SMG4 stood there for a second, EMP gun still pointed, before his eyes flickered from side to side.

First in the participants around him and then to the security guards who were now pulling their weapons.

He was so screwed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Unless…

Well, this is a poll-based adventure after all! So…what do you guys want to do?

Few seconds for them, 1 day for us.

Please wait this time with writing your actions until the poll is decided, as I will drop an extra part with the result, describing in a shorter part what happens next!

Tag List:

@niranutcake @fenicearts420 @leirom71000 @entityarts @alelathedragon @mylifeisfakeenjoy @lari-the-dragon @lislelycan-i-am-dumb-lol @rat-n-atty @nia1sworld @untitled14360 @Irayasostripes @theclosetcreature @jovialoddity @purpdrawsthings @varian-the-alchemy-boi @beckycat19 @runrabitrunrunrun

[nightmaresanskin]

Brother

)just a silly littel idear that had to leave my head(

No one was sure what had triggered the fight. Between Dream and Nightmare any attempts to stop them were hopeless. It was already too late. The feelings they had long buried bubbled to the surface. All the emotions they had swallowed down to keep the fragile peace finally broke free.The multiverse held its breath as the battle unfolded a clash that could easily throw everything back into another devastating war.

Nightmare blamed Dream for everything, for not seeing his pain back then, for not stepping up when he needed him, for not stopping the villagers. In Nightmare's world Dream had turned a blind eye to his suffering, leaving him completely alone.

Dream, on the other hand, argued that they had only been eight years old. He hadn’t seen Nightmare’s pain, he hadn’t realized what was happening — but that wasn’t his fault. Nightmare could have said something, could have voiced his worries instead of shutting himself off more and more.

Dream insisted that he, too, was a victim. He pleaded, telling Nightmare how difficult it had been to wake up from his stone prison, only to find everyone he had known was dead

His friends.

The Tree.

Their Mother.

And then, to see Nightmare, his own brother, turned into a monster, trying to kill him...

He had still been just eight years old. He had been so, so alone.

Nightmare lashed out, his tentacles sharpening and twisting violently.Dream complaining to veen alone he had no idea what it ment to be alone Nightmare had been truly alone for five hundred years, awake through it all, with no one.

But Dream cut him off sharply.

"We were both alone,"

Nightmare flinched. He was too angry to truly accept those words, but he couldn’t find anything to throw back at Dream either.

And thats why Dream kept going, his voice trembling with pain:

"I was forced to grow up fast — to balance you out but so were you. Suddenly, I had to fight the only family I had left but so did you. I had to navigate a strange and confusing world... all by myself but so did you."

There was a long, heavy silence between them. Then, Dream whispered, almost too softly to hear:

"I don’t want to fight with you anymore im so tiered. But... it’s clear we both hurt each other. I just wanted my brother back i just want to be things like they were ."

Nightmare’s expression darkened. His voice was low, bitter:

"I'm not that brother anymore and you cant change me things can not be the same ever again"

Dream sighed, tears finally slipping down his cheeks and falling to the ground. He gave a small, broken nod before turning and running away, unable to stay any longer.Nightmare, left alone, lashed out against everything in his field of vision his anger and sorrow exploding outward in a storm of darkness.

And they made up again neither Nightmare nor Dream would be the same but with a lot of work they could be something new

[lipstickmarks]

I'm so hungry

—Xaden Riorson x Violet Sorrengail

Summary: the Riorgail children try the “i’m so hungry” trend on their parents - Modern AU

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of smut but no actual smut ☹️

Author’s note: I originally intended smut but I got sleepy😭 inspired by hangyreads tiktok

I miss flying by dragon, I told Tairn through the bond. 

A deep chuckle sounded through my mind. 

“This is your fault for procreating. I will not carry you, the wingleader, and two offspring. I am not an amusement park ride.” 

I rolled my eyes. It was just after 9:00 am and we were on the fourth hour of our family road trip to the isles. Waking up at five in the morning to run with Imogen? No problem. Waking up at five in the morning because there’s a war on the horizon? Easy money. Waking up at five in the morning to wrangle two cranky preteen into a car for a long drive with no entertainment? Fucking kill me. 

My joints are starting to ache from spending so long in the car but I practically had to shove Xaden into the passenger seat when we stopped for gas two hours ago because he was starting to fall asleep. And a sleep-deprived Xaden is a Xaden I want nothing to do with. 

I glance over at him, his head leaning against the window, his eyes nearly closed but not quite. My heart gives a soft flutter. He works so hard, carries so much. That’s why we make time to visit the isles so frequently. It’s where he feels most at peace. We bought a vacation home there when we first found out I was pregnant. A gorgeous beachfront home with floor to ceiling windows and more bedrooms than we know what to do with. When it was time to deliver, I had both our babies there. 

Doing my best not to disturb his slow descent into sleep, I reach over and run a hand over his shoulder. I send comforting feelings down the bond. 

“Almost there, my love. We’re almost home.” 

Xaden takes a deep, steadying breath in and I watch his features soften as he enters a blissful slumber. 

“Mom?” Fenna says from the backseat. 

I glance at her in the rearview mirror and I swear, everytime I see her, with her hazel eyes and inky black hair, a perfect mesh of Xaden and I, it takes my breath away. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

Fenna tries to smash a smile between her lips, shaking shoulders holding back a laugh. She’s the embodiment of barely contained glee. Whatever’s on her mind, it’s got her giddy. I hope she’s just as excited for the trip as we are. She’s so pensive and serious, just like Xaden and I worry that she doesn’t talk through whatever burdens her, just lets it pile up until it hurts. But right now, her smile is so bright, her words so bubbly that it eases my apprehension.

“I’m so hungry.” 

My spirit deflates. Tairn grumbles something about insatiable human children and I slam my shields closed. 

“There’s some snacks in my purse.” I gesture at the backseat where I’ve left my purse with a whole bunch of granola, trail mix, beef jerky, and a bag of chips. 

“No, Mom, I'm so hungry.” Fenna whines, running a hand over her stomach. 

I try to hold back a swell of frustration. We stopped for breakfast not too long ago and if we stop again, we’ll be stuck on the road during traffic and won’t get to the beach house until way later than we expected. 

Next to her, her brother murmurs something I can’t quite hear but it sounds like “bad idea, Fenna”. 

Fenna giggles through her words, as she states loud and proud for the whole car to hear.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat Halden Tauri!” 

Everything that happens next happens in a slow blur of motion. Me slamming on the breaks after we encounter the shortest yellow light ever. Xaden’s head whipping up and Liam’s sigh from the backseat. 

“Told you.”  

I turn around to face her at the same time as Xaden and it’s not lost on me that the car suddenly gets a lot darker despite the morning sun outside. 

“How do you know that name?” He asks, eyes wide.

Fenna shrugs, her lips wobbling with a restrained laugh. 

“I dunno. I’m just saying I’m so hungry, I could eat Halden Tauri.” 

Xaden’s lip curls and I have to turn my attention back to the road when a car behind us honks. So much for relaxed, vacation Xaden. And so much for my chances of post-road trip “yay we finally got to our destination” sex. 

“What– what is this?” Xaden asks, his voice pitching higher. 

“Fenna, where did you even hear that name?” I ask her. 

I hear Xaden’s dulcet voice in my head.

“I bet you she saw his name when you took Liam to the bookstore last week. You know that fucker released an autobiography? Like, who the fuck cares? You wrote 300 pages of “I’m a prince and I’m rich and the fact that I dated Violet Sorrengail is the only interesting thing about me.”? 

Fenna cackles while Liam sits next to her and continues to write in his journal, unperturbed by his sister’s antics. 

“Dad! I’m literally so hungry, I could eat Halden Tauri.” Fenna says, her cheeks pink with laughter. She laughs through every single word. 

“You say literally too much.” Liam chimes in, eyes never leaving his book. 

“Are you aware that was your mother’s first boyfriend?” 

I place my hand on Xaden’s thigh, anchoring him to the present. I send loving thoughts through the bond. 

“Still so jealous after all these years.” I tell him mind-to-mind, stroking at that wall of pure onyx. 

Fenna lifts her hands up to feign innocence. 

“I’m so hungry, I could eat him.” 

Xaden’s face twists into disgust. 

“Stop saying that, it’s cannibalism for one thing. And even if you were going to become a cannibal, the last person you should eat is Halden fucking Tauri.” 

“Xaden!” I snap my head to his. “Little ears. Take a beat.” 

Xaden catches my gaze and then takes a steadying breath. He looks back at Fenna, who’s laughing into her hands and I can see the moment his perspective shifts. His daughter is playing a prank on him. This is what our children plan to do with their days. They don’t fret about wars or death or rebellion. They think of silly things to say to provoke a reaction out of us without an ounce of fear for retribution. 

“She’s not afraid of me.” He says into my mind, awe and reverence lacing his words.

“You’ve never given her any reason to be.” I tell him, tangling our fingers together.

Xaden looks back at Fenna, who is still a mess of giggles. 

“If you’re hungry enough to eat a whole person, maybe we should stop for breakfast.” He leans forward, cupping Fenna’s cheek lovingly. Then, he looks back at Liam. “How about you, buddy? You hungry?” 

Liam nods, bookmarking his spot and closing the book gently before placing it on the seat in between him and Fenna. 

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” 

Screw it. My kids are hungry and they’re going to eat. Who the fuck cares if we don’t make it to the beach by noon? We’ll be there for a whole week, what difference does a few hours make? 

“There’s a brunch place near here I think.” I mutter, looking for the sign that signals the exit I need to take. I find it in the nick of time and start to change lanes. 

Liam pipes up again from the back. 

“So hungry I could eat Catriona Cordella!” 

I slam on the brakes. Xaden would have gone flying toward the windshield if he wasn’t pure muscle. 

“What?!” 

Xaden blinks at Liam in astonishment. Tairn laughs in my head.

“How– how do you even know about that?” Since Drake and Mira got married, our children have only ever known Cat as “Aunt Cat” since we are now technically family. A fact that, everytime I point it out to Cat, makes her face twist up in a cringe, yet she always gets me the nicest things for Christmas. How would they have known about Xaden and Cat? As a matter of fact, how did they know about me and Halden? 

Liam and Fenna share a conspiratory look before saying in unison,

“Uncle Ridoc!”

—-

We ate brunch at a cute little diner and admittedly, chocolate chip pancakes and a few fries off Xaden’s plate did significantly improve my mood. 

Our little detour only took up an hour of our trip max and we made it to the beach in no time. Sadly though, we were met with some unseasonable rain when we got to the house. The kids didn’t mind much, since there was a huge TV in the living room. They put on a movie and were asleep on the living room floor within minutes. 

Xaden gently laid blankets over both of them and pressed soft kisses to their heads. The sight made my heart swell. I’ve seen him as a wingleader, a lieutenant, a duke, and a professor. But watching him become a father is truly the best role I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing him in. 

