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soarrenbluejay · 1 month

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Supervillains for a community. (Well, except those jerks over in Gotham, insular lot, but they’re they’re one problem) Of course they do- supervillains are a group defined by strong opinions and a willingness to see them through, often with a healthy dash of societal failures and trauma as a catalyst.

The fentons, while not active even on the online message boards, are well known and explosive when they do show up, full of fascinating insights and hours long rants on mad science on hair pin turns courtesy of that ADHD attention span. Bit of the cryptids you feel honored to bump into kind of deal. Besides, like a good quarter of the community as it aged, they’d settled down and had kids (not necessarily in that order) and taken it very seriously! Out in the middle of nowhere, where even the most fearsome government outpost members, the local branch of the IRS, quake before them in fear. Out of the way.

Reveal gone okay-ish, Danny moves to Gotham still to get some air bc now things are Akward and he landed that engineering scholarship which is loads better than any other college would give him with his track record. So- the mysterious Fenton children are finally crawling out of hiding! Everyone is psyched! And roll in to Gotham en masse to witness the fireworks!

Except Danny is Determined To Be Normal. He’s had enough of the throwing himself into harms way shit for a lifetime- he wants to be free to peacefully built Rube Goldberg machines and unintentional increasingly complex bombs to his hearts content. JAZZ, on the other hand- the coveted token Normal One, has finally snapped! She’s watched her baby brother she practically raised throw himself into danger over and over and could do nothing, and now that she’s exposed to this whole network of superheroes outside of small town Amnity, some of those uglier emotions are coming out. And boy is she pissed! And can’t afford to show it much while filing the paperwork to have Arkham legally razed to the ground!

See I love this idea of like, niches in superhero society. A villain the heroes know they can plop their kiddo down with for an exciting afternoon brawl while they take care of a particularly grisly case and come back to a few hours later ranting about some new life lesson and a new move they really want to try. A villain who has a functioning moral compass despite their somewhat batshit long term goal and you can contact to fuck with another villains’s plan so they can laugh at them and you can have an easy afternoon. One who pries up hostile architecture and fills in pot holes, idk man. Get creative here, there’s such potential!

So Jazz becomes a Training villain- someone the heroes know their sidekicks will walk away from in a fight 100% of the time, usually with some new lesson to ponder and only a couple of bruises. Sometimes even snacks!

She also absolutely ambushes mentors to check that they’re worth the kiddo, which they appreciate once they get over being jumped in a dark alley by a 7 foot Amazon trained force of nature. They are not used to being on that side of the jumping, it’s a little unnerving.

(Yes, she low key adopts Shazam upon checking in with him on cursory ‘is the main hero of this city and asshole’ checkin. Yes, the super clones get yoinked out from under Superman’s negligent thumb to go have a blast with Ellie. What about it?)

This however only encourages more assorted weirdos to crawl out of the woodwork. It’s not often one of their own forfeits their potential spot for the running of the coveted Most Normal I Swear prize, but when they do it’s bound to be good! But jazz is off hounding various heroes and punching the faces in of pedophiles and shit whenever there’s no cape within easy reach, and so is a mite bit harder to contact than Danny, who has innocently gotten an apprenticeship under a clockworker for access to their workshop and is gleefully going about doing nerdy shit with great abandon.

Plus this is Gotham. No one gives a shit if someone in the Mad Alchemist uniform and still smoking from their latest experiment pokes their head in a window to bother the local shrimp teen- none of the usual social rules apply, everyone’s crazy here! So everyone drops any and all attempts at masking and just acts their genuine unhinged selves, much to the alarm of the Bats and frustration of Danny.

Bc he cannot get these mfers to go. Away. Even liberal use of the creep stick has little effect when the interloper is calibrated for an opponent with super speed or laser vision or whatever, and he’s trying to maintain his guise as a Normal College Student Do No Investigate.

So he calls in the big guns. He’s not super active in the supervillain kids group chat ever since things in amnity calmed the fuck down post becoming King and then immediately using a loophole that says he will not take the throne until he is grown, as defined by finishing learning his trade a la the medieval standards Pariah set up. So he can just take his sweet ass time with his graduate degree and out of inter dimensional bull shit that much longer! Point is, he hasn’t taken the chance to rant over there in a while, so his Crazy friends are getting a lil worried.

The change to come over and shout at their batshit crazy but (mostly) well meaning parent AND see Danny? Score!

The bats, however, are getting awfully suspicious about this one kid that villains from all over the country are flocking to, especially young and upcoming ones as of recently! And he’s acting his engineering course- all the worst rogues are known to have flown through their PhD studies prior to Cracking. They seem to have a real problem on their hands with this Fenton guy.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #mad science #supervillain community #bonus points if you can pull out some super niche comic villain #justice for kite man #local child of a crazy chemist: so you know that trick you showed me with the soda and the reaction that could turn into just like all foam #Danny: yeah and also back the fuck up #lcoacc: so it’s been like my comfort food right but like I started wondering what you could do #danny: oh no (he says while making what amounts of an overachieving smoke bomb)#lcoacc: so I was like what if I add more of a base to it so it could be solid and then maybe just like a LIL acid to see what happens #Danny: oh ancients #lcoacc: but then the killjoy supes came in a ruined everything from where I was ruining lex Luther’s day #Danny:… did you get in on camera #lcoacc: OF COURSE. oh also like everyone ever if coming over for a sleepover lol #Danny: WHAT I CANT FEED YOU MONSTERS #lcoacc: no worrries we’ll rob a bulk store or something lol #Danny: nO

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starcurtain · 2 months

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Alhaitham, the moment his roommate leaves town: Ditches his house, hangs out in shady back alleys at the port, joins the black market to make illegal purchases, picks fights with random Eremites in the cafes, brawls with the chief of police, raids a forbidden temple, overthrows the government--

Call that "Kavehless Behavior."

#genshin impact #alhaitham #kaveh #haikaveh #kavetham #shitposting like always #but it is actually HILARIOUS #the difference in Alhaitham's behavior when Kaveh is in town versus when he's not #Kaveh is literally the one thing standing between #Alhaitham being quiet and professional #or a completely unhinged anarchist #thinking of it this way #makes the fact that he IMMEDIATELY makes a big deal about going home on time #after fighting Siraj so fucking funny #“Shit I forgot my bf's home”#someone should keep a record #of how many fights Alhaitham starts when his man ain't around

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ladyredmoon13 · 8 months

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DCxDP prompt

Twas love at first sight.

After being crowned Ghost King. Danny begins teaching his high council and advisors how to make portals to the human realm in case of emergencies or if they ever need to talk.

Princess Dorathea was having trouble with this particular ability but she thought she was getting the hang of it. Well, she thought she was, anyway. She honestly didn't know what happened but now she was in a dark, dank city that reeked of bad intentions and death.

It was foul, disgusting, and felt all-consuming. She didn't like it. But that all changed when she caught sight of him. From down the alleyway Dora heard loud hissing before a brawl started.

Thinking that a fellow ghost might need help with ghost hunters she ran towards the fray. What she saw when she reached the mouth of the alley was not a ghost fighting back ghost hunters. She should have known, she would have sensed if there was another nearby.

Nevertheless, she was no less captivated by the man that she saw. He was, for the lack of more eloquent words, very large. 9 feet tall and broad in both chest and shoulders. His claws were sharp, his teeth pointed and his entire body was covered in scales.

He was one of the most handsome beings she had ever seen. Not to mention the bravest. Currently taking on many hunters at once and holding them back with such fierce strength.

She had to know just who that magnificent moral was. Dora could not leave till she had at least a name to put to that sculpted face.

-Dora/Killer Croc

#dc x dp crossover #danny fenton #batman #batfam #killer croc #princess dorathea #ghost king danny #love at first sight #danny phantom

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luna-rainbow · 7 months

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The shield-bearer vs the gun-wielder

(Unmarked GIFs are credited to @lost-shoe - miss you 😭)

One frequent interpretation of the Steve-Bucky dichotomy sees Steve as the protector and defender with the shield, while Bucky is the aggressor and assailant wielding a gun or knife or even his metal arm. It's hard to shake that impression when we remember just how savage Bucky can be as the Winter Soldier, whereas Steve notably did not carry a weapon after CATFA. Promotional stills where they appear together reinforce that image, with Bucky often appearing with an offensive weapon (or holding his arm up offensively) while Steve holds his shield defensively.

But the picture of Bucky stepping in front of Karpov made me rethink. Despite Bucky's loss at the new super soldiers' hands a moment before, he is remarkably restrained in what he does as he leads Karpov out of the cage. I am not against the meta that suggested he gained some satisfaction at striking back at the new super soldiers, but he stuck to his goal of guarding Karpov instead of getting swept up in the adrenaline and joining the brawl - as other guards in the background did.

Bucky is a protector. I know there are already lots of meta about this: from the moment we meet him in the back alley, Bucky is using himself as a human shield between Steve and the bully. He puts himself at Steve's back when he's rescued from the Hydra facility and he picks up the shield to protect Steve on the train. Even that one scene of Bucky being a sniper in CATFA, he shot the enemy to protect Steve. As Bucky, his acts of aggression happens when he's protecting someone (usually Steve).

So it's interesting to re-examine the violence in CATWS. Yes, Bucky/Winter Soldier is capable of extraordinary ferocity in taking down Fury and Steve and Nat, but he's also someone who sits there placidly when Pierce's maid startles them. Proactive attack isn't his instinctual state - and that becomes clearer when we see more of Bucky in CACW. He waits until violence is upon him before he retaliates: whether in Bucharest, or in the German airport, or finally in Siberia with Tony.

