#the upper part of the mask she made herself

[lemme-overthink-this]

💕 doggy :3 💕

#livlowdowns #doodles #digital art #sketch #original art #Morena Torf #writing #original story #oc stuff #she stole most of her fire proof fits from nearby firehouses #digital fanart #fandoms #the upper part of the mask she made herself #xolotl

[mr-mandalorian]

ghost x f reader, hurt/comfort, blood & violence, ghost gives reader his mask

she could only ever see his eyes and yet at times it was still too much. shutting the door behind her, she found him at the entrance of the med bay. he was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, and with what she could only guess, a permanent scowl fixed on his face.

“you didn’t have to wait.”

“you disobeyed a direct order.”

she sighed, not in a mood for a lecture. while she’d never admit it, even with tolerance trained to bear it, her side was absolutely killing her.

“and yet it got us a lead.”

“you put yourself in unnecessary danger. what if the bullet moved just a little bit to the left? you could’ve died.”

“if i did, i’m sure you’d be more than happy to find yourself an obedient replacement.” she pressed further, holding his gaze. she knew she was being unfair, stepping over a line with her lieutenant. and yet she still wished to strip them of their titles, have him admit that there’s more than just friendly comradery making him wait for her to get patched up.

ghost didn’t respond and she could feel months of bonding crumbling before her feet. it’s the way his eyes changed, glazing over with the same coldness when she had just met him. before she felt his flesh on hers, before there was a warmth reserved just for her.

so the silent treatment it was.

readjusting her position, she could feel the stitches at her side pulling. it’s only been two days, but the lead that was the reward of her disobedience could not wait. it didn’t help that the comms were silent, her ears deaf to any usual silly banter that would ensue during a mission. even if she tried to utter a whisper to soap or gaz, ghost would cut in, deeming it unnecessary and distracting.

“entering basement now, how’s it looking on the upper floors?” she voiced an update, slowly ascending down the stairs, finger ready on the trigger as she looked down the narrow hall.

she waited for ghost to confirm, but when no response came she could only roll her eyes. so now even necessities were off the table?

positioning her heavy boots with feather like steps, she made her way down the stuffy hall. the only light illuminating the walls was coming from the door at the end and it didn’t take long for her to spot shadows coming from the gap at the bottom.

“movement spotted, permission to go in?” she quietly tried again only to be met with more silence. “Lt, how copy?”

with a minute to spare and another roll of her eyes, she slowly pushed the door open. a secret tunnel system underneath the building, at least eight goons loading a truck for their escape. but the target was there, a sleek silver briefcase handcuffed to a man.

with the element of surprise on her side, she fully kicked the door open. static filled her ears with ghost’s cursing coming in broken through the comms. four men gunned down, she pressed herself back against the wall, holding her breath and counting down the shots. when the noise died down, she waited. she waited and waited, until a silhouette appeared before her. wasting no time, she kicked the man’s gun up, jabbing him in the neck with her knife. with more goons to follow after, she used the man’s body as a shield as she finally stepped through the doorway. she released the body when the ammunition stopped, throwing herself at another man to slice his throat.

with two men left, she tossed her knife at one of them. a mistake on her part as the briefcase goon pulled it out of his shoulder unfazed. before she could reach for her handgun, the other man flung himself at her, kicking and ripping the stitches at her side. movements slowed by the pain, she danced around the man, missing briefcase coming at her. barely yet not enough out of reach, he launched at her with her own knife, slicing the left side of her face. with blood dripping into her eye and vision turning red, she could only scream in misery and continue to stand.

when the team had finally made their way down underground, they found a bloodbath cooling in the basement. surrounded by corpses, y/n laid in a pool of blood on the floor, briefcase tightly clutched to her chest.

nine days without any communication with ghost. the nurses that tended to y/n, while at first a little terrified of the giant man lingering around the med bay, have grown to admire his patience and started guilt tripping y/n into letting him come inside her ward. but how could she? even with one eye left to see, she could not face his disappointed gaze.

they were removing her face bandages today. dreadful stitching starting from her chin all the way up to her eyebrow that she refused to catch sight of in a mirror.

“you know, it’s not only him today. the whole task force is here to see you.” the nurse spoke finishing up, her tone sympathetic.