Not to mention the hottest.

Taking his hand, I lead him up the stairs to our room. A happy sigh leaves me, remembering all the good times we’ve had here. Christmases, summer vacations, family dinners, the birth of our own children. 

I open the door to our room and breathe in the familiar smell. Our bed is huge, cushy, and perfect for the nap I’m about to have. That’s the benefit of my babies getting older. If they wake up hungry, they know how to make mac and cheese and don’t have to wake either of us up for it. 

I start to strip, removing my tank top and shorts when all of a sudden, I feel a familiar heated gaze lingering on me from behind. 

Turning around, I face Xaden. His large arms are crossed over his large chest and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation and the driving exhaustion but all my brain can do is repeat largelargelargelargelarge.

And now I’m thinking about another large part of him. A large, hard part I’d like inside of me post haste. 

“You know,” Xaden runs his fingers down my arms and it makes me shiver. He licks his lips and leans down so we share breath. “I’m so hungry, I could eat Violet Sorrengail.” 

I laugh as Xaden lifts me into his arms, hands resting just under my ass.

“I don’t think that’s how the game works, love.” Looping my arms around his neck, I grin down at him. 

He carries me to the bad and lays me down reverently, like I’m a treasure. Tantalizingly slowly, he starts to strip, first his black shirt, then his pants, until he’s only got on black boxers that can’t hide his cock straining against them.

“It’s how mine does.”

[alicelillianshaw]

'Alright, just because I get a little moody doesn’t mean that I’m a fucking murderer? What the fuck?'

Alice hums, loud and pointed, watching Jack from across the glowing surface of the pool. Doubt, perhaps? He'd already warned her of a very dangerous button upstairs in his office!

'I would never get you killed, or threaten to have you killed. You know, on account of all the points I’ve earned so far.'

Oh. The good boy points, yes.

Alice grins. Maybe those points were a good way to ensure he didn't get too mean— didn't tamper with her parachute, didn't get a little too sarcastic with her, or try to withhold any of his delicious chips.

"Hard to cash those in if I'm splattered on the ground, yeah."

She watches a moth take a hard turn to avoid the pool.

"Might deduct them if you get too snippy with me tomorrow too."

Alice raises a finger— nail painted a sheer pink — and wags it at Jack in warning. Was she being to authoritarian here? As Alice remembers it, Jack had told her himself he needed someone keeping him in line: keeping him on the right path, keeping him from straying.

This was Alice's job! She was simply doing her duty— fulfilling her promise to Jack, for his own well-being.

Besides. The more he behaved, the more Alice got to reward him.

The finger drops, however, when Jack begins to talk about his favorite films— ones he loved, ones that brought out emotional reactions.

Alice doesn't even notice the soft smile that overtakes her face.

'Some of my favorite movies ever are sad. Like, Gladiator or Remember the Titans or What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.'

A long, sad huff of air escapes her.

"Fuck. Those all make me cry. Especially What's Eating Gilbert Grape.''

Alice shakes her head— sometimes she even had to pause when Gilbert's mother died and steel herself, swipe below her eyes and chug something cold.

At least she knew that Jack and her, once again, had tastes that ran parallel. Her stomach twists when he brings up the Iron Claw— mentioning how it affected him, and Alice finds herself sympathetically sad, all at the idea of Jack tearing up in the theater.

Her throat even feels tight.

'Sat in the theater until the credits were over because the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.'

'I realized by the end that the person sitting in front of me had been shooting pepper spray into the air for like, two whole hours, and that’s actually why I’d been crying as hard as I was.'

Alice churns her legs sadly in the pool, lips quirking at Jack's self-aware, faux bravado.

"Man. Can't believe that got by security..."

It made her chest feel funny to gaze at Jack across the pool and imagine those brilliant blue eyes wet with tears.

Crying to a sad movie was cathartic, yeah. But. Alice's chest still feel as if it's being squeezed.

"That's probably a situation I could have helped with— held your hand so the pepper spray wasn't quite so bad."

Jack created a mental list of sad movies. My Girl, but … God, no, that one was way too sad to be anyone’s favorite, right? The first time that Jack watched it (as a kid, no less) he felt totally devastated for days on end. When his mother found out, she’d scolded him for going behind her back. It was way too sad for a ten year old, but Jack knew that a part of her was secretly happy that he’d developed an irrational fear of bees. Anything to keep him safer, right?

His mother was truly one of a kind.

Hmm. Jack needed more time to think.

Alice laughed, kicking her feet against the water, and Jack smiled. She still looked perfect, even from a few feet away. The pool lights were on, and she was glowing in the most perfect shade of blue against the backdrop of a full moon.

Yeah. Keeping his distance was best, for now.

“Alright, just because I get a little moody doesn’t mean that I’m a fucking murderer? What the fuck?”

Jack shook his head in disappointment. Seriously? It didn’t last very long, though, and he’d started to laugh again.

“I would never get you killed, or threaten to have you killed. You know, on account of all the points I’ve earned so far.”

Jack wasn’t going to risk New Mexico. He still really wanted to go. A part of him wondered if she knew that he was being totally serious? That he’d texted his pilot to make sure the jet was fueled and ready to go at a moment’s notice?

“Some of my favorite movies ever are sad. Like, Gladiator or Remember the Titans or What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.” Jack tried to think of the last movie that he saw in theaters. It’d been a minute, hadn’t it? No time, really.

“One of the last ones I remember seeing in theaters was The Iron Claw.”

Jack exhaled, as if the pain was still very fresh.

“Sat in the theater until the credits were over because the tears just wouldn’t stop coming.”

Jack wasn’t sure he could ever watch that movie again. Maybe it didn’t count as a favorite sad film if it was too sad to ever revisit. Maybe it was in the same category as My Girl.

“I realized by the end that the person sitting in front of me had been shooting pepper spray into the air for like, two whole hours, and that’s actually why I’d been crying as hard as I was.”

Jack grinned. He had no problem crying, actually, but it was just a silly thing to say for the sake of his “masculinity,” but mainly, to make Alice smile.

[gramnel]

absolutely unrelated arts because I didn't want to spam post it

[beef-brisket]

Over the next few days, Adam implemented his plan, and the Imps were more than willing. Anything to get back in the good books. And, luckily for them, Adam was going to pay them for their hard work.

The Devil had been so busy that he forgot about the archangel that was refusing to leave and go back to Heaven. Not that Adam cared, as long as Heaven doesn't come knocking.

Satan: You look stressed.

Adam sighs, leaning back in his seat. A few times a month, he and Satan catch up. It's always a good way for Adam to unwind, especially when he's exhausted.

Adam: You can say that again. I can feel everything aching...

Satan smirks and takes a sip of his drink: Sounds like you need to spend a few days in Wrath. The hot pools would be perfect for you.

Adam smiled at the memory of the first time he relaxed in Wrath: Tell me about it. I have a bath-.

Satan: Mm. Allow me~.

The Devil smiled as Satan came over and took his hand. Pulling him to his feet, Satan led the way to Adam's personal bathroom.

Satan: How about I help you distress, hm~?

Adam: I wouldn't say no to that~.

Satan: Then, follow me, my king~.

-

Lucifer was seething. Everything that was going on was driving him nuts. He felt powerless, even as an archangel.

He couldn't even beat Adam when he was the Devil- so there was probably no way that he would be able to beat Adam now. Not in a head-on fight.

That's when Lucifer got an idea. If he could worm himself in, catch the bastard off guard, then maybe he'd have a shot. He was sure Adam had feelings for him in the garden so he could easily make Adam fall for him again.

Stepping out of his bedroom, he found one of the workers and demanded that they take him to Adam. The worker wasn't too keen, but eventually, they gave in.

-

Adam: Thanks for that, babe. It was exactly what I needed.

The king leaned in the front doorway, smiling when Satan kissed his knuckles.

Satan: Why, the pleasure is all mine~. You know how much I love our catch ups~.

The sin stepped back and opened his wings. Hellfire quickly surrounded him, and as his wings closed, he was gone, having teleported back to Wrath.

Adam sighed and closed the door, turning around to walk further into his home, but he stopped when he saw the short archangel standing behind him. Glaring. As usual.

Adam: Oh. You. Calmed down ye-?

Lucifer: What's going on between you and Satan?

Adam glared back: Don't interrupt me, bitch. Not that it's any of your business, but there's nothing going on with us- why the fuck do you care, you moody son of a bitch?

Lucifer growled: Don't speak to me like that, Adam. I won't stand for it.

Adam: Ha! Whether you stand or not, isn't my problem, could still fuck you up.

The angel stared at Adam as he walked past. It took a lot of will power to not jump him right there and then.

After a moment, Adam stops and turns, facing Lucifer. He looked confused, but mostly disgusted.

Adam: The fuck are you doing here, anyway?

The angel didn't answer right away. Adam swore the angel looked like he was conflicted about something. It was almost like a slap to the face how quickly Lucifer's tone changed.

Lucifer: Well... I uh... would like to... apologise.

This was killing Lucifer. Re-killing his already dead pride.

Adam: ...Apologise?

Lucifer cleared his throat and stepped towards the devil: Yeah! Yeah- apologise! I recent actions were out of character for me- and... I want to... acknowledge you as... the real... Devil.

Adam's eyes widened: Huh... well, not that I really care but I won't lie... it's nice to hear you say that.

Bingo. Lucifer started to smirk at how easy this was, but he quickly turned it into a smile: Yeah- well... I've been unreasonable and pushing against change and change is... good. And you're... an amazing... king.

Fuck, this hurt. A lot. But Lucifer had to stay focused on the future. A future where he's retaken the throne, and his daughter can return home.

Adam smirked at the compliment: Yeah! Damn right I'm amazing! Fuck, shorty, you won't believe how fucking incredible I am! But, don't worry, there'll be plenty of time for you to see it! Come on, loser!

As soon as the king turned and continued walking, Lucifer's smile dropped. Adam really hasn't changed.

HI IT'S ME-! I HAVE AN AU FOR YOU!

God of War!au

👀👀👀

It's set during the extermination. Adam and Lucifer's fight is like Thor and Kratos' fight.

Adam: You think you can fall down here, start a family, and get a clean slate after all of the shit you caused?!

Lucifer glares, struggling to hit back Adam's axe.

Adam: That's not how it works! You're a destroyer, like me!

Lucifer's quickly lost strength, and Adam manages to smack him over the head with his axe, killing him.

Everyone screams as Lucifer falls back, golden blood running down his head.

Adam: Oh no. I say when we're done, asshole!

Lucifer's eyes snap open as Adam shoots holy light into him. He convulsed on the ground as his senses started coming back.

Lucifer: S-Sto-.

Adam: Fight. Me. Asshole. Like you fucking mean it.