And on reflection, even in this climactic CATWS scene, the visuals are consistent with Bucky’s modus operandi — he is placing himself as a human shield between his enemy (Steve) and what he needs to guard (the Helicarrier behind him). The trail of destruction he leaves behind on his way onto the Helicarrier is frank reminder of how capable of violence he is, but this moment on the bridge holds a curious stillness. He is waiting, but not as a predator waiting for his prey, but rather like a lone guard’s final stand against inevitable doom. And perhaps — his aim was never on taking the most number of lives on the airfield, it was to disperse and disable anyone who might interfere with the Helicarrier’s launch.

Bucky's focus during the first part of the fight with Steve seems to be more on the drive Steve is carrying rather than on killing Steve. Killing Steve only comes after the Helicarriers fail (which begs the question: was Bucky specifically instructed to stop Steve without killing him and then kill him afterwards, or did Bucky have enough presence of mind to hold back for as long as he could?) Even as the Winter Soldier, Bucky seems most in his element when protecting something behind him.

On the converse, we have Steve, whose symbol is the shield, and I think it misleads (maybe even intentionally on Steve's part) the audience and his enemies into thinking that Steve's strong point is defence.

But it's not. I wouldn't call Steve an aggressor (and I'm not a huge fan of the angry chihuahua fanon), but he is far more proactive in his actions and a lot more aggressive in his attacks than the shield might suggest.

Even this memorable image, which seems to suggest Steve is on the defense against Bucky's raging attack is actually the opposite -- Steve is rushing Bucky from the side, and Bucky's punch serves to stop Steve in his tracks (i.e. it’s Bucky's self-defense against Steve's attack).

Our first meeting with Steve establishes him as a challenger - he challenges the recruitment rules, he challenges the disrespectful guy in the cinema, he challenges Colonel Philips and Hydra and the Red Skull - and eventually, he goes on to challenge Loki and Tony and Fury and Pierce and SHIELD in the modern world.

We don't see Steve carrying a weapon in the modern era (except for maybe brief moments of him using a weapon in Avengers) and it's easy, for the audience but also for Steve’s enemies, to forget that Steve uses the shield as an offensive weapon. Sure, it serves its function as an actual shield, but Steve hurls it as a projectile weapon intended to incapacitate so many times I won't be able to list them all so I'll just let this picture speak for itself.

Even at their first reunion, Bucky is running away to avoid a confrontation with the witness (Steve) while Steve is chasing after him to confront the sniper.

And I think this describes their different traits to a tee - Steve is like the bloodhound with a keen nose for trouble and doesn’t rest until he’s chased it down, while Bucky is like the guard dog who patiently sits by his family until commanded to fight or provoked. That's not to say Steve is always picking fights, but rather he's got an intuitive awareness of where the source of the conflict is and has no qualms putting himself into the fray. It’s also not to say that Bucky is always avoidant or apathetic, but rather he tends to watch and wait unless it threatens those he cares about...and that is probably deserving of its own meta to discuss how their separate upbringings make Steve and Bucky different in their confrontation readiness.

"I thought you were more than just a shield," Batroc says, so Steve clips his shield back on his harness and dukes it out with his fists.

Of course Steve is more than his shield, because the shield is just a piece of disguise for who Steve Rogers really is - someone who's always assessing the world around him (rather than hiding behind the shield) and ready to challenge the injustices (rather than waiting for the fight to come to him).

The real dichotomy between Steve and Bucky is that Steve is a natural challenger, who first picks up the shield to help him undertake a single-man offence on a Hydra base. When he wakes up in the modern world and sees that the imagery of the shield is entrenched with his identity, he uses that symbol to mask his fiery defiance while turning the shield itself into a weapon that works both in offense and defence. Bucky is a natural protector, who had picked up fighting and later weapons for defence and self-defence. Hydra then turned his loyal temperament and his skill set into “the fist of Hydra” - capable of both protection and targeted destruction.

They seem to have chosen (or been assigned) a weapon that is opposite to their instincts, but it’s also why they work so well together as a unit. Steve's convictions and idealism give Bucky the impetus to take up arms, and Bucky's constancy and protection give Steve the confidence to forge ahead.

The man who attacks injustices with a shield, and at his back, the man who defends him with a gun.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #bucky barnes meta #steve rogers meta #stucky meta #long post

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deepdwellingsteamboat · 2 months

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The Back Alley Brawl Challenge DISHONORED: DUNWALL CITY TRIALS (2012) ◈ 3 / ∞

#dishonored #gamingedit #dishonorededit #d:edits #d:dhdct

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rainswept · 8 months

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I'M HERE. lyney.

warnings // 1.3k words. major backstory spoilers. in depth/poetically described gore, dead/rotting animal mention, overall content may be disturbing to some readers - proceed with caution. injury, main character death, angst. childhood friends trope !! ambiguous relationship (could be viewed as platonic or romantic, but pining/unsaid feelings are implied).

"now i'm here," lyney chirped, jumping out from behind a wooden crate along the sides of the wet street, before bounding back again and leaving only his voice as an indication he was there at all, "now i'm not!"

lynette looked on, unimpressed, while you clapped. of course, it was only a silly game; but you were more than willing to indulge him.

the air smelled of rain and sodden wood, and you could feel the cool moisture upon your skin. puddles and wooden planks knocked off of crates littered the streets, the post-rain painting the sky a gloomy gray. tall buildings formed of metal sheets outstretched, cradling the city paths the three of you walked. desolate as it was, it felt like home.

the steps of six boots into fresh puddles echoed alongside an otherwise quiet world. the rain had just settled, so off you went, in search of the next crowd of people for lyney and lynette to perform for. there was never any particular place the three of you stuck to; there couldn't be. so, with time, you began to see them as your home instead.

the worry of what was next to settle in your truthless maw dispersed when you were with them. in their company, neither worry nor hunger gnawed at your stomach. the taste of food was simply not as comforting when eating alone. no .. you could be in a sea of people. so, not just being alone; without them.

☽ . * ☾

"i'm here!" lyney called, turning the corner into the small alley in which you three often resided.

you and lynette glanced up, immediately filled with vigor at the sound of his voice. while lynette stayed seated, huddled in a cardboard box beside you, you wriggled your way out of her grasp and jumped up to meet lyney half-way. as he dipped his head and took off his hat with a quick bow, spare coins came tumbling into your outstretched hands. you thanked him, turning to lynette, and he waited until you two counted what you needed before he took his own spoils.

it wasn't long until you were on the move again. the three of you huddled close as you slipped through the crowd of the night market, hands held tight in a chain as to not lose each other. you stepped up to a merchant together, dirty coins scrounged together just enough to be worth something in your outstretched palms.

you ate comfortably that night, huddled next to lyney and lynette in a small alley you had decided to make home temporarily. lynette was on the left, her tail wrapped around you and lyney; he was on the right, one arm tucked between you as he ate his meal with the other. you were right in the middle, head resting on lyney's shoulder. you could hear his heartbeat, dull and faint from how far away, but there nonetheless.

you drifted off to sleep comfortably, warm between their bodies as you sheltered each other from the cold night air.

☽ . * ☾

"i'm here," you whispered, holding lyney tight. your arms wrapped around his shaking frame as he cried, burying his face in the crook of your neck as to not allow you to bear witness to his tears. "it's okay. let it out."

"i'm here," lyney said softly, tracing circles over your knuckles with his thumb as you stared, mortified, the first time you saw a rotting animal — mauled so badly the species was unrecognizable — slumped up against the wall of a building. flies buzzed in your ears, and lyney murmured soft reassurances to muffle the sounds even as the sight filled his own body with dread. "it's okay. walk with me, now. keep your eyes closed. i'll guide you."

"i'm here," you said, words only meant for lyney's ears, stepping in front of him protectively as you steeled yourself for a brawl over food scarcity. you were always the better fighter. "i won't let them hurt you."

"i'm here," lyney called, entering the small space you were currently residing in, throwing you the bigger piece of bread between the two pieces he had retrieved. "this one's for you."

"i'm here," you said, the first time he performed alone, because lynette was sick. "you did great."

"i'm here," lyney said, barely above a whisper as to not wake you, hand resting on the back of your head as you curl into him for warmth in your sleep. "i hope you're comfortable."

"i'm here," you yelled, gasping for breath, as you rushed to lyney's aid — all because he tripped and scraped a knee. "are you okay?"

"i'm here." "i'm here." "i'm here." "i'm here."

you were always there, and he was too.

you hadn't eaten, yet you still felt like you'd throw up pure acid; as if the impact of your heart plummeting into your stomach would actually cause some to splash up.

the sight was as awful as that day. you wanted to see blood flow beneath his skin, in his veins, and watch it turn his face hot when you looked at him. you didn't want to see it outside of him. it was spilling out his body much too quickly, unlike the words you wished you could've said sooner.

deep crimson laid out for the world to see, blood pouring out like heartfelt words; up-tilted smiles, and choked out apologies. the dirty street beneath lyney's limp body was beginning to turn the same color as his open wounds, blood following the imperfect curves of the rubble-littered concrete. the blood glinted in the light like a precious ruby, marred skin splayed open to reveal flesh pure and untainted.

the stream, yet to coagulate, picked up pieces of dirt and tiny dislodged rocks as it followed its path. it reminded you of how lyney found you. you were the debris, and he the blood, outstretched grasp picking you up and carrying you to all the places you wished to go — with him all the while. without him, you would be immoble .. useless.

.. but the blood did not have a care in the world; it did not have any thought as it meandered its way across the ground. it only sought the path already cut for it, where ever that may lead.

.. it .. did not have a mind of its own. blood .. it is born to sustain one person, to keep them alive. it only served one purpose; carry life to and from their heart. now, without a body to keep alive .. it had no use in the world.

.. that was quite the fitting metaphor for you, now.

you cradle him gently, letting him lean on you as he breathes. it's weak, it's fragile, and it's strained. your arms wrap around his body and his hands grasp feebly at your clothes, trying to hold you close the best he can.

stay with me, you want to say. stay with me.

but you know better than to have hope now. you've seen enough death that you can predict when it's coming.