“well, let’s get it over it then. tell ghost he can have the honor of chewing me out first, i’ll see the others after.”

moments later ghost entered the room. he looked so out of place, a dark looming shadow a stark contrast to the med bay’s sanitary white. only his mask matched, concerned eyes behind a pale skull boring into her own.

silence seemed to follow ghost everywhere he went. but it was no longer some petty treatment, it was uncertainty. he was overwhelmed, seeing her up and about when the image of her unmoving body still haunted him. he’s endured trauma beyond belief throughout his life yet somehow nothing compared to the nausea he felt when he saw her sliced up face.

“you went in without permission.”

“here we fucking go.” turning away, she hung her head low, hoping to hide herself as much as possible. “i did ask for permission, but when you didn’t respond i thought you were just being prick. only later did i realize the comms got fucked when i went underground.”

“you still should’ve waited for backup. look where it got you-“

“i did wait, but they were about to escape! i got the briefcase, didn’t i? what else matters?”

“what else-? fucking hell, y/n, i thought i lost you!” grabbing her arm, he twirled her around to face him. “i thought i lost you for good. a pain in my ass you are, doing whatever the fuck you want with no regard for your own safety.”

she shrunk under his frame, eyes still glued to the floor. a gloved hand raised her face, cupping her jaw gently to make her look at him. she never understood how a man of his size and talents could be so tender with his touch, always holding her like a porcelain doll that was bound to shatter at any moment.

“keeping me waiting all these days like a fucking dog, trying to break my heart or somethin’?”

her stomach twisting with butterflies, she held his gaze. there was nothing but sincerity behind the hollow curves of his mask.

“you started it.”

“for fuck’s sake-“

“i’m okay, Lt. as okay as i can be, but it’ll take time getting used to this.” she gestured towards her eye. “it’s why i didn’t want to see you, or anyone else. any chance you have a spare to share?”

she gently tugged on the bottom of his balaclava, a sad smile painted on her face.

“love, you took eight men down. the boys were speechless when we got there, it was like a fucking massacre. you’re the most divine woman i have ever laid eyes on, but now there’s a pretty scar on your pretty face to remind me not to fuck around. god knows, you could fucking take me if i act a fool again.”

“mmm, i don’t know.” she hummed, breaking into a genuine smile. “i don’t feel ready yet, you know? i appreciate everyone coming to see me but-“

before she could finish talking, she was cut off by something getting shoved down her head. she gasped as realization set in, immediately raising her hands to cover her eyes.

“simon! what are you doing?” she gaped, pressing her palms further into the fabric of the skull mask that covered her face.

“i trust you.” taking her hands into his own, he lowered them without any intent of ever letting go. “besides, what’s the harm? you only have one good eye left to look at me.”

her cheeks hurt from smiling, she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad. she stood on her toes, reaching up to ruffle his hair, ghost closing his eyes in content. she only ever hoped for him to confirm that the yearning was mutual, she never expected to receive a gift as precious as adorning his infamous mask.

“now go on, go wave hello to the lads. i’ve waited days to see you, what’s a few minutes more?”

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x oc

[readychilledwine]

Slow Hands

Part Two

A/N - Here's the first post for my "Here's to 100" Celebration week. 💙 I'm starting off with something I've received a few requests and messages about.

Warnings - mentions of abuse/trauma, mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars. Smut smut smut. Anal play, pet/master dom and sub dynamic play. Fingering, oral (m recving)/throat fucking. Minors DNI.

Part One

Lyria leaned closer into her mirror, examining the peachy nude lipstick she was wearing one more time before standing up straight and fixing part of her hair.

She was putting so much effort into her looks for a male. Something her brothers would frown upon since they normally praised her natural beauty. She had curled and braided her hair in places before pulling into a messy yet almost flirty, high ponytail. She had done her makeup. She put on expensive perfume.

She was even wearing a dress, something she had not done since being freed from the mountain. She brushed her hands along the baby blue fabric one more time before moving to look herself over in the full length mirror. The dress was one Rhysand had actually bought for her when he first brought her here. He loved the way the color sat on her golden skin tone, how it brought out the red in her hair. He had told her to save the little number for her first date in his court.

She didn't think he had planned on that date being with his brother. She pulled on her heels and put on the earrings she had picked for the night. A soft knock on her door made her heart beat pick up as she made her way over.

She opened the door, allowing Azriel in. "Hey, you're early." He was silent, staring at her with his mouth slightly parted. "Do I look okay? Rhys told me you had picked somewhere really nice, I can change." He grabbed her arm as she moved to go back to her room.

"You look stunning. I just didn't expect," he studied her again. The way the dress hugged her upper body, cinching at her small waist, before flaring out slightly and ending above her knees. Her long legs highlighted by the heels she was wearing. "Gods, you're beautiful."