@beef-brisket

(Interesting)

Lucifer: A, Adam n, n, no-

Adam growled: I have had enough of this! You WILL fight me!!!

Lucifer may be battered and bruised and barely able to lift a single finger but because of his pride he was unable to beg for mercy.

Lucifer: D, do it! ...pussy!

That was it as Adam felt all his hatred and rage boil down to him in that point with one clean cut, Lucifer's head rolled down.

The demons and angels could only watch as Adam proceeded to chop Lucifer's body into piece after piece.

When Charlie finally realized what Adam was doing after her moment of shock had passed she screamed.

Her screams echoed across the pride as everyone shook from her mournful cry.

Adam stopped what he was doing and turned to the princess, watching her with a mere raised brow. She trampled forward, ready to enact vengeance on her fallen father.

However, Adam was ready for her.

He had been the moment she was born.

When she had gotten close enough he shot a powerful beam of holy light in her direction, disintegrating her entire existence.

The so-called anti-Christ was nothing more than a pile of ash.

Vaggie: CHARLIE!!!

Oh yeah, he almost forgot about the traitor.

He flew right up to her and decided that an extra punishment would be in order. He was no longer taking disrespect from a former soldier.

He held her in a vice grip and refused to let go. He saw the demons around her moving quickly to attack him, but he moved faster.

He took off to the sky high above. But not too far away that she wouldn't be able to see what was to happen.

Adam: NOW!!!

The sinner's eyes widened as the remaining exorcist girls sliced the hotel's residents with their spears.

The former soldier could only watch in despair as the people she had grown close to were butchered and mutilated before her.

Vaggie: NOOOO!!!!!

Adam: You only have yourself to blame, Vaggie.

He then gripped onto the base of her wings and started to swing her around. He threw her so hard that soon she could feel the familiar sting of her wings separating from her body.

When her dizziness dissipated, she could see Adam smiling cruelly at her while he held onto the only thing that gave her the ability to fly.

She screamed as she hurdled towards the earth. Was this what it was like to feel true helplessness?

When she had reached the near ground, she was met with only the steel of angelic metal. She gasped as she began to cough up blood.

How could this have happened? They were the good guys. They were supposed to win.

Good prevails evil.

That's how the story goes...or at least how it's supposed to.

Her vision began to blur as she began to feel cold. She saw two figures approach her. Immediately telling who it was when she heard her voice.

Lute: A debt has been paid...But I think I'll make do on my promise.

She unsheathed her sword and, with one swoop, cut out her good eye. Watching it pop right out as at long last the traitor was dead.

In the midst of it all, there was Adam with his right hand standing by proudly. The cannibal army left not too long ago. Not wanting to take any chances with their souls.

However, too bad for them Adam wasn't finished. In fact, he was just getting started.

Adam: I have had enough.

[azierum]

i love cooking up oc lore. it makes me so giddy coming up with good ideas. usually from the most random inspiration

[ame-to-ame]

Creative writing inspiration hit pls do not hit right now but also stay for when I'm. Less busy.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Another Clone Danny au, but the twist is he's basically reincarnated. CW shoved his core into a soulless LoA Damian clone to keep the halfa from completely dying after his original human body was destroyed in his og dimension. Danny is currently mute, too. Be warned, this is long. [Pt 2 here]

Danny had become completely aware in his new body after about a month of barely processing what is happening. The trauma of everything that's gone wrong in his life putting him in a disassociative state while his body's creators train and test him for something. It takes a while for him to realize he's not their first clone, but is the first to not be a soulless husk. These people talk too freely around him, but rarely each other, confident in his inability to understand anything outside of orders. So he decides to play along, learning about this hell hole and what little of the outside world he can. He takes the latter with a grain of salt, he can smell how delusional his creators are.

"Hmm, something is defective with this clone." A tall, beautiful woman says while glaring at Danny's eyes, "Damian's eyes are Juniper. This thing's eyes have been fading to a bluer colour every time I see it. Someone has made a mistake.... no matter. Beloved and my son shouldn't notice it's eyes are pine if we send it now. It is ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Give it its instructions and get it out of my sight."

And this is how Danny learns he's been made to attempt to kill his template or die trying. He gets the full feeling that they expect him to die, like the, apparently, dozen before him. (He hides his amusement when realizing he can truly relate to Dani now.) Too bad for his creators, he's not like the rest and fully intends to not do any murder once he's out of this godforsaken lab.

Keeping himself from reacting gets a whole lot harder when he realizes they intend to put him in a crate to ship him to some place called Gotham, but he stays as blank and relaxed as possible. It's only once they unload him, inform him of his Template's whereabouts, and ditch him in the middle of what he assumes is Gotham, does he finally grimace and shake off the shitty shell persona he had going on. As he stretches out his limbs and thinks on how he wants to play this, he takes in how absolutely drenched in the smell of death the city is. It reminds him enough of Amity that he knows his ghost half would never go hungry here, but what to do with his human half? He wonders if his Template and his father would care for another sibling. He caught the tall lady and her father saying insulting things about how many strays, he assumes kids, his Template's father adopts, it's usually over how pissed they are that his Template isn't treated like God's gift for simply being blood related.

So with a bit of hesitant hope, Danny heads towards where he was told his Template was. He's hit with a wave of weariness when he finds a kid of the same colouring as him decked out in a hero costume and arguing with a giant man dressed as a.. bat? Danny has no idea what he's looking at and is a little scared of how aggressive his Template is. Aggression means he's probably going to have to at least dodge a lot.

Danny's awful luck strikes again when before he can even decide on how exactly he's going to approach this, he hears a light crunch that has him bolting several feet in the opposite direction before he whips around and into a defensive fighting stance.

"Shit, sorry, BB." A blonde woman dressed in a purple hero costume says to a small figure that looks like a creepier verson of the bat dude. Purple is standing where the crunching sound came from, and scarily, "BB" is almost exactly where Danny had been. "Shit. He looks like Demon Brat.."

"Calm.." "BB"'s voice is soft and feminine, and she(?) seems to be trying to project "we're not going to hurt you" and "let me near" with body language alone. Which Danny finds impressive but doesn't trust, Purple is too tense and is too ready to attack. So when his Template and his father climb onto the roof, apparently seeing a commotion, and they too look ready to fight, Danny just bolts. He's not dumb enough to test if he can fight 4 unknown trained fighters. He can see why all his predecessors instantly died if they just automatically started fighting and trying to kill people.

The fact he ran seems to surprise them and gives him a few seconds headstart. He ducks and weaves, avoiding everything they throw at him to the best of his ability without tapping into his ghost half. He REALLY doesn't want to out himself as a freak just yet.

"Kid! Get back here! I'm sorry for scaring you!" Purple yells, slightly out of breath and somewhere behind him to the left.

"I demand you stop running!" His Template sounds pissed and directly behind him, so Danny quickly rolls to his right, dodging a tackle. Which apparently BB was ready for, because she's right there and grabs ahold of him, taking them both to the ground. He's scared, trying not to hurt her, and absolutely stuck in her hold without his powers. He lets out an inhuman whine as he struggles. He hasn't spoken a single word in this body yet, he doesn't know if it has the ability yet, and something he hadn't realized would complicate this situation in the way it has.

"Safe" BB tries to soothe, but Danny can't be soothed, not when he can see and sense the rest of his pursuers closing in on them. BB seems to realize this and snaps at her people in annoyance. "Back!"

Danny flinches and trembles in her hold, not knowing if they'll ignore her and ... he's not sure what, but do something to him. But to his endless surprise, they listen and back up several feet. Close enough to help her if she needs it, but far enough Danny relaxes a fraction. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get his anxiety down to a more manageable level. And even though he thought she'd start questioning him now, she simply waits. He's still confused and scared, but slowly relaxes in her hold, an odd sort of trust forming against his will at her calm and "Please trust I won't hurt you" vibe she's yeeting at him.

"Safe." She says and releases her hold just enough to free one of her arms. She gently runs the hand through his hair and rubs his forehead and cheeks, just softly petting him. It's a gentle affection that reminds him of Jazz. He can't remember the last time he was touched kindly, and it's enough to make him tear up. She wipes away any tears that escape. "Safe."

Once he finally stops trembling and he's emotionally spent, she finally fully releases her hold and moves to sit by him so he can sit up. He feels so awkward when he realizes his Template's father and Purple are staring him down while his Template looks like he's trying to pretend to not be interested, but is glancing over too frequently to be believable.

Danny takes a shakey breath and gives a little wave, unconsciously trying to lean towards BB when he sees their body language all sharpen and focus harder on him.

"Who are you?" Bat dude demands, and Danny can see the resemblance between him and his Template, even while he's panicking to figure out how to communicate without his voice. He ends up pointing at his Template with a nervous energy. "Are you a clone?"

Danny is so relieved at the yes or no question, he almost forgets to be nervous about frantically nodding yes. Almost.

"Can you talk?" Purple asks next and he's trembling again as he gives a hesitant no. "Yes or no questions it is!"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when BB starts rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manage. He tries to subtly self-sooth by rubbing his thumb along the middle phalanx of the pointer finger on the hand hidden between him and BB. It's the first time he's done it while not completely alone. He's not sure what the LoA would have done if they'd seen, but he can't imagine it going well for him. He stops self-soothing at the thought. BB's vibes turn very sad next.

"Based on your outfit, the League of Assassins sent you, yes?" His Template growls menacingly at him and Danny winces for the guy's poor teeth the way he grides them at Danny's nod. "To kill me?"

Danny wants to bolt again, but BB is already pulling him into a hug, trapping him. The spike in anger at his nod sends him into a panic, but BB's hold is inescapable, so he ends up "hiding" in her arms. He curls up as small as he can while pressing his face into the front of her shoulder. He feels like a scared little kid.

"Geeze, kid..." Purple sounds sad.

"All of the LoA clones have been nothing but mindless shells. Why are you so different?" His Template doesn't actually sound like he's talking to Danny, but even if he was, Danny literally can't answer that with some sort of aid. Though, Danny doesn't trust these people enough to explain even if he could. "Father. I believe we should take him to the batcave."

Danny tucks himself deeper into BB. She's petting his hair and back the way you would a cat. "Safe."

"One more question." Bat dude says. "Are you planning on going through with your orders?"

Danny can feel BB get defensive on his behalf, even as Danny pulls away to look Bat dude in the face as he frantically shakes his head no.

"Honest. New brother?" Something seems to change in them when BB says this. Amusement and resignation are as easy to read as their weariness. He can't blame them. He's far from their first LoA clone, just the first to not be a mindless murder machine.

"Hn."

"Tt. Really, father?"

"Hn."

"Tt!" Danny blinks in fascination at the weird monosyllable conversation between his Template and his father. BB gets up before pulling Danny to his feet. She keeps a loose hand on his wrist, probably in case he tries to bolt again, but it's still nice. It does get awkward when she keeps her hold as they climb off the roof, and Danny needs a little help getting down with only one hand.