.. is he even still conscious?

yet, regardless of your rationale, he seems to read your mind.

"i'm here," lyney murmurs, voice soft and eyes fluttering between open and shut. the last of the day's sun glints in his glassy irises, pupils shrinking and dilating as he tries his best to focus on you despite his blurred vision. he smiles softly, looking up at you with only his eyes. it would hurt too much to move anything else.

.. but, soon the pain ceases. in his final moments, he manages to glance at you once more, without the binds of wound left to mar his final memory.

you brush the stray hairs away from his face. "i know. i know."

slowly, the sun goes down. his eyes have long since stopped moving, and his final breath had drifted past your face and into the winds hours ago. yet, you're still here, his now-cold blood painting the entire front of you a glassy red, holding onto him as if trying to keep his lifeless body warm still.

now he's here. now he's not.

#✰ RAINSWEPT #✰ RAINSWEPT LYNEY #lyney #lyney x reader #lyney genshin #lyney genshin impact #lyney x you #genshin impact lyney #lyney gi #genshin lyney #gi lyney #lyney x y/n #lyney x gender neutral reader

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anjanahalo · 8 months

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Wayne vs Fenton 2

start of the madness

Here's the actual blurb I wrote. It's from Damian's POV, post him punching the seemingly stalking Daniel Fenton in the face while they stand in an alley. ~*~

Fenton made for, in many ways, an infuriating opponent. It became obvious quickly that any formal training he had involved only the bare basics. Everything else drew from a street brawler’s efficiency, tactics used to strike fast and hard but without finesse. Between the two, Damian was the superior fighter. His training allowed him to dodge most attacks and connect more hits, and Fenton appeared rather weak when it came to avoiding throws. Logically, the fight should have ended quickly and cleanly in Damian’s favor. It didn’t. Fenton’s clear advantage laid in being able to take Damian’s hits and continue advancing, often with a laugh and a genuine smile. Damian started the fight filled with irritation and rage. Fenton engaged with what appeared to be genuine delight. The way Damian literally almost threw Fenton off a rooftop once they somehow ended up ascending a fire escape and began combining their brawl with skyline parkour, for example, lead to Fenton only grinning and bounding back into the fray. It utterly confused Damian. The confusion changed to matching delight as he realized how fun this was. A no holds barred martial battle unlike anything he ever received from his family, and one that didn’t hold any of the pressure of his League training for perfection. Just an exchange of punches, hits, and laughter. Damian hadn’t felt so free in ages, nor so fulfilled, as though he’d quenched a long lasting thirst he didn’t realize plagued him. He didn’t even think about the state of himself or Fenton when Alfred opened the door to Wayne manor to see the two boys covered in scrapes, bruises, and school uniforms torn from their hours long tussle against each other. Alfred stared, most surprised by the matching smiles Damian and his apparent classmate shared. “Welcome home, Master Damian. You are a bit late for dinner, but I saved you a plate, and can easily provide something for your guest.” “Oh, it’s that late already?” Damian asked. “Sorry, Alfred. We, ah,” Damian faltered in coming up with a reasonable explanation for what just happened. Fenton pulled out his phone from his bag, checking the time. “Oh, shit, I have like a million missed calls from Vlad.” Alfred glared a bit at the foul language, but allowed it to slide considering the two looked as though they’d been tossed in a hurricane. “Do you require a ride home, Mister…” “Oh! It’s Danny. Sorry, sir. Um, maybe?” “Fenton, you must stay for Alfred’s cooking at least. You can explain you’re visiting your friend at the Wayne manor. I can’t imagine him being upset at your becoming familiar with me.” “Wait, you’re a Wayne? Like ‘Brucie Wayne’ Wayne?” “You didn’t realize this?” “I barely managed to figure out your first name! How would I know that? Wait, we’re friends?” “After that fight? Of course we are. Please, accept my invitation for a visit. I believe it is also Friday, so perhaps you could spend the night, as well?” “Like a sleepover?” “If you wish to call it that,” Damian acquiesced. Danny tilted his head in thought, then quickly sent a text before silencing his phone. “Vlad’s a fruitloop anyway."

#dpxdc #danny phantom #damian wayne #here i go writing again #wayne vs fenton

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wonderlandsakura · 8 months

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Everlasting trio but Ellie is their daughter and Dan is their estranged adult son that they're trying to build a relationship back up with and Danny and Vlad have a weird divorced-but-still-co-parenting relationship over both children where Vlad pays maintenance and takes the kids on weekends and holidays.

That is to say, Everlasting trio move to crime alley in Gotham and set up a family restaurant with their kids that are much to old to be their kids and enough money to throw around to and give to street kids and create boarding towns and generally revitalize the area they live in like mob bosses without the need for protection money or bank robbing and it's enough to flag them, even with Sam's family money.

Also Danny is the Ghost King, so more random money.

People ask where the kids are and they say they're with their other father and everyone is weirded the fuck out and it's wonderful chaos :3

More Random Ideas below the cut

Ellie lives with them most of the time but Dan has a job at the Daily Planet and lives in metropolis.

However he's known to come by for the sole purpose of messing with Black Mask for some unknown reason (that I also don't know, maybe it's courting, maybe it's revenge) and often rolls up to the shop with him tossed over his shoulder gagged up or with a bag of his left socks or mentions having to leave soon to steal X item he just replaced and Everlasting trio don't blink an eye.

Jason is a regular and he and the goon union (cause Sam gave them the presentation and set them up with the representative) love and protect the place and it's owners (though they don't need it).

Ellie goes to Gotham U and terrorizes Dami and Jon and also confuses them with her tales of traveling and hints at her Tragic Backstory TM.

Jazz lives nearby and works at Arkham and works with her sister-in-law to try and get the higher ups to start the Rogue Rehabilitation Program where rogues like the Riddler, Poison Ivy and Harley can feed their obsessions in a healthier way that doesn't harm society.

Sam also has tea and cakes and bitching at the industrialisation time on the second Sunday of every month (or once a fortnight when something especially shitty crops up).

Tucker may or may not moonlight as the tech support guy for some of the rogues.

Danny doesn't patrol, he's retired for a reason, but he became the part-time caretaker of the Gotham Observatory, which is right next to the Gotham Cemetery which he is also the part-time caretaker for and he has a reputation as that crazy, creepy but also genuinely kind and helpful dude that runs that restaurant in Crime Alley.

Maybe he also converses with Lady Gotham from time to time and just walks into endless silent shadows and walks right back out.

Vlad visits occasionally and he and Danny tend to end up in a shouting match that often leads to a brawl which always ends with them injured and holed up in a corner booth of the restaurant with their respective drinks quietly, furtively and civilly discussing something as if the fight had never happened. (The adult Fenton-Manson-Foleys just ignore it and if you ask, say "bonding" and move on)

The Fenton Parents sometimes... visit. It's Chaos.

Danny has very publicly brawled with Killer Croc at least once and can be seen bringing down food into the sewers for Grundy every evening after the shop closes.

#dc x dp #dp × dc #this is a mishmash of ideas i like #and there's probably more that i can add #but im tired so they're not popping up as readily

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plainclothesdisaster · 8 days

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Red Knight Chapter 5

DP x DC | Dead on Main

Read on Ao3

——

The night after the brawl in Danny’s apartment Jason was out as Red Hood scouting a possible arms deal when he spotted it— a Curse Ghost, vaguely beastly and oozing black goo, just as ugly and unsettling as the one from Danny’s place. Jason texted him.

Found one.

So you didnʼt lose my number after all. Iʼll be right there.

Jason sent him the location- a rusted sewer grate at the edge of crime alley that he’d seen a curse ghost vanish into. Danny arrived minutes later in jeans and a jacket, same as always. Not like Jason had been expecting any different, but he had gotten used to working with the Bat. Capes and masks came standard. Danny was anything but standard.

“You bring the gear?” Danny asked as he stepped up toward the sewer gate Jason stood beside.

Jason opened his jacket to reveal he had strapped all kinds of whips and tasers and lasers and launchers to his holsters. He even wore the invisibility cuffs. And the sword.

Danny grinned. “I also brought something extra I think youʼll like.” He reached into his own jacket and pulled out, with great panache, a pair of plain white gym socks.

Jason scowled. “A selection from your laundry pile?” Still, he took them as Danny handed them over.

“If by laundry pile you mean my pile of genius inventions, then yes.”

“Iʼll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Danny shrugged. “If getting sewer water in your shoes is your thing I won’t stop you.”

Jason frowned.

And then he found himself wearing Dannyʼs socks (back in his boots, mind you), hunting the curse down the drain tunnel, hovering inches above the water instead of sludging through it.

“Real flight just wasnʼt doable with the tech, but these still have their uses.” Danny commented from ahead, his voice echoing down the tunnel completely careless of stealth. He also hovered, simple as if gravity had just turned off for him, none of the wobbles or wavers in balance that Jason was currently trying to hide. Forty feet into the darkness of the sewer and Jason was relying on the night vision in his helmet. Meanwhile Danny seemed just fine.

As they approached a junction in the pipe, Danny slowed. “Its here,” he whispered. Jason sensed it too, somehow. The air was colder and more alive somehow, the colors more warped and saturated.

They peeked silently around the corner and there it was, lounging half submerged like an overstuffed crocodile. Black ooze seeped into the water all around it, making it hard to tell where the beast itself began.

Danny threw him a look, anticipation dancing in his Lazarus green eyes. And then without further warning he pounced.

Hopes of keeping their socks dry vanished. Danny was quickly sopping, no thanks to his outfit choice. Still he fought like a terror, ducking out of the way of massive dripping jaws that threatened to halve him as he returned blows and blasts in kind. Jason watched with trained curiosity. Heʼd been so preoccupied with not dying last time he hadnʼt learned much. This time he bit down his fear enough to make sense of how the curse ghost moved- like water and like a rockslide- and how Danny countered- like mist and lightning.