She smiled softly at him. "You aren't so bad looking yourself." He was dressed in tighter black trousers, a black button up shirt. He had on several rings and a watch. "Let me grab my purse and we can go."

"You don't need your purse." He offered her his arm. "Let's just go get dinner."

—----------

The restaurant Azriel brought her to was an Inner Circle favorite by the Sindra. Faelights and candles adorned the patio they had opted to sit on to enjoy the beautiful summer evening.

He found himself falling into easy conversation with her. They had spoken about his upbringing, how they met Rhys, about how she got into healing.

There was a couple tense topics Azriel wanted to approach with the Heiress, like the topic of her older brothers, of her fathers, of why Rhysand had brought her here and hid her from all of them until now, but he danced around them waiting for her to make an opening. He was tired of waiting though, and needed answers before he put his plan for tonight into action.

"Do you talk to your brothers?" She looked at him a little shocked and blinked. "If you don't mind me asking." She does, a shadow whispered. Gentle.

Lyria sighed, pushing her pasta around her plate. "I speak with Eris and Lucien. I do not talk to the other males I have the unfortunate pleasure of being related to."

Azriel nodded. "What's Eris actually like? Behind that mask and bullshit self defense mechanism?"

Lyria looked at Azriel and sighed softly. "Ask me what you actually want to ask."

"What happened with Mor? Did you have part in it?"

Lyria shook her head. "I was a child when they were engaged. All I remember from that night was Eris had allowed me to ride with him on a border patrol. We found her, and he begged her to let us help. She refused. He asked if he could at least get her somewhere she'd be safer, and could be found because the Autumn forest isn't a good place for people my father deems unworthy."

Lyria sighed again. "He had me use what little knowledge I had on winnowing to get her to the clearing you found her in. He hardly slept that night. I know there were discussions between the two of them before this all happened, some hushed fighting, but Eris protected me from whatever little things he could that would lead to Beron hurting me or using me. Mor included."

Azriel nodded. Slowly processing the added information. "So he isn't lying?"

"Eris is kind, caring, funny. He would have never purposely hurt her." Lyria pushed her plate away. "And your question on Lu?"

"How much has he told you?"

Lyria shook her head again before beginning to play with her hair. "Not much honestly. He's not thrilled we are here together, but he understands I am grown enough to make my own choices."

Azriel nodded again. "Why did Rhys hide you for so long?"

She shook her head and held up her arm, a small bargain tattoo unveiling itself. "I can't tell you that. Can we go? I feel like some of this is better discussed alone."

—---------

Azriel pulled her closer to him as they sat on her couch. Talking had quickly turned into kissing, and kissing to heavy touching. Her nails were currently dragging down his bare chest, shirt long lost in some corner of her house, as he ran his own hands up her bare thighs.

Azriel lifted her, remembering he had wanted to repay a favor, and began walking her down the hallway to the room they were in last week.

It came alive the second they entered. Candles and faelights began to brighten, the sounds of nature setting in softly in the background. The soft smell of jasmine and honey hit his nose. "Why is it so… sensual smelling in here tonight?"

Lyria threw her head back with a soft moan as Azriel moved his kisses down her throat and neck. "Feyre and Rhys booked a couples massage lesson. I taught them little tips and tricks based in pleasure massage, they had champagne and chocolates, went home to try to make baby number two." Az chuckled softly against her throat. "Don't laugh. Couples in Velaris go crazy for my date night packages!"

Azriel kissed her deeply again, beginning to unlace the dress she was wearing. "And when is the last time someone took care of your body, Lyria?"

She knew it was a coded question. He was asking her two things. "It's been a while." She confessed.

"Let me take care of you, little fox. Get undressed. Lay on the table on your stomach." He kissed her gently before leaving the room to give her privacy to undress.

Lyria heated the table and blanket, sighing happily as she allowed the dress to fall and hung it. She got on the table, giggling as a shadow caressed her hair before covering her with a towel and Azriel entered.

Her approached her slowly, hand gently running her upper thigh to her ankle as he began to hold back anticipation over her newly exposed skin. He ran his hand softly back up the other leg, admiring every freckle on her shoulders before pausing to look at the scarring on her back.

She had been beaten with something, he ran a hand down one, the familiar sensation of a burn scar under his finger tips. Something that was on fire. "Who did this to you?"