He tucks himself half behind BB when Purple decides to ask him a random assortment of questions while they wait for something called "the batmoble". He's a bit intimidated by her energy, it's so much like his parents'.

'Do you have a favourite food?' No. He hasn't actually eaten food yet in this body, just iv-ed nutrients. 'Favourite animal?' No. He doesn't know this dimension's animals. 'Flowers? Or plant?"No. Same problem. 'Are you hurt in any way?' Shrug. He's a little scratched and bruised, but it's not even in the top hundred of hurt he's been through. He's actually pretty happy this body doesn't have all his scars, his ghost half will have them, but his new human half is basically a blank canvas, and it's a glorious reprieve. 'Have you been anywhere besides the LoA and Gotham?" No. 'Did you at least stay somewhere nice in the LoA?' No? Does the lab count? It was a pretty nice lab all things considered.

Danny nearly jumps out of his skin when a black, sleek car shows up without a driver. He clings to BB when they climb in. He's nearly in her lap.

He can't help but wonder about how out of character he feels. He wonders if it's because this body is, at most, 2 months old, or if his time as only a ghost core kick started childish instincts, his ghost half IS only about a year old, or if the trauma of everything that happened caused a mental regression. He vaguely remembers Jazz talking about age regression as a coping mechanism, not enough to understand if that's what's happening right now, but it sort of feels like it. At least BB doesn't seem to mind having an overgrown toddler using her like a security blanket.

The drive is pretty smooth considering the speed bat dude is driving. Danny looks around "the batcave" in wonder when they pile out.

"Who's that?" A cheerful man in black and blue bounces over. Danny hides behind BB again and wishes he knew literally anybody's name. Currently, he just knows his Template's non-hero identity as Damian Al Gul. BB's hero identity of BB definitely means something, but all he has is what Purple called her.

"New brother!" BB chirps. Blue guy thankfully stops a few feet away while a tired guy about Purple's age wonders up.

"Why does he look like Demon Brat?" Tired guy sounds grumpy and on edge.

"The LoA apparently made a new clone of me. This one seems defective. Simply trying to run away and escape when Black Bat and Spoiler spotted him watching father and I." The new people tense, and Danny fully ducks behind BB, while Damian continues, "He did not throw a single punch and showed true panic at being caught. As you can see, he's been glued to Cassandra's side since she calmed him down."

"Likelihood of this one trying to kill me?" Tired guy asks. "I'm tired of new siblings trying to kill me."

"Unlikely. Kid ran like a scared deer the whole time we were chasing him." Purple, no, Spoiler? reasures tired guy.

"Well, if you weren't so stabbable." There's a teasing tilt to his Template's voice. Danny kind of wants to know what THAT means, so he peeks curiously at them. Tired guy just looks more tired when their eyes meet.

"Damian and Jason both tried to kill me, multiple times." Tired guy explains with a tone that'd be more fitting for a conversation about a sibling stealing a favoured toy in the past, not admitted homicide attempts on one's life. Danny's eyes dart at blue guy and Damian, wondering if they'll try to kill him too. Tired guy frowns before asking, "Do you actually know who any of us are?"

There's a whole lot of squawking when Danny shakes his head no and just points to Damian. Damian is complaining about how little sense it makes to only tell Danny a kill order. Spoiler is embarrassed and complaining about not realizing. Bat dude is giving off embarrassed vibes, even if literally nothing changed in his stance or face. Blue guy, tired guy, and Cassandra all seem very amused, but blue guy is also stressed and tired guy is just resigned.

"Okay, so introductions. I'm Timothy Drake-Wayne, just call me Tim or Drake. My vigilante name is Red Robin." Tired guy says before pointing to each of the other people. "Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, call her Steph. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Cassandra Caine is Black Bat, call her Cass. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dam-"

"I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I am the current Robin and the only blood son of Batman." Danny's Template cuts off Tim.

"Can't say you're the only blood son if we keep the clone," Tim teases and gets a knife thrown at him for it. He easily dodges it and continues talking to Danny. "There's also Jason Todd, who's not here right now. He's Red Hood. Barbara Gordon is our eye in the sky, better known as Oracle. Duke Thomas is Signal, he's our Day shift so he's asleep upstairs currently. And Alfred Pennyworth is the real head of the house and pseudo grandfather, even if he says he's just the family butler. There's more, but they're who you'll most like to interact with anytime soon."

Danny must look as overwhelmed as he feels because Dick(? Why is he named that?) steps closer, hands where Danny can see them. "You okay, little buddy? Do you have a name or something you want us to call you?"

Danny gives Damian, Steph, and Mr. Wayne a panicked look. Steph comes to his rescue.

"He can't speak. We're unsure why he can't, but he hasn't even tried to say anything. Only made a whining noise when Cass pinned him. We'd think it was another Cass situation, but he can understand everything we say."

"Oh.. Maybe he just never learned?" Dick wonders aloud before asking Danny, "About how old are you?"

Danny points to Damian. He's pretty sure his body is the same age as his Template's, who is about as old as Danny's whole existence. Unlike Dani, who was made slightly younger than Danny in body, but is currently only a year old in spirit.

"No, I mean, how long have you been alive?" Dick corrects gently. Danny blinks and figures the correct answer is how long his clone body has been alive. He can explain later when he can communicate better, if he feels safe enough to do so. He holds up 2 fingers. "2 years?"

There's grimaces when he shakes his head.

"2 months?" Danny cautious nods and startles when Steph gasps loudly.

"A Baby!" Danny pouts at that, but can't exactly refute it. He does move so Cass is more between them.

Cass unexpectedly decides to remove her creepy mask, making Danny stare in wide-eyed surprise at her short dark hair.

"Oh! The baby hasn't seen our faces yet!" Steph is delighted and pulls her own mask down. The rest of the group unmask, minus Tim, who's already in civilian clothes. Danny looks at them before circling Cass so he can see her. She's very pretty, some sort of Asian, and giving off happy and calm vibes. It reminds him a little of Jazz when they could just exist, no parents, school, or ghosts to worry about. It's nice. He likes that his new big sister has that peacefulness.

"You see?" Cass smiles and clarifies, "Language of body?"

Danny brightly nods. He had to learn to read body language or die the rest of the way. It wasn't a failure to read it that nearly got him killed.

"I'll teach you to read it even better and to hide your own." Danny is startled by Cass speaking a full sentence before he excitedly indicates he wants to show her something. He can see how absolutely horrified they all get when he slams his body language into the soulless husk both labs of horror he got stuck in wanted. He turns lifelessly to each person, taking in their reacts to it, only breaking character only when he turns back to Cass. He beams excitedly at her, wanting her opinion. "That was very good. Almost no one would be able to tell."

"I can see how the LoA wouldn't know you weren't like the others if you just behaved like that the whole time." Tim hums, seemingly more fascinated than horrified, unlike the rest. They look ready to jump him, so he goes back to hiding behind Cass, deciding right now that he's staying with Tim and/or Cass, until he either runs away or they're all more comfortable with each other.

"Be nice." He can hear the scowl she's giving everyone, but Tim. Tim edges closer with a fancy piece of technically that Danny's never seen before. It almost looks like a clipboard at first glance, but is clearly a sci-fi computer thingy. Danny noticed technology is far more advanced in this dimension, but hasn't had a chance to figure it out.

"Do you know how to work an ipad?" Tim doesn't give him a judgmental look when he shakes his head, just steps closer with clear intent to teach. "Okay, I'll show you. You can read, correct?"

Danny nods and cautiously steps towards Tim so he can see the device better. The others start to wonder off and change into civilian clothes while Tim gives him a crash course on everything Danny can do on this iPad. He does explain there's basically a child lock on it to keep Danny from accidentally going on an unsafe website. It's more for his safety as he learns. Danny accepts that reason, despite knowing that's definitely not the only one, because the other reasons don't matter. He's probably only going to be using it to look up everything he doesn't understand in this dimension and communicating with whoever is in front of him, at least for now. He feels a lot like a toddler with how out of his depth he is, which is honestly a good thing right now. Really sells the "I'm a harmless baby, protect me!" thing he has going on.

"Now that you can answer." Tim smiles a little, "Is there any you want to be called? It's okay if there isn't just yet. Finding your name can be difficult."

[Danny] Danny excitedly shows Tim.

"Danny? Not what I was expecting, but it suits you." Tim's easy acceptance is wonderful, too bad his Template ruins the moment.

"Absolutely not. You need a proper name. How about Daniel? Or maybe the arabic version? Danyal?" Danny throws his most disgusted face he can pull.

"That's a no." Tim sounds like he's barely concealing laughter.

"He needs a proper name. How about Dante?"

[It's better than Daniel, but I still don't like it.]

"How about we come back to this later? We can look up names that Danny can be a nickname for and he can pick from those once he's settled in." Tim basically orders when Damian opens his mouth. "Danny should shower. I'll grab him som-"

Danny grabs his sleeve. Cass isn't here, so Tim is his current security person. He doesn't feel safe with his Template yet.

"Nevermind, I'll get him showered. Could you grab him some clothes?" Tim adjusts to the quiet demand easily, glancing to Danny to ask. "Any idea of preference?"

Danny glances at the stiff outfit he's currently in before writing [Comfy?]

Tim nods and tells Damian, "You should snag one of Dick's hoodies and one of my fluffy pj pants. Alfred probably has some unused underwear somewhere with how many times a guest needed some."

Damian doesn't look pleased, but seems to follow Tim's lead. He does quizzically eye Danny one last time before he leaves. Tim gently leads Danny to what looks like a locker room. No one else is currently in there.

"I know he seems abrasive, but that was his version of trying to bond." Tim explains, "He's trying his best. Just say something if it's too much."

Danny nods and strips. Uncaring of Tim looking at him as he hops in the shower, he only seems to be checking for injuries, then he only glances over every once in a while to make sure "the baby" is cleaning himself properly and doesn't need help. He doesn't get any creepy vibes from the man. He's awfully familiar with the vibes to look out for since some of the scientists would bad touch him, claiming it's for science. It wasn't. Needless to say, being a labrat kind of murders shyness over being naked in cold blood.

Damian shows up with the clothes Tim requested when Danny is drying off. Danny makes sure to scribble a [Thank you!] and show it to him before taking the clothes.

"You are welcome."

"Alfred will be happy his newest grandchild comes with manners pre-installed." Tim jokes, and adds at Danny's curious glance. "The rest of us were feral. You'd think that I'd be an exception since I'm from high society, but I literally blackmailed my way into being Robin and then made a fake uncle to keep myself from being adopted."

Danny gives Tim an alarmed look, and Damian looks curious.