The curse ghost turned toward Jason and like a firecracker hid anger ignited and lost any inclination he had to stay on the sidelines. He instinctively reached for his guns but then thought better of it in close quarters. Instead he pulled the sword off his back. He swung with stiff determination, slicing through black crocodile hide. He felt a grim thrill as the beast roared.

Jason fought with less caution this time. More rhythm. In the end they overpowered it, beating it down deeper into the sludge until Danny sucked it up with the thermos, neat and tidy.

Danny smiled at him. “Nice work.”

Jason kneeled where it had fallen. Traces of black goo remained on the walls. He ran his fingers through it and it stuck to his gloves like slimy tar. “What the hell are these guys made of?”

Danny kneeled next to him, also inspecting the sludge remains. He pursed his lips. “It’s corrupted ectoplasm.”

Like Jason’s, Danny didn’t say. Didn’t need to.

“These guys are more solid than regular ghosts. It didn’t just phase out of here. It splashed in the water.” Danny rubbed the goo between his fingers before shaking it off.

“You said they’re Gotham’s curse, right? Makes sense that they’d be solid here, more than the regular ghosts.”

Danny looked at him, studying his face as if his mask wasn’t there. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

Why did he feel such a surge of glowing pride at Danny’s acknowledgement? Like passing another test. Earning his way into this world.

He caught himself. What the hell did he need to prove? He knew he was a great detective- and he could do it all without all the fancy tools and access that Bruce and his flock had.

But solving the curse ghosts was one thing. Solving Danny was what he really cared about. And to do that he needed Danny to trust him.

During the days that followed he tried to tend to his other cases, and he thought about Danny.

Mid stakeout of an upstart drug trafficker his mind wandered. Danny, going to class like some normal college kid. Eating lunch. Making friends. Did he have friends? Jason considered tailing him again to find out, but he thought better of it. If Danny caught him snooping now it wouldn’t be easy to explain it away, and he’d lose the burgeoning trust between them. Or burgeoning friendship. Were they friends?

Jason had made allies for less before, but with Danny he couldn’t let his guard down, not completely. Jason remembered how he took down four thugs like it was nothing. He remembered how Danny looked at him with icy eyes right before he’d dropped him off a building. Every instinct reminded him Danny was dangerous.

The back alley door he’d been watching opened and it took him two seconds longer than it should have for him to react. The men nearly saw him as he ducked his head behind the corner and out of sight.

He eavesdropped on the drug deal, mentally filing away details on where the money was going. He watched as the men got in a black car, noted the license plate. It all felt a bit pedestrian compared to the Lovecraftian beasts he now knew to be lurking in the shadows.

He’d dealt with his fate share of meta weirdness and science experiments gone wrong in Gotham. But he wondered if this was how Bruce felt after coming back from dealing with Justice Leage level business. How was he supposed to focus on small time drug trade when a supernatural threat loomed large over his city?

Amity Park continued to yield no answers, even when he deepened his search. Going out of his way to delve into Gotham library archives wielded no new leads. Newspapers, business reports, even government documents- all missing or, more worrisome, heavily redacted.

When he looked again for the scientific paper by the Drs. Fenton, it had also disappeared from the net. Good thing he’d made a backup when he first discovered it, but it meant someone wasn’t taking too kindly to him poking around.

None of what he found explained what Danny was. Or, maybe more importantly, what kind of person he was.

He remembered something Alfred had once told Bruce after long nights of fruitless research. Some things you can’t solve while holed up in your cave. Some you have to do personally.

He didnʼt remember agreeing to it but he found himself meeting up with Danny nearly every night. Even if he tried to work on his other cases, inevitably a curse ghost would show up and derail his evening plans.

Danny speculated that they sought out Jason more now because he’d proved himself a threat, the same way they came after Danny. “Now that they know your ecto signature-“ whatever the hell that was- they’ll come looking. Territorial bastards.”

“Easier than hunting them down I guess.”

“I like the positive attitude.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

They established a meeting place on the roof old hotel that sat in the heart of crime alley. There had been texts exchanged at first but as the weeks went on they became unnecessary. Jason knew that when he swung up on to the roof each night that Danny would be there waiting for him.

That particular night he landed on the roof with barely a sound. Dannyʼs eyes still flicked over immediately. He sat where he typically did on the roofs edge, and his lips turned up in a half smile as soon as he saw Jason. Excitement buzzed in Jasonʼs skin like neon. Adrenaline. Just the anticipation for the upcoming hunt, he told himself. Certainly nothing else.

They weren’t waiting long before sirens and burglar alarms rang like beacons a few streets over.

“Shall we?” Jason cracked his knuckles.

“After you.”

Jason tipped himself forward off the building, diving in a short free fall. As he neared the street he didn’t reach for his grapple gun, instead he pulled on that energy under his heart, focused on his socks and hovered the last few feet to the ground. Danny followed behind in lazy twists and curls like a leaf in the wind.

They caught up with the curse ghost on the next block over. It ran through the street, a mangy goopy dog, as tall as a truck with too-sharp teeth. As it passed lights in doorways flickered and went dark, cars honked in the streets as drivers cut each other off, the cops on the corner stopped a group of teens with hands itching at their hips.

Jason felt it too, the way that whisky burns down your throat, riling you at your core.

“Ooh it’s a real nasty one,” Danny quipped. Was it Jason’s imagination or were his teeth even sharper than usual?

So far Jason had only encountered the beasts in places already filled with death and fear and aggression. It made his skin crawl to see the effect work the other way. The beast crashed through the street like an invisible wave, spreading misfortune, inciting aggression. He tasted acid at the back of his throat.

Danny had told him the curse caused suffering and then fed on it, a cycle that perpetuated ending with it getting stronger and stronger. All at the expense of Gotham. It struck Jason as blunt as a crowbar to the side. No matter what he did as Red Hood, no matter what any of the bats did— peace in Gotham had less than a snowball’s chance in hell. Not with these beasts running wild.

He ran after it wordlessly, Danny by his side. They followed the trail of misfortune through the streets of crime alley and then into downtown proper. Jason had half a though about truces and territories made with Batman in where he could and could not operate, but any qualms blew past him as his vision tunneled on the beast.

Heat churned under his skin and he felt a swell of rage despite the fact that Danny still kept pace beside him. This rage wasn’t sharp and bright like the rage he intimately knew, instead it burned oily and black.

They rounded a corner and real heat smacked him in the face. Ahead of them a building burned vigorously, flames eating their way out windows on every floor. He watched as the curse ghost dove through the open front door into the inferno.

“Shit,” Danny hissed beside him. “I’m going in.”

Without further warning Danny disappeared, presumably diving in after the beast.

The rage still burning in his gut egged Jason on to follow. Then, a cry from above. In the window, two kids framed by an orange inferno. Below on the street other people covered in soot pointed up, desperation in their voices.

Sense snapped back to him like an ice bath, priorities set. He strode toward the building and launched a grapple line, zipping up to the window.

“Grab on tight.” He hoisted two little girls off the windowsill and they followed his instruction, clinging to his midsection. He lowered them all down just as a loud crack came from the building above as the beams began to burst.

As he set the girls on the ground the older one spoke up, her voice barely a squeak. “Our brother-“

Fuck. Jason looked back up. The window frame was nearly devoured in flame. Fuck.

The wail of sirens echoed steadily closer, but not fast enough. He couldn’t just rush in unscathed like Danny had, he wasn’t wearing the jacket that made him intangible (supposedly, he hadn’t yet made it work all the way). But he still had to do something. He gripped his grapple gun and steeled himself.

And then Danny shot out of the second story window like a comet, landing haphazardly beside Jason. Around his neck, wrapped safely within his arms, was a little boy.

The sisters cried out with joy and Danny passed the boy to them, dazed and soot covered but still breathing. Danny smiled up at Jason, ashes tangled in the mess of his black hair.

“Red Hood?”

Shit. He would recognize that voice even if he were still dead.

“Batman.” Jason turned and saw his former mentor illuminated in firelight.

Fire trucks and EMTs arrived moments later, tending to the civilians and doing what they could against the blaze. Out of the corner of his eye Jason saw a flash of the iconic red and yellow on the roof. Robin was deploying some kind of fire extinguishing smoke bombs from above.

“What happened here?” Batman was never one to mince words. Still, Jason didn’t appreciate the accusatory undertone.

“Isn’t a guy allowed to save a few kids from a burning building once in a while?” He retorted.

“You’re outside of Crime Alley. Any particular reason?”

“W—“ he glanced over his shoulder. Danny was nowhere to be seen. Good. “I was just passing through. Helped how I could. But now it seems like you and Gotham’s finest have got it handled so I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait—“

Jason in fact did not wait. He shouldered his way past running firemen and slipped deeper into the shadows behind the crowd. He remembered the invisibility cuffs and with a bit of focus he made extra certain Batman couldn’t follow.

He waited till he was safely back inside the streets of crime alley (he chuckled to himself that anyone could think of these streets as safe) before he dropped the invisibility.

He found Danny waiting for him on top of their hotel.

“You okay?” Danny asked as Jason sat next to him on the edge of the roof.

“Fine.”

“Sorry I bailed so quickly, I-“

“Batman can not find out about you,” Jason interrupted. Meta or not, Batman wouldn’t be pleased if anyone as powerful as Danny was roaming around Gotham unchecked. If Bruce saw him, if he got any sense of his capabilities, he’d certainly confront him, or worse.

“Yeah, exactly, way ahead of you,” Danny breathed. “The Dark Knight is not on the list of heroes I’d like to meet.”

Jason hummed in the affirmative, satisfied.

“You get the curse ghost?”

“What? Oh, no. Forgot about him as soon as I saw there were still people. in the building. I think I got them all out before the B man showed up.”

“You’re a hero then. Or vigilante.”

“Was. I’m retired.”

“You don’t seem retired to me.”

“It’s complicated.”