Lyria sighed, turning to look at him with a brow raised. "Beron. His favorite method to put me in line with was a 9 tail whip. He liked how thin the scars were. If I was being extra defiant, he'd light the whip on fire after force feeding me faebane." She felt Azriel's grip on the table, his knuckles had turned white. Lyria pulled one of his hands to her head, laying it back down, "Start with the scalp and work down."

Azriel took a few stilling breaths, his hand instantly beginning to scratch and pull at her hair gently from the base. She let out a soft nose that brought him back to her, back to this moment. He didn't speak as he began to try to take care of her. He watched as she shivered slightly as he gripped the hair at the base of her neck. "You are beautiful," he whispered to her. "So beautiful."

Lyria moaned as his hands moved down to her neck and shoulders. He watched her shiver again, signaling to him he had found the right amount of pressure. He worked the tension out slowly before moving lower.

Lyria sighed softly as Azriel's hands ran along her back. He was being so gentle with her even if it was clear he didn't exactly know what he was doing.

She moaned as he applied more pressure to a tighter area, causing the male to grin with satisfaction. "Like that, little fox?"

"Just like that," her voice had become breathy, eyes fluttering shut. He was doing the best he could to remember her motions from the week before, copying them as closely as possible.

Azriel was almost desperate to see her fall apart the way he had. He was desperate to repay that favor. He allowed his shadows to begin exploring. Watching as they played in her hair, down her back, over the perfect ass he'd been dreaming about.

His goal was set as she moaned as he moved to another tight area. Lyria was going to cum for him tonight, and he honestly did not care how.

His methods became more focused, he began softer touches, watching as goosebumps danced across her skin. His shadows had begun to play in her hair. She was catching on to what was happening. "Whatcha doin', Az?" Her tone was playful as she lifted herself to peek over her shoulder at the blushing male.

Azriel smirked at her, a scarred hand going under the towel to touch the bare skin of her ass and squeezing it. "Repaying a favor." He started to use methods he knew worked. He began kissing her back and neck, whispering into her ear. "Do you want me to touch you, Lyria?"

"Cauldron boil me," she moaned softly as he bit her shoulder. He smirked as she arched her back slightly into him. He could smell her. The scent of their arousal mixing in the air as he moved his hand lower and closer to her core. A soft whimper left her throat. "Please."

"Please what, princess?"

"Touch me."

Azriel wasted no time, running his fingers on her already soaked core before pushing two into her. He used his other hand to tangle into her soft hair, pulling it to force her back to arch more. "Such a pretty little thing." She moaned loudly as his finger stretched her open.

"Azriel," her voice had gone completely breathy at this point. "Feels so good."

He smirked. "Just wait, princess. Your pretty cunt will feel so good wrapped around me." He pulled his fingers out of her, quickly turning her over on table and pulling her closer to the ledge. His fingers returned to her again, his thumb now joining in his assault on her by brushing against her clit. She had propped herself up on her elbows, watching as Azriel's fingers sunk in and out of her.

She was moaning his name, moaning praise, gasping softly with each delicious pull and push. "Look at me," he said. "Eyes on mine, princess." She looked into Azriel's hazel eyes. "Good girl. Such a good girl. Do you want to cum on my fingers?"

Lyria nodded, her red hair bouncing slightly at the motion. "Please."

"What do I get?" She whined as he curled his fingers into that perfect spot.

"Anything. You can have anything." Azriel hummed, and sped up his hands movements, groaning to himself as he felt her walls twitching around his fingers, tightening in excitement. Lyria was still following his orders, her beautiful eyes locked on his as her mouth fell open.

Azriel leaned forward, pushing her submission to find out exactly what he was dealing with. He grabbed her chin with his spare hand, holding her jaw open as he maintained eye contact with her, and then spit into her mouth. "Swallow." She did. "Cum, little fox." And she did. Lyria felt that coil snap in her stomach. He forced her to keep eye contact with him as she moaned out his name loudly, her toes curling. Shadows began to play along her breasts, pinching and tweaking her nipples causing more stimulation and prolonging her orgasm.

Azriel smirked as she rode his hand through her high, chest heaving. "On your knees. Take my pants off." He removed his fingers from her, pulling them to his mouth to suck them clean as he stepped back.

Lyria obeyed, getting on her knees in front of him and unlacing the tight material. She pulled them down his thighs and removed them, running her hands back up his thighs as she sat and waited. "Mouth open, hands behind your back. Tap my thigh twice if it's too much." He stroked his cock, watching as she got into position and parted her lips for him. "Gods, you are obedient, aren't you?"