"Okay, so I used to stalk Batman and Robin every night because I lacked adult supervision. I was just taking pictures because I was a huge fan and had figured out who they were when I was 9. Then when I was 12, Jason died for a little bit." This makes Danny more alarmed, so Tim quickly adds. "He's alive and as well as he can be now, but he was Robin at the time, and Bruce, Bruce was devastated. He was taking it out on everyone. Purse snatchers were ending up in the ICU. So I first tried to get Dick to come back to Gotham, when they didn't work, I showed up on the doorstep with photographic evidence I knew everything and demanded I be Robin to keep him safe. I.. It was a rough time. He hated me with every fiber of his being for a while, but I couldn't let Batman die. We were partners, but not family by any stretch of the word. Then.. my parents died and I couldn't let him adopt me. I wasn't his son. I hadn't had an adult keeping track of me in years, hell, B barely tracked me as Robin, thinking it would make me stop. Jokes on him, I'm too stubborn."

"That's unfortunately true." Damian sounds exasperated.

"I hired an actor to pretend to be my fake uncle to keep Bruce from questioning my living situation. Clearly, that didn't last." Tim chuckles, "Steph compared me to a feral cat a lot during that time."

Danny has to pull up his (Dick's?) sleeves to use the iPad. [Are all of your lives so weird?]

"Unfortunately." Damian sighs, "Every single one of us has a different tale of how we came to be with Father."

"Kid, you're a defective clone that just escaped from a cult of assassins and are actively being adopted by the family of your target." Tim teases. "You fit in perfectly."

Danny flusters at that, but has nothing to say against it.

"I apologize if this is a sensitive issue, but I have to ask." Damian does look sorry. "Why don't you talk? I know a few of the Clones were instructed in the past to say things, so I was wondering why you can't."

[Never talked before. Don't know how to. Wasn't taught before mission. Tall lady didn't like my eyes and wanted me gone.]

"Tall lady? Probably Talia. But she didn't like your eyes? Why?" Tim tilts his head.

[Wrong color. Fading slowly to bluer color. Wasn't perfect copy anymore and getting less perfect by the day. Needed to die faster.]

"She wanted you to die because your eye colour?" Tim and Damian look shocked as Danny nods.

[Imperfections die. Barely good enough to be sent out instead of killed in lab.] Danny lays it on thick, but it wasn't untrue. He ended up seeing other "Imperfect" clones be terminated near the end of his stay.

"Well... actually, what colour do you think they'll end up? Now that I'm paying attention, I can see the difference. You think it's a result of whatever made you different?" Tim seems excited by the idea. Damian just looks thoughtful.

[Unsure. Changed from Damian's color to current in a month. Tall lady was very unhappy by it. Don't know why change happened.]

Danny suddenly yawns. He didn't get much sleep in the crate. Too scared to.

"Alright. We can talk more after you get some sleep."

"Alfred told me to tell you you're cut off from caffeine until you sleep a minimum of 6 hours, Drake." Damian looks a little too amused by Tim's despair over that news, before turning to Danny. "Your new room is next to Cassandra's. She apparently requested it while we were otherwise engaged."

Danny is delighted by the news, hugging his iPad to his chest. Tim and Damian lead him to his new room, pointing out things and whose room is who's while they walk. Danny's dazed look and slowly making a list of things to look up really sells his new role. He's also scared to even breathe on anything. Everything is so fancy.

"Getting you your own clothes and room decor will have to wait until tomorrow." Damian informs him apologetically before the brothers bid him goodnight. And Danny doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't feel safe in this too nice room. So he grabs one of the pillows and the thin extra blanket at the foot of the bed before cramming himself under the bed. He curls up in a ball under the head, the end tables blocking the sides, making him feel safer.

He wakes the first day to Cass laying on the floor nearby, but not under the bed. It's a very weird day for him, but Tim, Cass, and his Template are very helpful and mostly non judgemental to the mess he is. He does find a moment to naturally "discover" his obsession with space. Thankfully, it turns out this dimensions space is so different that he doesn't have to pretend to be clueless. Everything is so different and Danny kind of loves it. He's gifted so much space themed shit and books on space and alien culture throughout the week, he has to fight to keep from glowing in his excitement. He knows they noticed, but let him pretend to be normal for a bit. It's harder to hide his inhumanity in this body, but he does his best.

[verstappenverse]

Knight of My Heart

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

1.7k words / Masterlist

It was nearly 2am when Max’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, dragging him from the edges of sleep. The faint light from his screen illuminated the dark room, and he reached for it with a groggy hand, squinting at the text that appeared.

“She’s drunk. Like realllly drunk. Can you come get her?”

Max sat up, his heart already sinking. The message was from one of your friends, someone whose name he only half-remembered from the countless times they’d insisted they’d “watch out for you.” Max knew better by now. He sighed, raking a hand through his messy hair, before throwing the sheets off and quickly pulling on a hoodie and jeans.

The drive to the club was quiet, but Max’s mind wasn’t. He hated these nights. It wasn’t just the thought of you being drunk and vulnerable, it was the idea that you were so carefree and beautiful, and people always noticed. Too many times Max had seen guys try to get too close, their smiles too slick and intentions too obvious.

When he finally pulled up outside the club he saw you almost immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were leaning against a lamp post near the curb swaying slightly in your heels, a dazed smile on your face as a man hovered beside you. Max’s chest tightened at the sight. The guy was too close, his body angled toward yours as he spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands. You laughed softly at whatever he said, your voice carrying over the low thrum of the music spilling from the club’s entrance.

Max killed the engine and climbed out, his jaw set. His strides were purposeful, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“Maxie!” you squealed the moment you spotted him, your arms flinging open in delight.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his torso and nearly toppling yourself over in the process.

The guy looked over at Max, not at all intimidated, but Max didn’t care. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching by his sides as he stepped closer.

“You good?” Max asks you, his voice a little rougher than usual.

The man gave Max a once-over, clearly sizing him up. “She seems fine to me,” he said, his tone too casual for Max’s liking.

Max’s eyes narrowed, the jealousy coursing through him now unmistakable. He took a step closer to him. “Oh because you know her so well, right?” he asked the guy, voice clipped.

With a taunting smirk, the guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “She was just telling me about her night. She looked like she needed some company.”

Max wasn’t having it, he stands tall, his body blocking your view of the man now. “Right, I don’t think you understand,” Max replied dryly, placing a firm hand on your waist. “I’m her boyfriend, she's mine. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take it from here.”

The man’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to argue, but something in Max’s gaze seemed to convince him otherwise. With a tight nod, he muttered a quick, “Whatever man,” and walked off into the crowd.

As the guy disappeared, Max’s frustration didn’t completely fade, but he focused right back on you. Guiding you towards his car, hand never leaving your side. You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder the alcohol making your limbs feel heavy.

You looked up at him, your face slightly flushed, your eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” you asked quietly.

Max’s lips press together tightly, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy still lingering. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he’s anything but. "Just... I want you to be safe alright?"

You nod, though your head wobbles slightly. "I know... just wanted to have some fun…long week."

Max exhaled slowly, his tension only easing slightly as he turned to you. You were beaming up at him, clearly oblivious to the small confrontation that had just unfolded.

“I get it,” he said softly, his hand steadying you at your waist. “But where are your friends?”

“They’re inside,” you mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the club entrance. “Or somewhere. I don’t know. I came out to get some air.”

Max sighed, scanning the area for any sign of your group. Just then a few of your friends emerged from the club giggling.

“Max!” One of them called her tone far too cheery. “She’s all yours.”

Max’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you let her get this drunk?” he snapped. “Anything could’ve happened to her out here!”

Your friend blinked, her smile faltering. “She’s a big girl Max. Besides, we knew you’d come.”

“That’s not the point,” Max said, his voice sharp. "You should’ve made sure she was safe.”

Your friends exchanged glances mumbling something, he exhaled heavily running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you've all had fun, but next time just… watch out for her yeah? She’s very important to me.” He gazed down at you.

Your friends exchanged glances, some looking sheepish, others visibly annoyed at his tone.

“We had it under control Max,” one of your friends said, her tone defensive. “We weren’t going to babysit her all night.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Being there for your friend isn’t babysitting, it’s just what you do.”

Another friend, the quieter one of the group spoke up “Okay Max. We’ll keep a better eye on her next time, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking back down at you. Your eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile on your lips as you mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his face. “Alright,” he said to the group, his tone a little lighter now. “I’m taking her home. Get back safely.”

“We will,” the quieter friend said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Max turned to you with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Max guided you to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. You leaned into him heavily, giggling at every little thing, the way his hand steadied you, the low muttering under his breath, even the way he opened the car door for you like you were royalty.

“You’re so nice to me Maxie,” you said, settling into the passenger seat with a content sigh.

“I’m always nice to you,” he replied, pulling the seatbelt across your body and clicking it into place.

“You are,” you agreed, your voice soft and dreamy. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

Max froze for a moment, sure his heart skipped a beat, before he shook his head and closed your door.

The drive home was quiet, save for your occasional hums and mumbled comments about the pretty city lights. Max glanced at you every so often, his hand gripping your thigh, your eyes fluttering shut for brief moments.

When he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking garage you stirred, blinking sleepily. Inside you clung to him like a lifeline, your arms looped around his neck as he guided you to the bathroom.

“You’re so tall,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “Like a tree. A strong, handsome tree.”

Max chuckled despite himself, shaking his head as he set you down on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway,” you said, your grin lazy and smug.

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for a makeup remover wipe from the cabinet. You watched him curiously as he carefully cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Taking your makeup off,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, as he carefully wiped at your face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he avoided your eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"You take such good care of me." You whispered, reaching up to touch his hand. “You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said with a slight frown, his eyes finally meeting yours. “But I want to. You deserve it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Max carried you to the bedroom, letting you climb him like a koala as you giggled into his shoulder. He set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crouching beside the bed. You blinked at him sleepily, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re like a knight,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness. “My very own knight in shining armour.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “A very tired knight,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’re going to hate me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without water and something for your hangover.”

“I don’t hate you,” you slurred, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “I could never hate you.”

His chest tightened at the sincerity in your tone, “Stay awake for just a few more minutes okay? I’ll be right back.”

You made a soft noise of protest as he stood, but you didn’t try to stop him. Max moved quietly through the apartment, grabbing a glass from the kitchen and filling it with cold water. From the bathroom he grabbed a pack of paracetamol, the domesticity of the routine bringing a faint smile to his lips.

When he returned you were still half-propped against the pillows, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his footsteps.

“Here,” Max said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed you the glass and pressed two pills into your palm. “Take these and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You squinted at the pills like they’d personally offended you. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Max replied firmly, his lips quirking upward. “No arguments.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them with some water. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

You handed the glass back to him, and he set it on the nightstand before leaning forward to pull the blankets higher around you.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Maxie,” you sighed.