In truth Jason had been relieved when Danny flew out of the building with that kid. Relieved for the kid of course, but equally relieved that Danny had chosen the civilians over the curse ghost. It meant that maybe he was just as altruistic as he claimed to be.

“So are these ghosts better or worse than the ones in Amity Park?” Jason ventured, pushing what trust he’d built.

Danny stiffened at the mention of Amity Park.

“I never mentioned Amity.” A hint of dangerous green glinted behind his eyes. Jason swallowed.

“I know. I was curious.” He replied, as breezy as possible. Like he hadn’t spent hours scouring through old records and obscure blogs to even get this scrap of information.

Danny pressed his lips together. “I haven’t been back in a long time.”

“Not even to see your parents?” Jason was getting reckless now.

“No.” Hard and cold as stone. “They’re not there anymore.”

Noted. Fenton parents were a subject to avoid with Danny. And a subject he would need to redouble his research on.

“And yeah. All ghosts are similar everywhere. Aside from the Curse Ghosts.” Danny offered, the chill fading from the air.

Getting info off of him was easy if Jason asked the right questions. Figuring out the questions was the hard part.

“How did they even get here then? The Curse Ghosts.” Jason asked. “Is there a portal close by?” Portal like the one the Fentons may or may not have created, like the one that supposedly killed Danny.

“No, they’re special. They form here in Gotham, no portal necessary,” came Danny’s unguarded reply. His gaze was far off, down into the streets like he could see them there.

“Actually,” Danny got that conspiratorial look as he turned to Jason, “Come with me.”

“Iʼve been trying to find a pattern for where the curse ghosts show up.” Danny sat at the messy desk in his apartment. Jason leaned over his shoulder as he pointed to a map on an outdated monitor.

It was Gotham, with red points dotting various locations. Jason recognized a few as locations theyʼd fought Curse Ghosts together but there were dozens more spots that Jason hadnʼt been at.

“Crime Alley is one obvious hot spot. Plenty of misery here to feed off of. But also— here by the docks, in the business district, by city hall, at Arkham.”

“So, anywhere.” Jason deadpanned.

Danny shot him a look. He clicked a key and another layer of dots showed up on the map.

“News stories of note- strange deaths, corruption, theft. Thereʼs always a surge after a beast shows up.”

“Seems obvious. And unhelpful.”

Danny huffed. “Yeah, well, usually one of your seventeen resident vigilantes shows up and restores order before things get too bad. Starves ‘em out a bit, unlike the big fish we were after tonight. But this is still helpful to get a bead on those to avoid real disasters.”

Jason studied the map layered with articles. “There has to be a way to predict where they’ll form.”

Danny hit a few keys and tossed him a thumb drive. “Knock yourself out.”

Danny leaned back in his chair. He looked tired.

Jason changed the subject. “So what do you study?”

“Huh?”

He gestured to the GU hoodie and various homework-esque bits around the room.

“Oh. Mechanical Engineering,” Danny replied with limited enthusiasm. “What about you? You go to school?”

“Not since I died.” Jason replied. Danny winced. “But itʼs okay. Not really my scene.”

“Oh cmon. There must be something youʼd want to study.”

“Maybe- no. Itʼs stupid.” Jason sat down on the arm of the sofa- the one that was still mostly intact.

“They have all sorts of weird degrees you can do now. You could do Crimonogy. Physicology. Extreme weightlifting with a minor in anthropology.”

“Or Literature.”

“What?” The corners of Danny’s mouth quirked up as he turned toward Jason.

“You know- the classics. Novels. The poets. That kind of stuff.”

Dannyʼs face curled into a smile. “Didnʼt peg you for the type.”

“You donʼt know me.” Jason was thankful the helmet hid the heat rising to his face.

“Touché.”

“Why mechanical engineering?” Jason countered.

“My grades were so shit in high school it was kind of a fall back.” Jason raised a doubting eyebrow.

“No really,” Danny continued, “I grew up around my parents tinkering. I couldnʼt help but pick it up. Much easier than studying Literature.”

“But do you actually like it?”

He shrugged. “Iʼm good at it. Isn’t that basically the same thing?”

Jason snorted. “Not at all. You still get to choose.”

Danny turned away, hiding his face. The silence stretched on for a long moment. Then, “So why are you a crime lord instead of a literature professor?”

Jason considered the question. Truthfully it hadn’t considered doing anything but what he did. This life he lived felt a bit inevitable. On his worst days maybe he’d considered giving up, but then his anger would always come snarling back. Anger at Bruce, anger at the Joker, anger at Gotham itself. Fighting was his only reprieve.

Or so he thought, before he met Danny. Before the irrationality of his rage had been doused completely for the first time since his death. For the first time it felt like he had room to consider. Room to choose.

“Gotham needs someone like me. As soon as it doesn’t you can catch me in the lecture hall teaching Jane Eyre.”

Danny considered him with a hint of a smile. “I’ll be sure to register for that credit when you do.”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp dc crossover #danny phantom #red hood #fanfic #fanfiction #dc x dp #dp x dc fic #red knight fic #jason todd #I finished this on my phone on a beach so pls excuse any wonkiness

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after-witch · 1 year

Text

That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Title: That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Synopsis: Sephiroth took you. And now all you know is pain. FF7R-verse.

Word count: 2096

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, physical abuse and violence, noncon and sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancy for reader

You’ve been hurt before. You’re not some dainty thing, kept in a tower all your life. You knew the streets. There were arms broken in alley tussles, noses bloodied through a drunken bar fight, and lately--far more lately--cuts from blades and the edges of Turk bullets and all those aching wounds that come with willingly signing up for a fight far bigger than yourself. You were under no illusions, when you joined with Cloud, what might lie ahead.

Though perhaps, being kidnapped by Sephiroth was not in your visions for the Could Happen in the Future. Getting hurt, yes. Being wrapped up in some insane plot to save the world, sure.

Being targeted by Sephiroth? Not so much.

Yet it happened. It happened so fast that if you were asked to recall the specific details, you couldn’t say. You remember the blow to your stomach, the blow to your head. You remember looking up and seeing Sephiroth staring down at you, a smile on his face, the grayness of your vision blurring with the glimmering silver of his hair. You remember, or at least you hope it’s a memory and not just something you imagined, hearing Tifa shout out something, hearing the clash of blades.

But then there was nothing but grayness and fog and an awful, dreamless sleep.

When you woke up, he was there.

Smiling.

Speaking words that felt like black tar in your ear. How you were his. How you were a gift. How you were meant to be there.

And he hurt you.

So, so much.

He hasn’t stopped.

The pain is relentless, fresh, raw. You can’t get used to it, not like you might eventually get used to the ache from a broken rib from a single ill-timed bar brawl. It’s ever-changing, day by day.

Maybe that is why it’s taken you out so completely over the past few days (and just how long has he had you, in all?); got you weak and speechless, barely able to breathe much less think much less fight back much less--

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

The voice from above you is grating to your ears, like gravel being rubbed right into your bleeding, sore kneecaps. You’ve heard that damned voice so often lately, and sometimes you swear--you swear--that his lips aren’t moving when he speaks.

But why is he above you, again? You remember him hitting you this morning, you remember the kick that broke your ribs. You remember spitting in his face. And then, quite clearly, you remember the tip of his sword puncturing right through your wrist, leaving an almost disgustingly clean wound behind.

That was the last clear memory before all this.

So why is he above you, hair almost shimmering, eyes bright and piercing--what is that sensation, that awful, awful sensation? Like being pierced from the inside out.

“Beautiful… when you’re bleeding for me.” His voice is just a little breathy. A practiced sound, you think, because he doesn’t break so much as a sweat when he spends hours hurting you. It’s not like sex was going to knock the wind out of him, like his boot connecting solidly with your stomach once or twice or umpteen times did to you so readily.

Unwillingly, reality finally comes back to you, sore and sticky and painful, with his gloved hand tapping at your cheek; with the realization that he’s inside you, again, thick and intruding and insistent. It’s like a drum beat in your lower body, a rhythm you’ve come to understand after all this time--and it makes you feel sick, still, no matter how familiar it’s become.

A gloved thumb runs along your lower lip, catching on a scab healing over.

“Everything you do is for me… bleeding… breathing… your very existence.” There’s a sticky coolness to his voice that makes you want to peel your skin off even more than the ever-present sensation of his body above yours.

His voice continues, no matter how much you wish it would not.

“When will you come to accept that?”

You ignore the content of his words (you so often do, when you can get away with it) and merely squint your eyes, desperate to make sense of things despite your aching body. But you still can’t tell.

Did his lips move… or not?

His thumb presses down on the scab. And it’s such a small pain, really, compared to what you’ve been through. But you groan nonetheless, and squeeze your eyes shut to block out the stinging sensation spreading across your mouth.

“Answer me, and I may grant you mercy.”

You laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. A hoarse stuttering sound that wheezes out of your used and abused chest. In response, he thrusts harder, and your fingers curl on the sheets underneath you, desperate to gain purchase.

Above you (and inside you)-- there are signs that he is human, that he is not some infallible granite creature. Sweat on his naked chest. The movement of his hair, tickling your skin, as he begins to thrust quickly enough to signify his end.

A soft, low sound as he pushes inside you so deeply that it hurts, and then warmth--a burning warmth that shouldn’t feel like it does, stinging and slick. Is it because he’s fucked you so often, creating tears? Or is there something wrong with him, to make his seed more unpleasant? Or--the thought comes, unbidden, awful--something wrong with you?

His gloved hand taps your cheek again. It’s like being chided by a friend for dropping off in the middle of a conversation, but nowhere near as lighthearted.

“Where did you go, I wonder?”

You can’t answer him right away. Not without sacrificing dignity. So you keep your mouth shut and wait until your breath isn’t coming in so hard, and your heart rate has regained some sense of normalcy.