“Sleep,” he said softly, stroking your cheek.

“Stay,” you murmured, your eyes already half-closed.

Max hesitated, his heart twisting with adoration, before nodding. “I’ll be right here.”

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Incubus

NSFW Art the Clown x F!Reader

Prompt: Reader is out with one of her friends when she runs into an interesting looking clown. Later that night, he seems to visit her in a dream. (Kinda going off the idea that Art is a supernatural being who can appear in people's dreams at will).

CW: Art being a freak, use of sex toys, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, choking, creampie

a/n: to quote Cassie from Euphoria "AND YOU CAN ALL JUDGE ME IF YOU WANT BUT I DO NOT CARE! I HAVE NEVER EVER BEEN HAPPIER" really going back to my sexy-clown-fucker roots with this one gang

~~~

Halloween Night.

You and your friends had been planning to go out like you had since you were teenagers. Getting dressed up in your sluttiest best Halloween costumes, going to your favorite spot in town to eat, then hitting up some parties.

Your group took up a large table at the same old diner you always met at. Friends pregaming with flasks and shot bottles they snuck in. Some more blitzed than others. As you got older, the desire for partying was beginning to leave your body. Wanting to be completely black out drunk in public becoming more embarrassing than exhilarating.

So when your best friend decided she wanted to mess with one of your fellow patrons, a lump formed in your stomach.

A tall man dressed in a half white and half black clown costume sat at one of the tables alone. Giant shoes adorned his feet, the tip of his long nose had a black dot on it, and a bald cap with a tiny hat rested upon his head. He had been staring at your group since he arrived. Most of your friends too out of it to notice.

Your friend walked over, leaning over the table he sat at. Pushing her cleavage directly in his face as she spoke to him. “Nice costume,” she batted her lashes at him. His expressionless face stared at her. A semi aggravated frown on his face. Everyone at your table began giggling as you watched in horror. She took a seat directly in his lap, wrapping one of her arms around him. She tugged at the hat on his head, smacking it down with a pop. “Awe, look how cute. But dontcha think it would look better one me,” she grabbed the hat off his head. Pulling the string and placing it down on her own.

Embarrassment ate away at your insides. All your friends stared and snickered at the situation. The man seemingly unfazed. She flicked at his nose with her finger. You could not take it any longer.

“Oh my God,” you grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from him, “I am so sorry. If I had known she was going to do that I would’ve stopped her sooner.” You ripped the tiny hat off her head. “Here’s that. Once again I’m so sorry—“

“Why do you keep apologizing to this freak?!”

You shot a look at her, brows pushed together in frustration. Pulling her outside of the restaurant. She fought for you to let go of her. Stumbling in her drunken state.

“What the fuck is wrong with you! Why are you acting like this?” You were hurt by your friend’s actions.

“Why do you even give a shit, Y/N? That’s just some random skeezeball in a restaurant. I could fuck him and we’d never have to see him again.”

“Because you’re embarrassing me!” You shouted, folding your arms over your chest. Taking a deep breath and blinking away the feeling you were harboring.

She stood in front of you with a look of disgust on her face. Her hand planted firmly on her hip. A laugh erupting from her. Wrapping her hand around your wrist and pulling you back inside. Presenting you in front of the table of all your friends. “Go ahead if that’s really how you feel, Y/N,” she cocked her head to the side.

“I— I, uh—“

“Y/N said she’s embarrassed by us. Guess we huwt hew widdle feewings!” Your friend pushed out her bottom lip and mocked you. The entire table laughed at you. All your so called friends calling you names like “Debby Downer” or “Sour Puss” or “Buzz Kill.”

You stood frozen in shock. Unable to believe all your friends you had known so long were treating you this way. All of them a little drunk, but not drunk enough for them to not know what they were doing.

“Come on, everybody. Since we’re so embarrassing to be around. You can stay here,” your friend patted you on the head as she and everyone else threw some cash on the table to cover their bills. You were in disbelief. Feeling abandoned and hurt. Ashamed.

You looked over at the Clown Man who you were defending previously. His gaze fixated on you, expression completely emotionless. Sharp eyes cutting into you. Walking over to him one last time as you began to leave, “I really am sorry she did that. I hope your night goes better than mine.” You gave him a closed mouth smile as you walked out of the restaurant. Lifeless eyes watching you exit.

You held yourself as you walked home. Cold breeze hitting your revealed skin, sending chill bumps down your body. You tugged at the short skirt you wore when you saw a group of guys staring at you. Suddenly uncomfortable in your costume. You arrived home and began getting ready for the night ahead. You did love passing out candy. Something you really had not got to do in a long time. You loved seeing all the kids dressed up, excited for their sugar filled treats.

Time passed and the knocks on your door were scarce. Disappointed in the lack of trick-or-treaters. Feeling like you had lost all love for this holiday. One that was your favorite. Deciding to pass on dinner and just bake some cookies instead.

You sat on your couch mindlessly watching TV. The lack of trick-or-treaters had you drifting in and out of sleep. Finally dozing off…

You were in a dark room. Only lit by candlelight. A musky smell filled the air. You looked down to see yourself completely nude. Wrists and ankles tied to the frame of the large bed you laid on. Confusion ran through you.

Footsteps filled the room. Straining your neck to look down the dark hallway through the open door. Complete silence coming from the darkness other than the loud clap of shoes. The Clown from the restaurant earlier walked into the dim light. Facial expression flat, eyes piercing down at you. Heat dripped down your body knowing he was seeing you completely nude and on display. Approaching the edge of the bed, his head falling to the side as he stared at your bare pussy. A wicked grin crept upon his face.

His hand dug deep down into the bag he carried. The sound of all different textures of things tussled against each other as he went shoulder deep looking for something. An excited look washed over his face as his hand gripped around what he had been looking for. Pulling a deep red, microphone shaped vibrator from the bag. Your entire body flushed.

He crawled on the edge of the bed between your spread legs. Clicking the vibrator to the setting he thought you would enjoy most before teasing around your pussy with it. You moaned at the sudden sensation. Your thighs began trembling as he edged closer and closer to your throbbing nub. When the toy finally found its place on your sweet spot you called out to him, your hips arching at the feeling. Making circular motions with the vibrator, pulling every noise from you he could. Watching as your chest heaved with each shaky breath.

The waves of your first orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. Every inch of you quaking as pure ecstasy pumped through your veins. The Clown smiled at you from the position he was in. A prominent tent pitched through his satin suit. You bit your lip watching him palm himself through the fabric. Mouth beginning to water as the spot of his suit grew darker with his pre-cum. You rolled your hips at him, encouraging him to fuck you.

Dark eyes shot up to look into yours. Hand never leaving his erect member. Your eyes pleaded with him, a small quiet “please” falling from your quivering lips.

His hand clawed at the fabric around his cock, ripping open a hole big enough for him to pull himself out. Eyes unable to look away from how his gloved hand wrapped around his member. Tugging at his erection, his head falling back ever slightly as he savored the feeling of his hand. Almost like he was putting on a show for you.

His body weighed down the bed as he positioned himself to be directly in front of your aching core. Head of his cock prodding at your entry. Tremors of anticipation quaked through you. His lips were barely parted as he looked down at your face. Hooded eyes enjoying the view of you. He rubbed the tip against your folds, collecting all the remnants of you on himself. Ready to delve in.

… A loud knock at the door pulled you awake. You had been dozed off for a few hours now. It was almost too late at night for kids to be out. You sat up, grabbing the bowl of candy off the table in front of you. A second more aggressive knock. “On my way!” You called out as you walked to the front door.

Opening the door to a familiar costumed man. The Clown your friend had been rude to earlier. Little old to be trick-or-treating, but you did not care. “Oh— Hey! It’s you,” flashes of the dream you had been having about him ran through your mind. Heat rising to your cheeks. You swallowed heavy. A toothy grin painted his face as he waved excitedly at you. Holding up a black garbage bag asking for candy from your bowl. You smiled grabbing a large handful of candy and putting it in the bag for him. His eyebrows rose as his mouth morphed into a perfect ‘O’ shape. His hand went up to his lips blowing a silent kiss at you. You caught it with your hand and placed it on your cheek with a giggle.

“There plenty more where that came from. You’re probably my last trick-or-treater for the night. I’ve got all this candy left,” you shook the bowl tossing the candy around in it. The Clown stood before you not saying anything. Eyes staring at you with a wicked grin on his face.

The loud sound of your fire alarm going off made you jump right out of your skin. You looked over your shoulder then back at the man in front of you. His eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Oh— Oh, Crap! I forgot about the cookies I put in the oven!” You rushed back into your house leaving the door wide open. Running into your kitchen and grabbing the oven mitts you had left on the counter, pulling the charred cookies out and throwing the pan into the sink, running cold water over it. Smoke engulfed your kitchen. You opened the window over the sink, fanning the thick fumes out of the window with your oven mitt. Coughing as you accidentally inhaled some of the tar.

You leaned over the counter, hearing the squeak of shoes approaching you identical to what you had heard in your dream. You looked up to see the Clown examining your house. Waving his hand in front of his face as he scrunched up his nose at the smell. You sighed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even get to introduce myself to you yet. I’m Y/N.” He waved at you acknowledging the introduction.

“Don’t say much do you?”

He shook his head aggressively.

“Hmm. Then how am I going to learn your name?”

He gleamed excitedly. Coming over and grabbing you by the wrist. Pulling you to your fridge where you had countless letters, newspaper clippings, and coupons pinned. He pointed to a picture about the local go-cart racing tournament that happened a few weeks back.

“Cart?”

He made an ‘X’ with his hands, shaking his head in disagreement. He reemphasized the ‘X’ before holding up one finger.

“Okay, minus one letter.”

He nodded with a bright smile.

“Car?”

He folded his arms over his chest, a look of disappointment on his face. His head falling to the side with a look that said “really?”

“Okay. Okay. Art?”

He jumped up and down clapping his hands with joy. Nodding his head rapidly. Clearly thrilled that you were so good at guessing.

“Art! I like that name,” you smiled suddenly realizing that his grip around your wrist stayed. Blushing at how close your bodies were to each other. Remembering your fantasy you were having about it pulling heat to your face.

“Well, since you’re already in here might as well make yourself comfortable. If you wanna sit in the living room I can bring you a glass of water or something,” you smiled. His wide eyes stared at you, smile never leaving his face. He slowly gave you a thumbs up before spinning on his heel and going into your living room.

“Can I tell you something crazy?” You smiled as you sat the glass down in front of him. He nodded. “I— you were just in my dream.” His mouth morphed into an ‘O’ shape, eyebrows raised in intrigue. “I dozed off after I got ditched at the diner. And we were— uh— well, you were. I was—“ Embarrassment washed over you. Realizing you were about to admit to having a sex dream about a complete stranger.

He made an okay gesture with one hand, sticking his opposite pointer finger into the o. You blushed at his insinuation. You nodded coyly. His face fell into a look telling you he thought your thoughts were naughty. Chastising you with his finger. You smiled. He rested his chin on one of his hands propped against his leg, waving for you to continue with the other.

“OH! No, you don’t want to hear the details or anything. It was…” you hid your face from him slightly. Unsure of what to say about the dream. Too awkward to fully admit it.

Art crawled off the couch, resting his chin on your bare knees like a begging puppy. A large frown decorating his face as he fluttered his eyes at you. Wide eyes stared down at him in your lap. Your nerves were set on fire. The source being where his chin touched your bare skin. You swallowed back hard.

He pressed his lips into the skin of your exposed thigh. Biting the soft flesh, leaving grease paint anywhere his lips touched. You felt your body quiver as his teeth dug into you. Bites turned into long licks. Saliva painted your exposed skin. “Art~” you moaned loving the feeling of him on your skin. A wicked grin crept on his face.

Partially gloved hands pried your legs open. Sadistic eyes stared at your clothed core. Noting how you had already soaked through your panties. Licking his way up your skin before planting a sloppy kiss on your core. You slid down the couch exposing yourself better to him. His long tongue lapped over your soaked entry, sucking on the fabric. Your hands gripped his head, eyes rolling back as he worked on you.

He suddenly stood up. You fluttered your eyes up at him. He walked over to his previous seat on the couch. Digging through the black trash bag he carried with him. Making a surprised face when his hand found what it was looking for.

Everything was so familiar...

Pulling something out and hiding it behind his back. Gesturing for you to join him. Patting his lap as you got closer to him. Hesitantly you straddled him. He leaned back into the couch, hooded eyes scanning your entire body. A mischievous grin painted his dirty teeth. He grabbed at your panties, ripping them clean off. Holding them up to his nose and taking a deep inhale, eyes rolling back into his head. Over exaggerating his exhale and putting your ripped garment down into his trash bag. The cool air against your now exposed core sent chills across your entire body.

There was a sudden hum coming from behind Art. He pretending to look around as if he could not find the source of the sound. You blushed at the realization of the noise. Revealing the same deep red want from your dream. You gasped.

"That's the same one from my-"

He cut you off by pressing the toy against your throbbing clit. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back. You rolled your hips against the vibrating silicone. Fire igniting deep inside you. Lost in the feeling.

Art watched how you played with yourself on the toy. His cock begging for the same attention the vibrator was getting. He smacked the side of your thigh to get your attention. Pulling you from your horny, dumb state. Your eyes meeting his gaze. His brows furrowed together as he pointed down to his erect cock. You continued your motions as you reached around to unzip his clown suit. Sliding the satin off his shoulders. His pale, slender body revealing itself to you. Propping yourself up so he could shimmy the material around his ankles. Noticing how he wore no underwear under the suit. You smiled as you stared at his cock.

Your first orgasm was rapidly approaching with the pace of the toy pressed into you. Art's gloved hands guided you down onto his member. Throwing his head back as you sunk down. The way your walls sucked him right in. Almost like your body was begging to be fucked. He blinked hard, his jaw agape. Hands encouraging you to bounce up and down. From the first few hops your orgasm took over you. Moaning his name and shaking. Walls gripping his member inside you. Art licked his teeth, mocking your orgasm face.

You expected him to move the wand so that he could fuck you to his own high. However, he pressed it firmer into your aching nub. Your hips rutted forward. Shocked expression taking over your face as you panted above him. Sweat decorating your skin.

"I-I can't do an-another one," you pleaded with the Clown. Your senses in overdrive as your pussy still spasmed around him occasionally. He pouted, mocking your pleas. Nodding his head to tell you, you would be having another one. Shaking entirely as he began a relentless pace inside you. Snapping his hips flush against your ass with each aggressive thrust. You cried out with each crack of skin. Overwhelmed with how good he felt inside you.

Fingers dinging into his bare shoulders. Gripping him tight enough to break the skin. His own fingers held your hips with a bruising force as he continued bouncing you on him. Feeling yourself approach another orgasm. Air hitching in your throat feeling your skin burn with pleasure.

Art reached one of his hands up and wrapped it around your throat. Squeezing tighter than anyone had ever before. Having you seeing stars, feeling like you could faint at any moment. Truly taking your breath away from you.

HONK!

A silver horn was shoved in your face as he released your throat. Bringing you back to the situation. Also causing you to grip his member again. He mimed a laugh when your body jumped at the sudden noise.

His head fell back against the head of the couch as he savored the feeling of you wrapped around him. Knowing his end was approaching. Sloppily thrusting up into you, circling your clit with the want. Willing you to cum at the same time. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. Wishing you could lean forward and bite at his flesh. Decorate his skin with your markings. But you were far too close to your second high to change positions now.

Screaming out to him as you came far harder than the first time. You felt Art shoot up into you, spilling his hot seed into you. Continuing to thrust up into you as he rode out both your highs. Watching how he leaked out of you and pooled around his base. Smiling for a moment before his face fell flat. He helped you off his lap, sitting you beside him. Standing and attempting to reach his zipper on the back.

You stood and helped him. Making sure to pull the zipper away from his skin to prevent any accidents. Art turned and tipped his hat to you. You blushed as you stood in front of the man who just rocked your world.

You watched as he grabbed his black bag and threw it over his shoulder. Heading towards the door. Turning to blow a kiss at you one last time.

Catching it and placing it on your lips. Blowing one right back at him. He pretending to rub the blush off his cheeks.

And just as quick as he had entered he exited your home. You waved goodbye. Choosing not to question the stranger you had let into your home for a quick fuck.

Watching as he disappeared into the night.

~

[END]

// Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing for Art. You really gotta get creative when you can't use dialogue lol. I hope you enjoyed this story! I plan on writing more for him, so if you have any requests please send them my way! Or if you want to be tagged in anything let me know! //

{tags}

@hoe-for-daddywise | @cup1d-ends-here | @xenoanamorph | @getmeoutofhell |

[limerlove]

THEY CALL ME HOMEWRECKER

pairing. established!cait x reader ft. older!vi

content warning. eighteen+, some freaky toxic shit, caitlyn lowkey a bad girlfriend, reader a freak, and violet’s just there for a good time, ooc!vi mostly, strap!sex, threesome, jealousy, cheating, some good ‘ole drama, public!sex, slight voyeurism if you squint.

#thank u to my boo @sinstear for helping me facilitate this madness and giving me even more ideas for it. and for @shouyuus for always supporting my gay panicking. still crying about it. as always, eighteen+.

since the two of you were struggling financially, you’ve always stuck by caitlyn’s side. throughout all of her business endeavors, one finally stuck, the restaurant on avenue street, and god is it ever so booming. weeks of hectic hours turn into months of hardly seeing her due to her schedule always being on the flipside of hers.

all of it was so excruciating.

over the past few months, the cracks of your relationship fall over like a tsunami waves, crashing repeatedly into the shore. you try to talk about it with her — the two days out of the week when you actually see her — but she’s always too tired.

too this.

too that.

nothing you do is ever enough. it doesn’t matter if you set the mood just right, candles light with rose petals on the bed, buying a new lingerie set to attempt to peak your girlfriend’s interest.

“baby, it’s been months since we’ve had sex? do you just not want me anymore? caitlyn reassure you she does but makes no move to give you the relief you’re so desperately seeking. deadly kisses turn stale in your mouth, the bitterness of her stagnant need tastes like the dark chocolate on your tongue.

“just—“ caitlyn grunts as she gently shoves you off as her back turn away from you “not tonight.”

you’re so close to cry, to calling this relationship for what is, a colossal failure. deciding to cool down before offering her the proposition, the one you’ve been thinking about for a while now. no matter what you do, you love cait too much to call it quits. you have to fight for who you love, no matter the cost. this is the only choice you can make…right?

droplets kiss your skin, an oversized shirt hits your thighs as your feet pad away from the cool tile, the dampness of your hair touches the cotton as she looks at you, exhaustion written all over her gorgeous face.

“what if we opened this up? let someone…in.”

shyly, you mumble. and you expect some lewd response, anger, a finality to the end but you’re met with relief. “i think that’s a great idea, love.”

but caitlyn would live to regret those words. “just one night with someone else.”

the both of you agree.

all of it happened organically, that’s what you were her for. caitlyn was close and made sure not to hover. the stipulation being the two of you had to be attracted to whoever came home with the two of you. it’s when you spot her, checking you out from the other side of the bar.

“hi, cupcake.” her voice is sultry but her rasp velvet smooth.

“o-oh, u-um, hi—” you readjust shirt, the swell of your breasts threatening to spill from the tight top you’re wearing. she’s the hottest woman you’ve ever seen. soft lines on her face to resemble her age, but fuck, she’s so pretty.

powder-blue eyes resembling the sky as she checks you out from head to toe, unable to keep her eyes off of you. she can’t stop looking at you as you squirm underneath her blunt gaze.

“who’s the blue haired woman behind you? girlfriend? she looks like she wants to kill me for getting so close to you.” with a fierce sense of confidence running through her veins, she plays with the pretty silver chain hanging from your neck.

“she is my girlfriend but we have an understanding.” the nerves from your initial impression of her dissipate, as you step closer to her. “we’re on the hunt for someone to fuck our brains out, especially mine it’s been a little too long.”

"how long?"

the curoisty slips out before she can help herself, eyes falling back on your tits again again as you cross your arms over your chest, tongue running over your lips as the tattoo peeking out from her the underside of her neck.

“long enough.”

but caitlyn interjects, slithering her way as she immediately starts caressing the mystery woman’s forearm. it’s difficult to pretend there isn’t a sting in your chest when she so easily touches someone else without a second thought.

it isn’t fair, that’s all you’ve wanted, an ounce of her affection but it seems it just takes a certain kind of woman to get her going. on that doesn’t love her the way you do, one that’s hotter, sexier, and definitely has more experience than you.

caitlyn is all over her, all night. vi, as you’ve come to learn, is much older than you and cait, more successful than you could ever dream of, and she damn sure knows how to sweet talk. you can’t help but feel a little left out as you sip on your martini, courtesy of vi.

excusing yourself to freshen up, not that you believe either of them would notice, you wash your hands, splash some water on your cold face to calm yourself. it’s crystal clear, she always wanted to have sex, just never with you.

there she stands, proud and tall, with hope in her eyes like she’s found the missing piece of her puzzle. “so, she’s perfect, right? i mean we really hit it off. the both of us, right?”

you nod, “yeah, sounds perfect, cait.” but she’s too fucking horny too nice the clip to her name or the bitterness in your tone. she’ll have her fill and you’ll be stuck on the sidelines, again. she’ll do anything but acknowledge this relationship for the farce it is.

you should have known, all the signs right in front of you to see, and now it all it took a pink-haired goddess to show you the light. she’ll get her pussy wet for anyone who isn’t you.

“great! i’ll tell her. i’m so glad we decided to do this, love.”

love.

the irony of her burning affection nearly causes you to throw up.