You look straight at him, at the eyes that seem to glow from within now, something awful inside them. You wait until he’s raised an eyebrow, just a little, a sign that he’s expecting you to speak.

And you do.

“I’ll never accept whatever delusion you’ve created about me.”

Yes, your voice is tired and hardly filled with the bravado you might have spoken with before he took you. But at least you got the words out. At least you know you spoke them with your own damn mouth.

His thumb returns to trailing gently on your lips. Almost soft, almost kind.

“But you’ve already accepted so much…”

You don’t ask what he means, exactly.

Later on, you’ll wish you had.

Your head lolls side to side. The pillow underneath, damp with your sweat, does nothing to ease your discomfort or the gnawing ache inside your chest.

“Do you really think they’ll come for you?”

Yes, you want to say. They are my friends. We would never give up on one another. But you press your lips tight.

“Don’t you know how long it’s been? How far they’ve traveled? They haven’t even tried to retrieve you.”

He’s lying. They would never just give you up, let you stay in his clutches. If they traveled, it was out of necessity, to find help or create a plan or get a better vantage point. Yes, that would be it. He’s… lying. Isn’t he?

“They’re concerned with far greater things than you, aren’t they? Do you think they’ll choose you over this world’s pretended sanctity?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, yes, yes! But even you can’t pretend that wouldn’t be a bold, ridiculous lie. One life--or the world? Even if it was you… Even if it meant you were trapped here, with Sephiroth.

His voice continues to drip honeyed poison straight into your ears--straight into your mind. Soft whispers in the dark, over and over, reminding you, taunting you, telling you things that you must surely admit (deep, deep, deep down) are likely the truth.

But he can’t be doing this to you. It’s impossible. Because he’s not speaking. You’re staring right at him, right at his detestable face, a face you could now describe with uncanny certainty… and his lips are not moving.

You weren’t sure, before; you’d wondered at the way his whispers seemed to squirm right into your ears, no matter how far away he was or how fuzzy your vision got from pain.

You let out a confused groan that covers up whatever vile thing he blows into your ear next, though it doesn’t stop the awful sensation that comes with hearing him inside your skull.

“I don’t understand.” You practically moan the words out, like a sick child on a feverbed. The damp sheets and your clenching fingers, rubbing the sheets raw, are much the same. “How are you doing this?”

“Oh, darling.” He says--but doesn’t say--as his hand skims down your chest and rests on your stomach. The feel of the leather is cold and harsh, like a ragged seam dragging down your skin. “Don’t you know?”

You don’t know. You don’t know what he means, or why he’s doing this, or how the fuck he’s talking inside your head.

His hand doesn’t move, exactly, but presses down in a remarkably gentle gesture.

“Don’t you know what I’ve put inside you?”

There’s a terrible, long moment where the world drops out from underneath you. And then you’re back above with no air in your lungs, because you’ve screamed--you didn’t even know it.

He stares down at you with a patient smile until your breathing comes back, ragged and uneven.

“You’re lying.” Hot tears prick at your eyes, because you’re not stupid and you know what he means now, and you know that it’s the awful truth. You can deny a lot of things (and have done so at every opportunity) but this? This was real. It was sick and real.

“I never lie to you,” he says, lips still unmoving.

You know. You know. The calmness in his tone terrifies you more than any of his sweet poisons, than any of his bruising grips or swift strikes to your vulnerable body.

“It’s remarkable, what her cells can do. And you took to them so quickly.” His smile has an almost edge of ecstasy to it that turns your insides sour. “It’s destiny. Even you must admit that.”

You think the word “no” comes out, but you can’t be sure you actually said it. Maybe you’re talking without opening your mouth now, too. Maybe you’re losing it, like frayed edges of an old blanket, just waiting to be pulled out.

Sephiroth, if he notices your growing inner hysteria, chooses to ignore it. Instead, he leans down, taking a moment to rest his cheek against yours. He inhales softly through his nose.

“I thought you were at your most beautiful before, but this?” The hand on your stomach trails up until he’s grasping your chin, keeping you in place. “This might be preferable…”

“Stop.” The words come out soft and perhaps pitiable to anyone but the man above you.

He doesn’t even acknowledge them. Maybe you didn’t say them at all.

There’s something determined in his eyes now, as he stares down at you. You’re almost afraid to find out what it is.

“Mother has given me two gifts,” he says, softly, with reverence. “And I now will prove myself all the more worthy to her.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. It could be chaste, if anything Sephiroth ever did might ever be called that. The kiss tastes of his breath and your own tangy blood.

This time, when he speaks, his lips move--cruel and hot against your own.

“Do you think Cloud will be able to look you in the eye, once he knows what’s inside you?”

Hot tears slide down your cheeks and join the sweat already dampening the pillowcase.

His hand returns to your belly, cupping the skin there. There is warmth--he’s removed his gloves now--and the sensation makes you shudder.

“Do you think you can belong to anyone but me now?”

This time, his lips don’t move.

#yandere sephiroth #yandere final fantasy 7 #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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twola · 8 months

Note

if you're still open to requests, HH!Arthur forced to endure the classic "only one bed" trope with a petite, bookish F!reader? still an outlaw but much more suited for infiltration than shootouts and analyzing difficult paperwork. maybe spectacles even, go wild with the idea!! love your other works ❤️

Accounting and Other Arts

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You're not one for gunshots or drunken brawling, as Arthur learns one night in Saint Denis.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz, @cowboydisaster, @mrsarthurmorgan7,

Saint Denis reeks. The whole damned city. It either smells of horse shit and rotting garbage or of obnoxiously over-perfumed rich men and women traipsing about thinking that they are above the common folk.

The mare beneath him grunts as the dirt road turns to cobblestone, a high whinny as her hooves clack on the road. Arthur clicks his tongue to calm her down. Upon reaching an alleyway to the west of the market, he slides down from the saddle, grabbing his horse’s reins and tying them to a wrought-iron hitching post. He pats her mane gently as he eyes the alleyway. Stepping toward it, he strides past men and women heading to market, finding a quiet, shadowed spot and leaning against the brick wall of the alley.

“You’re late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling a cigarette from his satchel, and strikes a match against the arched brickwork in the alley. Lighting it, he eyes you from under the rim of his black hat.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you glare from the golden rims of your spectacles at him. Clad in a dark velvet vest over a maroon blouse, your matching skirt swishes as you stalk angrily in his direction.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

You scowl as you approach, looking up the alley past where Arthur leans against the wall.

“Y’get what you need?” He rumbles as he takes the cigarette from his lips, letting a plume of smoke float into the air.

You nod, pulling off your spectacles and tucking them into the breast pocket of your vest. “Tomorrow morning - the money’s going to be moved from the poker room back to one of Bronte’s safehouses. Be there a half hour before a half hour before six. Only supposed to be two men there.”

Arthur takes the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke to the side. “How much is the take?”

“If my calculations are correct, twenty-three hundred dollars.” You reply, straightening your skirts as you lean back against the brick wall in the alleyway.

Arthur drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot.

A strand of hair escapes from your tightly pulled bun, and you huff as you tuck it behind your ear. You’ve been told the hairstyle makes you look severe, you’d take it. In this world of guns and robbery and stealing you live in, you feel the need to do anything to make yourself look serious.

Guns weren’t your weapons. Numbers were. You ran scams and cheated men out of money. You assisted Strauss in his loansharking.

“Where y’been stayin' here in town?” Arthur asks, his hands gravitating to his gun belt.

“Shitty little place off the docks. Not much, but at least we can rest there until you have to go out in the morning.”

He nods, holding out his arm down the alley, “Lead the way.”

A hot, heavy, night has fallen in South Lemoyne - stifling in its haziness and the heaviness in the air. You’ve stripped down to a chemise and your bloomers as you climb into the old bed, the darkness outside staved off by a solitary oil lamp on the bed.

Arthur’s boots scuff the dingy floor of the room you’ve been renting, the sound of him dragging the rickety old chair next to the small fireplace grates in your ears as you try to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

Instead, you reach for the book that you’ve been reading from the bedside table, cracking it open as Arthur mercifully quiets down, pulling his hat from his head and placing it on the mantle as he sits down.

“Whatchu' readin’?” Arthur asks from across the room, pulling his boots off and tossing them near the door.

You look up at him over the rims of your spectacles, “I’m sure nothing you’d be interested in.”

He snorts, pulling his hat off his head and placing it on the table next to the fireplace.

“The Wealth of Nations.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raise, “That certainly ain’t one of Mary Beth’s pillow books.”

You shut the book and frown. “No. It ain’t.”

Arthur stares into the unused fireplace, rolling his shoulders.

“Get into the bed, Arthur. You’re the one who's gotta get up in the morning.” You eye him over those gold rims again, scolding in your tone.

“Ain’t terribly proper,” Arthur mutters under his breath.

“We’re both adults. And it ain’t like I take up much room. Just shut up and lay down.” You pull the spectacles off of the bridge of your nose and fold them up, leaning over to place them on the bedside table.

You unwind the tight bun you have your hair pulled into - your tresses falling in curls down your back, and completely miss the dumbfounded look he gives. As you shake out your hair, you shake out the severe look about you, your spectacles gone for the night.

It’s then, under the dim oil lamps of the saloon’s room, that he discovers that you’re beautiful.

The moment passes quickly as you begin to look up at him, and his eyes dart away as not to be caught staring.

“Get in bed.” You command, looking at him for a second longer before turning over in bed and reaching for the lamp. You don't wait for him to make up his mind, plunging the room into darkness when you turn off the light.

After what seems like an eternity, the mattress sinks down on the other side of the bed.

You awaken far before dawn, a shout from outside jolting you from your sleep. Thinking it’s a fluke, you close your eyes again only for them to snap open as shouting continues again.

A crash fully awakens you, and you begin to lean up on your elbow, looking toward the window a few steps away. A large hand finds purchase on your belly as your entire frame is pulled backward in the bed.