still, you’re incessantly scrubbing at your hands, the skin feels raw, the top of your fingers wrinkling like prunes. the last thing you want to do is meet them out there. the gorgeously, very-fuckable stranger who your girlfriend can’t get enough of. you should have just done the right thing, put the relationship to bed along with the rest of your dignity. now you’d have to watch who you thought was the love of your life, get off right in front of you.

then she’s here. vi. with her beautiful face, her cologne that smells of vanilla and mahogany, her perfectly fit body, making you feel more insecure than you’ve ever been.

“you alright, princess? if you have second thoughts just say the word…”

“nope.”

with a violent urgency, you keep scrubbing the soap into your absolutely clean hands, bending over the counter slightly to rinse them when you feel her behind you, gripping at your hips. she reaches over to shut the water off, handing you a few paper towels to dry your hands.

what the fuck is she playing at? why isn’t she sucking caitlyn’s face off?

“i have something else in mind—” vi leans over as her hot breath kisses your ear, “and it has to do with this pretty, little skirt on the floor.”

“oh, vi, we should really go and meet caitlyn, she—” but you can’t talk, not when she starts stroking the silky skin of your thigh, pushing the hem of your skirt up just a hair.

“you sure about that?” vi crawls her playful hand underneath the hem, playing with the panties covering your cunt, teasing your slit through the delicate lace. “i had my eyes set on something i want to try first.”

“o-oh…kay, well, it’s really not the best idea. please, can we—"

“so you really want to princess? something tells me, you’re dying to have this pussy eaten, fucked….stretched. i have a perfect hot pink cock for you to get fucked with, a mouth to please you, and a good set of fingers for you to bounce on.”

before you realize what’s she’s doing, her heavenly hands dip inside your panties, splitting your folds like the red sea; as god intended. she groans in your ear when she not only feels, but hears how soaked you’ve become, hot breath setting your body aflame.

“how does that sound, princess? want me to take care of you?” you grind against her pelvis, back arching into her as she slips a lone finger inside you. you moan so high, it nearly sounds like a scream.

“mmm, shit, ahhh, that’s—”

becoming very aware of the public setting, anyone could walk in the door at any given moment, you try to refute but you’re struggling to find the words, as she curls her finger inside you, establishing a steady pace.

“what? don’t think of caitlyn now. she certainly didn’t care before, did she? let me guess…she left you and your vibrator to your own device, pressing on that pretty clit of yours, hoping she’d jump in but she couldn’t.

“she couldn’t do what needs to be done—” vi bites and sucks at your neck, you crane your body towards her in submission, giving the older woman all the access she needs to tear you apart. “but i can give you whatever you fucking want, princess.”

it doesn’t take anything else before you’re attacking the older woman with your lips, her tongue invades your mouth as she surges for dominance, gripping your plump cheeks through the small amount of fabric covering them.

immediately intertwining your finger through her hair as you tug on her roots, as your skirt rides up against almost rising completely as vi pushes you through the first open stall she sees. not giving one flying fuck who hears her.

“needed you first, you know that? couldn’t help myself as soon as i saw you. god, just you wait until tonight.”

you shake your head as she pushes the your skirt to your hip bones, ripping your panties off with one single rip!

“tonight?”

“yes, pretty girl, tonight. m’gonna make her watch while i fuck you on my cock.”

pressing her knee with force in-between your legs, an animalistic moan tumbles out before you could even stop yourself.

“c’mon, ride my thigh, sweet girl. that’s what you want, hm?”

vi’s strength centers you in like gravity, allowing you to slide further up her trousers, your folds fluttering against the friction, allowing the crease of her perfectly-ironed slacks to push against your soaking pussy.

“god, fuck her for not wanting to fuck you. i’ll fuck you all night if you let me.” vi grunts as she watches your body writhe, tits bouncing as chase your high.

“fuuuckkkkk,” you hiccup, so close as she pushes a thumb in your mouth, effectively shutting your mouth for a moment as you suck on the digit. swirling your tongue around her finger, pretending she’s fucking you with a strap instead.

“such a good girl for me.” pulling off with a delectable pop, she presses against your clit, blissful patterns being traced on your bundle of nerves and just with a few strokes you’re done for. falling fast and hard.

“vi, vi, oh fuck, baby, viiii—” a drawl of her name as she abuses the bundle of nerves, the ache for her full attention and freely does vi give it.

you fall into her chest, whimpering as her incessant need to play with your clit does nothing to help you calm down — all she does is rile you up.

fuck, caitlyn.

not a day in your life had you thought of being interested in someone so much older than you, but god you’d never come apart like that. not so quickly and not ever quite as hard. she knew what you liked without uttering a word.

the swipe of her thumb felt like a stroke of god, as if she was one, giving into your mundane pleasure, helping you close in on what seemed like an impossible finish.

this wasn’t part of the deal. shit, you’re so fucked.

“turn around.” you obey.

a pathetic servant willing to get it’s pay.

she slaps your ass once more, a whimper tumbles and vi eats up every second of it.

“how bad do you want my cock, baby?”

“so bad, please.”

“good. you’ll show me…in front of her.”

—

“just like that princess, fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty.”

violet’s hands steady your hips as you ride cait’s cock, the strap stretching you out to the heavens, vi guides you in perfect rhythm. you know you should feel bad, but you can’t stop staring at vi, her perfect eyes gleaming as you moan out her name.

not cait, vi.

“love—” caitlyn’s voice is drown outed when vi is looking at you the way she’s does, the way you’ve been begging your girlfriend too but she only does when there’s someone else giving you what you’ve been desperately craving.

“how does it feel, cupcake?” vi whispers in your ear, “does it feel good when you fuck yourself on her cock?”

without warning, vi slaps your ass as you jolt forward, the silicone cock slipping deeper within you, kissing your cervix as vi keeps her hand on your lower back, guiding your movements.

“f-feels really good, vi.”

vi kisses down your neck, biting at the skin before she presses her scarred lip against your ear.

“i know it does, princess. been wanting this for months, huh? don’t worry about a thing. i’ll take care of you.”

vi smirks as she sees caitlyn stirring with fury, bold pair of blues ignite under the fire of someone else seeing what is so rightfully hers. she hates this, knowing someone else is talking you through it, touching your skin, soft lips kissing the ample skin of your neck.

truthfully, she’s never been a jealous person. as the rises at the break of dawn and sets in the cool evening, caitlyn truly believed she’s the one for you — no one else could dare compete.

it’s caitlyn and you.

but suddenly it doesn’t feel like the two of you against the world.

it’s vi and you, the anxiety bubbling in her stomach feels catastrophic, so she fucks into you, making you squirm with need. but still, you’re so entangled in vi, you don’t even notice her.

the night hadn’t started the way caitlyn planned — or wanted — but she lapped at your cunt as vi instructed her to do so. she’d been vying for an ounce of her attention. truthfully, she’d settle for either one of you, but the two seem to enthralled with one another to even notice her existence.

but fuck, you’re her girlfriend. only hers.

but when you’re close, you ask vi for permission to come. it’s vi’s whose name you scream out when you start falling apart on caitlyn’s cock. it’s vi rubbing your clit, whispering sweet nothing in your ear as you see stars, it’s vi who pulls you into her lap as you cling onto her for dear life, as if caitlyn’s touch feels poisonous.

nothing makes sense.

when caitlyn thinks for a moment, she’ll get an ounce of attention, vi handcuffs her to the chair across the bed.

“what are you doing?” dark blue eyebrows furrow as her, eye squinting harshly.

“you’ll get your turn, be patient.” vi scolds, but she has no intention on following through on her promise. this is to make a mockery her, to show her exactly what’s she been missing.

in the full nude, she walks over to the night stand, grabbing the harness, and makes sure everything is just right for you — the hot pink dildo protrudes, just as she promised. the pink bush she’s sporting matches deliciously as her happy trail follows up her lower abdomen.

caitlyn wants to curse at the wind when you immediately fall in obedience, commands fly off vi’s tongue and you adhere to her wishes. the first has your mouth wrapping around her pink cock, she gently thrusts, lubricating the plastic with your tongue. your hands twisting vi’s pierced nipples, playing with the silver barbell, taking pride and joy when her breath hitches.

“lay on your back for me, yeah?” vi doesn’t waste another beat.

with reckless intent, she slides in, every inch of her saturated in your warmth. you waste no time, fingers woven through her hair like a thread through embroidery. her pink hair becomes nothing more than a leash for you tug on, each powerful thrust to much, too soon — but you also are too terrified to let go.

"take it, princess. just like that—" violet pushes deep, clinging to her broad back, scratches made in tandem when she delivers a brutal pace. "tell her how much you love my cock."

there she sits, jaw slack, mouth open so wide she could catch flies.

vi can't tell if you she's crying and part of her almost feels bed until desperate pleas of her name fall from sanctioned lips. violet smirks as she looks back at caitlyn, waiting for the inevitable moment of her crumble.

there's only so much one girl could take and violet knew she had to be hitting her limit. soft please of, babygirl, falls on ears that only hears vi's instruction. deviously, violet smirks as she watches caitlyn realizes exactly what as going on.

but it's too late.

you're already far out her grip as your grip onto violet for dear life as you come apart on her cock, moaning louder than caitlyn's ever heard.

you're never loud, even when the two of you did have sex, it's always been quiet.

sweet. soft.

nothing about this is tender as your squirt all over her bed sheet, effectively sending violet over the edge from watching you come, fucking you harder as you moan into her neck, sharp teeth sinking into her collarbones.

to sink the final dagger in her heart, you initate violet's lips locking in yours, a smashing of desire reaches it's fateful end. caitlyn watches as you lose yourself in someone else, someone older, wiser — her stomach churns as she desperately tries to break free of the restraints.

she's been made a fool of, a mere mockery just for wanting to try something you suggested. but the jealousy falls around her, she's not strong enough to watch you enjoy getting your brains fucked by someone who has everything.

for the first time in her life, she feels you slipping through her fingers.

"would you stop touching her? this is over. we're done with you, vi. she's my girlfriend, get off her." bitterly, caitlyn sneers.

"oh, she does?"

with a roll of her strong hips, vi thrusts deep into your pussy, you clench around her, arching your back as you cry out for your lover's touch.

"well, i hate to be the barrier of bad news, but she's not done which means neither am i. so, enjoy the show, cait. you sure have paid a pretty penny for it."

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: child support

John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.

Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?

So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.

He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.

"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.

"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"

"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.

"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.

Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.

John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."

"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.

"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."

The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.

"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.

It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.

Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.

"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"

Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.

"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.

Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.