“Shh,” Arthur whispers, curling himself over you as he listens to the shouting outside. Glass breaks. Threats made. The sounds of a fight echo through the street, but now all you can think about is the fact that you’re tucked into Arthur’s body as he listens to the fight, ready to jump up and grab his revolver at a moment's notice.

Glass crashes again against the brick wall of the building you’re in, not terribly far from your window, and you turn inward from the noise. You may be a criminal, a fraudster, but you certainly aren’t one for violence. You don’t shoot and you don’t kill.

“ ‘S okay. I’ve got you.” Arthur mumbles, leaning over you to listen more intently to the scuffle outside. You bury yourself into his embrace, your face tucked into his neck as his hand pats your hair gently, ready to whip around and grab his revolver from the table if needed.

The fight in the alleyway dies down, fortunately, and as the agitated voices fade into the night, Arthur gently unwinds his arm from across your shoulders, his hand finding its way to settle atop your hip. Your fingers clutch at the worn fabric of his union suit atop his broad chest.

“Jus’ a drunken fight.” He whispers, patting your hip in a calming manner.

The men outside are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. No, Arthur’s hand upon your hip and yours against his chest - that's all you think about. The rapid beating of your heart is all you can hear. This isn’t rational. It isn’t logical. But deep in your core, you burn. You’re driven by something completely different, animalistic, emotional, needy.

“Y’oka-” Arthur murmurs before you shove your mouth against his. It's only half a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back.

You throw your leg over his hip, and he takes a large hand full of your rear, pulling your hips against his. You are unable to hold back the moan from your throat as you feel his cock thickening against your lower belly.

For several moments, your bodies tessellate against each other until he yanks the hem of your chemise up to your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, and it’s just another moment before he rolls you underneath him.

“Y’ever done this?” He pants as he peels your bloomers down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor before his hand trails up between your thighs.

“No… but I have an idea-ah-!” Your sentence is cut off when you uncontrollably moan, a thick finger having immediately parted your folds and pressed against you.

Well, this feeling wasn’t something you had read about. You mewl into Arthur’s shoulder as his pointer finger moves back and forth between the seam of your body, pausing to circle the hooded nub that makes your toes curl.

Arthur sucks gently at your earlobe, his panting growing louder as his finger travels along your body, pausing for a moment once he’s reached the rim of your cunt, weeping slick as you want to die from the stimulation.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and he growls in your ear as he quickly draws back and sits up on his knees, unbuttoning his union suit with the ferocity of a caged beast. You’re barely able to catch your breath before watching him tear his arms out of the sleeves, bunching the fabric at his waist, and pushing it down, baring himself completely.

Certainly, sketches in anatomy books had nothing on the real thing. Sketches weren’t hewn from decades of labor and violence. Sketches weren't tapered waists and the outline of solid muscles under pale, scarred skin that told stories of robberies past. And sketches assuredly were not so well endowed.

He’s back on you in an instant before you can even react - slotting himself between your legs as his mouth attacks your neck, sure to leave a mark that will show in the morning.

Arthur’s large hand moves to once more cup your core, and your breath hitches.

He presses himself against your thigh and you shudder as you feel how hard he is, how big is - Christ, how the hell was that supposed to fit inside you?

His finger pushes inside and your mind goes blank. You cry out wantonly as Arthur’s finger curls within your core, and he quickly begins to pump within you. Your back arches uncontrollably as he adds a second finger, and thrusts his hips against your body.

“Fuck, fuck. Y’sure you want this?” Arthur pants against your ear, unable to stop his hips from rutting against you. His cock settles in the crease of your thigh and god, he’s so close to where you need him.

Christ, maybe you should have taken Mary Beth up on one of her dirty romance novels.

“Y-yes, Arthur please-”

He presses inside you and there aren’t words for the feeling. No vocabulary to adequately describe the stretch, the filling, the connection one has when that last bridge is crossed. Though sex is simply an action, a physical coming together of body parts - the emotions that want to burst forth from your chest - you want to envelop him the same way he envelops you.

“Y’okay there? C’n I move?” He whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple.

Are you okay, are you okay? All you can respond back with is a needy gasp as you turn your head to the side to find his mouth, desperately shoving your tongue inside as if to mimic the fact that he’s buried inside of you.

As your tongue delves into his mouth, you wish the thoughts flying through your head could possibly come out, but with him between your legs, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his flesh parting you deep, all you can do is moan.

So much more than okay. How do people stand being apart? How can they not bury themselves in each other all day, every day? I want… oh god, Arthur, please, please move.

Somehow, he understands. His elbows brace himself on either side of your head as his hips retract, in a glorious swell of movement, he presses back in.

You whine needily into the column of his throat as he grunts, finding a rhythm as your legs wrap around his waist. Arthur grinds your hips into the bed, your small frame engulfed by his large one, and each thrust seems to take you further and further away. Gasping, tensing, shuddering.

A desperate noise leaves your throat, and if you weren't so preoccupied with how the tip of his cock keeps hitting a spot inside you that makes you want to scream, you’d be mortified.

“Come for me.” He orders, voice sex-hoarse and demanding, and your body immediately complies.

Every muscle, every tendon, and fiber of your body clenches at once, and your cry is loud and needy into his shoulder. Tears burst forth from your eyes. He groans into your hair in response, his rhythm faltering, and it’s only a moment more before he wrenches himself from you, his cock smacking against your belly as he jets his hot spend across your pale skin and hiked up chemise.

Arthur pants, nearly out of breath, for a moment, before leaning his forehead against yours and taking your lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Your fingers card through his hair and one of his hands finds its way to your face, palm warm against your cheek before he finally pulls back.

Arthur immediately frowns when he sees the tracks of drying tears. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling, “When can we do that again?”

He snorts in amusement, rolling off of you and onto his side, “Let me go get our money,” he kisses your forehead, “Then I’ll get us another day here.”

“Sounds amenable.”

“You and them fancy words.”

Your smartass retort is drowned out by his kiss.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #red dead fandom #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

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khaosrealms · 5 months

Text

YUE LAO’S BLESSINGS (part five!) / saying i love you— as if urged by the gods themselves.

a/n: i just realized it’s been an month since i’ve released another blessings post and as such, another must be published! thank you so much as always for the wonderful support!! ♥️

SMOKE:

“I love you” from Tomas is every bit as sweet as it is earnest. It is standing back, waiting for you, while others have continued past. An arm wrapped around your waist as you sleep. A piece of hair he tucks behind your ear. “I love you” is wrestling on the floor of the Lin Kuei training room; sweat-covered and half-naked but laughing and throwing one another around. Hands pinned by sides, moments spent catching your breath, smiling as you struggle to gain composure. “Stay here with me.” Tomas whispers after a kiss. His pinky interlocked with yours; the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

LI MEI:

“I love you” is difficult from Li Mei, at first. There’s insecurity— shame. Resisting your touch. Jaw locked as you cross gazes. Watching your fingers wander over her gauntlets and holding her breath as you brush over skin. “I love you” is sitting together, speaking for hours over a drink, not taking a sip but feeling intoxicated in another’s presence. Her hand on your thigh. Yours on her hip. Under her protection, her touch, her warm and inviting kiss. Away from every other person in that room but her and watchful, wanting eye. "Will you have me?" Li Mei asks, centimeters away from your lips. Tucked in an alley where the only space left is filled with your bodies; curled around one another.

RAIN:

“I love you” for Rain is something he’s seldom to ever put into words. Ambition drives the man, and in some ways, it drives his affection for you too. Hours he spends studying the things you adore so he may impress you with his knowledge of it. Your favorite foods, sights, tastes. The way you preen as he lifts your chin with his finger, the way you blush when he remarks your name in a certain tone. “I love you” is keeping you by his side, tempting you to push your own desires. Believing you capable of greater, believe you both capable of so much more. “I will make this world worthy of you.” Zeffeero swears, cupping your cheeks, warming them with his hands. Promising, with every bit of power and ambition in his being, to make this world bend for you.

NITARA:

“I love you” are fool’s words for Nitara. Words that are duty-bound to her Vaeternian people. You are her prey— and one can never love their prey, at the very least, not with words. “I love you” exists in every semblance of Nitara’s touch; no matter how much she might say otherwise. The way she wraps her wings around you as she feeds. The way she kisses your wounds and paints her lips with your blood— loving the hue more than anything, gazing at it in reflections, thinking of you, tasting of you. It’s in her refusal to allow you to be touched by any other being. Claiming you as her’s, loving you as her own. “You’re mine.” Nitara speaks, her words sounding more like pleading than demanding. Her claws pressed sweetly against your skin, her heart pressed against yours.

GENERAL SHAO:

“I love you” from Shao is decided long before you realize you are his. It’s a claim; a grasp you are wrapped around in. It is charming, intense. Conversations where he waits for you to speak so he may bare his gaze down on you. Waiting for you to crack, smiling when you stutter. “I love you” is watching you struggle against his grasp when he wraps his arms around you. Chuckling as you beat weakly at his arms. Watching you gaze up at him, smaller, weaker, perfect there in the center of his palm. Knowing he could make you so much more. Knowing you’d continue to fight against him no matter how pathetic you might be. “Is that all?” Shao goads, watching you struggle to get up after a brawl. Eyes red with desire, hungry with expectation. So determined to watch you demolish everything in your path to get back to him.

#mortal kombat x reader #mk1 imagines #x reader #mk1 #mk1 headcanons #khaosrealms #i love my 5 am release schedule for this #why can’t i ever work on this during #normal living hours? who knows. but enjoy !!!#🥹♥️#yue lao imagine

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lunadei · 2 years

Text

Exile - Marc Spector

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!vigilante-reader, Steven Grant x F!vigilante-Reader

Warnings: gunshot wound, fighting.

Premise: You and Marc share a mutual dislike for each other - or so you think. That is until a particularly nasty fight leaves you at his mercy.

an: Hey guys! This is my first Moon Knight fic - and fair warning, it isn’t perfectly canon. Just a fun little blurb I had on my mind. Please enjoy all the enemies to lovers clichés here as much as I do.

From the moment you unintentionally stepped - or perhaps more accurately, punched, into Marc Spector’s life, you both walked a thin line. Your paths had crossed rather unceremoniously during a minor street brawl, though Marc loved to remind you that fighting three men single-handily was hardly minor. You loathed to admit when you were over your head. And, much to the Moon Knight’s dismay, you would rather get pummeled than accept assistance.

Still, in all fairness, you had it handled.

As you prefer to tell the story, his arrival proved an unfortunate distraction which cost you several broken ribs and a nasty concussion. No injury had ever prevented you from kicking ass previously, but Marc and his magic armor beat you to the punch. The average damsel would have been grateful to be ‘saved’ by the Moon Knight. However, it quickly became clear to Marc that you were no damsel in distress.

“Why the hell would you do that? I had it under control.” The venom you managed to summon despite your injuries was astounding. Had Marc been any other man, he may have cowered before you. He could practically feel Steven shrinking back as it was.

“Hell of a way to say ‘thank you,’ princess,” Marc scoffed, his anger partially sheathed by his mask.

“Excuse me, princess?”

Marc would later admit that you had a hell of a left hook.

Perhaps your animosity toward Marc extended from many years of being a lone vigilante, unused to sharing your territory with another - though you would hardly call him a vigilante. Hell, he wouldn’t even call himself such. After several escapades, during which you found yourselves inevitably face-to-face time after time, you had reluctantly became familiar with Marc. And you despised his self-assured, reckless bravado. You wanted nothing to do with the Moon Knight, knowing he spelt nothing but trouble for your image. That soon changed after you were introduced to Steven.

Steven was everything you adored about society - he reminded you of why you chose this life to begin with. Steven was the first to remove his mask after finding you perched upon the Landmark Pinnacle one moonlit night, gushing about what a big fan he was. Though he would make the occasional appearance during your midnight watch, time was always limited before Marc would resume control. You had made it quite clear to Marc that you preferred his alter-ego’s company. He had made it quite clear that you could shove it.

It seemed you were doomed to repeat this cliché cycle: fighting for justice, butting heads with Marc when he intervened, always choosing to teeter on the cusp of enemies rather than work together. That was until the night you made a minor miscalculation as to your abilities.

Well, minor being you brought your fists to a gun fight. And needless to say, you were not as swift as as the barrage of bullets - not quite, anyway.

Your armored suit presented an unexpected weakness, allowing a bullet to pierce through your hip. Perhaps some Egyptian God had been looking after you that night, as it deflected off your right rib and exited next to your right clavicle - by some fortunate avoiding any major arteries. You had barely made it out of the fight before collapsing in a nearby alley. Crimson stained the cobblestone street, the copper smell lingering in your nose as your eyes rapidly fluttered. You’d be damned if you allowed yourself to bleed out here, nameless and easily defeated.

“Jesus, Y/N, can you hear me?” Marc, it’s Marc, your brain briefly registered. His voice, while usually vexing, was a welcome reprieve from your thoughts of mortality.

“Oh, hey Marc, fancy seeing you here,” you choked out, sputtering at the effort required to speak. You watched as kneeled beside you, eyes raking down your form in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Jesus, you thought, bleeding out was making you delirious.

“Oh my god, Y/N, we’ve got to get you to a hospital.” Steven. You grabbed onto his pristine white suit, rapidly shaking your head despite the tremors of pain.

“No, no hospitals. Rule number one of being a vigilante, Steven.” A gloved hand pressed to your hip, staining the fabric red. His panic became increasingly evident as he took note of your wounds.

“Listen, my flat is a few blocks away. Get me there - I have supplies.” You heaved a shaky sigh, fighting to maintain consciousness.

“Right, right, yeah, okay, flat, got it.” Trembling arms slid beneath your torso and legs, grasping your limp body against his firm chest.

“And, Steven?” Steven, bless his heart, lacked the same trauma skills as his counterpart. You recognized this rather reluctantly, pressing a hand against his cheek apologetically. “I’m going to need Marc, unfortunately. Don’t let him let me bleed out, yeah?”

Blissfully unaware of the trip back to your flat, you awoke to Marc’s small slaps to your cheek. His voice felt far away as you slipped in and out of consciousness, a sight which, though he would never admit it, frightened Marc.

“C’mon, Y/N, wake up. Don’t make me explain your dead body to your landlord.” A chuckle escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you noticed was the feeling of Marc’s calloused hands pressed against the bare flesh of your hip. You shifted slightly, taking in your living room. A trail of blood was smeared from your doorway to the couch.

“God damn it, I’m never going to get these stains out.” It was Marc’s turn to chuckle. He was intently focused on stitching your entrance wound, which he had apparently cleaned while you were unconscious. You groaned at the sensation, shifting your body in discomfort against the couch.

Upon feeling the fabric against your bare back, it was then that you realized you were shirtless. Heat travelled from your neck to your cheeks, the blush nearly matching the crimson stains smeared on your figure. You rationalized that you were only flustered because of the blood loss.

“I would apologize about your shirt, but considering I’m saving your life again, I didn’t think you’d care.” Turning your head towards Marc, you saw a smirk grace his lips as he met your gaze. The bastard was amused, mocking your discomfort.

“Oh, brilliant. I hardly care about the man I positively despise stitching me up.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. The gesture was completely childish. For a moment, the usual malice you extended toward him felt wrong, like a cheap façade.

“Ah, there she is.” He briefly paused his handiwork. “If it weren’t for me you’d be dead on the streets, princess. But you’re welcome to stich yourself up if you hate me so much.”

You couldn’t help but remark, “I could probably do a better job.” Marc raised his hands in mock surrender, preparing to stand, and you instantly regretted stroking your own ego.

“Be my guest, I have work to finish now that you’re not on your death bed.” He made a show of turning away, just slowly enough to allow you to change your mind. Your pride would never have allowed you to ask for his assistance previously, stubbornly preferring to bleed out than admit defeat. However, something had shifted tonight. You once again convinced yourself that it was just delirium, nothing more.

“Wait, Marc-” you grasped his wrist, pulling him back to the floor. “Please, don’t go.” Oh, the blood loss had definitely unveiled a level of vulnerability you weren’t aware existed within you. Marc glanced at you, not masking his shock, noting your wide eyes and trembling hand. He spared you his usual biting retort, instead nodding and resumed tending to your wounds.

You watched him concentrate, gaze raking over the apparent softness of usually sharp features. Brown curls tumbled over his forehead, accenting his tanned features in a way you were rarely privy to. Supple lips were relaxed and parted in concentration, so different from the usual grimace they held. You weren’t blind, you knew Marc was attractive. But you had never allowed yourself to dwell on that thought before, never allowed your gaze to sample every inch of his features as though he were fine art. It made your stomach twist, the previously dissipated heat now spreading throughout your entire body - pooling in your lower abdomen.

Fuck, you were so screwed.

“Marc,” your voice was a breathless whisper, pathetic, you thought granted your usual composure. He glanced up at you, brows furrowing at your twisted expression. Cliché as it was, you felt yourself swimming in his brown eyes, further degrading your rational mind. With a strange fondness you had never extended toward him before, you could imagine waking up to those eyes, getting lost in them every morning -

“Y/N?”

Snapped out of your trance, uncertain and reaching for the right words, you had merely intended to thank him. “Thank you, Marc Spector,” you breathed against his lips. When had you gotten so close? But he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away.

“Wow, someone alert the press. Never thought I’d hear those words coming from you.” His remark lacked it’s usual snark, sounding nearly as wrecked as you - though you supposed your judgement could be clouded by the blood loss.

“Shut up,” you huffed, lips nearly brushing his own at the movement.

“Make me, princess.” With a vigor you didn’t know you possessed, you threaded your hand into his disheveled curls, pulling him a fraction closer. Your lips connected perfectly, like two halves of one whole, causing you to contemplate why you hadn’t done this sooner. His kiss grew desperate, hungry, as though he was a starving man waiting to devour you. And god, you wanted more.

Your hips bucked into the air of their own accord, causing a pained groan to escape your lips. Marc reluctantly pulled away from you as you chased his lips, tears prickling your eyes as you attempted to ignore the burn in your side.

“Don’t stop,” you implored, begged. You hadn’t even thought yourself capable of begging, lest of all to him.

“Y/N, you’re hurt. You need to rest, I need to go -” Before he could retreat, you pressed your lips against his once more, desperate, searching.

“I can take it,” the breathy confession elicited a strained moan from Marc, and god, the things you would do to hear that sound again.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.” It was your turn to smirk, nipping at his mouth with renewed energy. Strong arms encompassed your figure once more, gently lifting you to your bedroom, careful not to disturb your stitches. Slipping from your lust-fueled haze, it momentarily occurred to you that your injuries would not allow for this to extend further.

“God, the things I want to do to you,” his voice slipped into a deep growl, the vibrations against your neck causing your body to spasm.

“Then do them,” you insisted, all common sense having slipped your mind. With surprising control, Marc removed himself from your grasp, looking at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Fondness?

His hand briefly trailed over your hip. The touch, though featherlight, caused a burning ache to travel through you. Marc cocked his head with a frown, having already proven his point.

“Not now, not like this.” He paused, licking his lips as his eyes roamed your figure with a desire so intense it nearly made you forget the agony completely. “When I have you, and I will, I don’t want you to feel anything but me.”

You’re not sure when you finally slipped from consciousness, when you stopped feeling Marc’s hands brush through your tangled locks. That night you dreamt of white cloaks and brown eyes more piercing than the moon, with the sweet smell of jasmine and spice engulfing your senses.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #enemies to lovers #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #superhero!reader #vigilante!reader #vigilante!reader x marc spector

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