"I just want to be your good girl," the soft confession almost made Azriel feel guilty as he pushed himself into her mouth, gripping the back of her head to hold her in place as the base of him.

"And you are." He began to fuck her throat slowly, watching her face as drool and tears began to form. His hands were laced tight into her hair for control as he growled above her. "Look so beautiful with my cock down your throat. Such a pretty little mess." She gagged softly around him. Play. He commanded his shadows, smirking as she moaned loudly at them beginning to trace over her clit, her nipples, dragging themselves between her folds. He picked up speed, watching as her mascara began to run, moaning as he destroyed her.

A familiar tight feeling started in his abs as his wings began to flare more. Azriel ripped her off of him and up before it could go further than he wanted and bent her over the table. "Are you on the tonic?" She nodded, unable to form words as his shadows continued their assault. "Good." Azriel lined himself up and pushed inside of her, head falling back into his shoulders as they both moaned. He grabbed both of her arms, pulling her slightly off the table and forcing her to use her abs to support herself.

He set a fast pace, filling her in a way no male ever had before. Stretching her more than any male had before. Lyria was quickly a mess, moaning his name and meeting his thrusts. "Is that the only word my beautiful little fox knows now? Have I fucked you so dumb already you can only say my name?" The drag of his cock as he teased her made her whimper and nod. "Fucking perfect. You are fucking perfect." Azriel grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. His other hand was squeezing her ass again as she laid back on the table.

"How far can I push you, Lyria? Where's the line?" Azriel began to tease her other hole. "Should we find out, princess?"

A scream of his name as he found that sensitive spot in her cunt was her only response. He could feel her wetness dripping, he could feel her tightening around his cock. He took the chance and pushed his thumb into her ass, chuckling as she moaned his name again. "Azriel, fuck! Please."

"Flithy fucking whore, aren't you?" Lyria nodded, smiling at the accusation. "Should I fuck your pretty ass next time? Gods, I'm going to fucking keep you. Can I keep you baby girl? Lock you up in my cabin in chains and just use this little body? Ill treat you like such a good little pet baby. You will be so spoiled."

Lyria was lost, pleasure building so tightly in her stomach she was going to explode soon. He felt so good inside of her and each groan and growl he released had her body fluttering in feminine pleasure. "Yes, master." Azriel groaned above her. "You can keep me."

He was smirking behind her again. He began thrusting even harder into the overly sensitive spot, growling as she got impossibly tighter around him. "Good little pet." His thumb was moving in time with his cock, he could feel it dragging, adding stimulation for both of them. Lyria was twitching around him, drooling and whispering in his name as over sensitivity set in. "Are you going to cum with my thumb in your ass, pet?"

A harsh thrust came after the question, making Lyria see stars as her toes began to curl again. "Yes, master. Can I cum? Please?"

Azriel growled again, his own orgasm right within reach. "Cum," he commanded. "Cum on my cock. I want to feel you fall apart on me."

She came with a scream of his name, Azriel roaring behind her as he also fell over the edge with that final stimulation of her walls fluttering around him. "That's it, pet. There you go." The hand holding her wrist dropped them, guiding her soft pushing against his hips to pull him further into her. "Good girl, Lyria." He pulled his other hand out of her, resting it by her waist as he ran the other up and down her back. "Took me so well, baby."

Lyria shuttered at the praise. Her eyes shut as she came down fully. "We should do this again." Azriel nodded in agreement, pulling out of her slowly and grabbing the towel on the table to clean both of them.

Lyria turned as he threw it into the hamper and froze. Azriel looked at her his brows knitted in confusion. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Then he felt it. Azriel froze as well as he stared at her. A snap happened between the both of them causing his breath to hitch and hers to still.

The string connecting them was golden and sparkling. He pulled her to him instantly, hand holding the back of her hair as he began to cry happily into her head. "You have no clue how long I've been looking for you." He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then each cheek and nose. He finally kissed her lips. Lyria kissed him back, just as eager and smiled as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. "Maybe we can do this again in a couple days, but minus the sex? Just spend time together?"

She nodded at his offer, trying to ignore her growing glowing skin. "I'd like that a lot."

"Do you always glow after sex?"

He smiled as she blushed. "No. I glow when I'm happy."

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x vanserra!oc #azriel x oc #azriel fic #readychilledwine's heresto100 celebration

[whiskersz]

Oooh, someone who writes for Husk! May I request an x reader where, during the extermination, Husk finds and spares a(n exterminator) reader who is hiding and crying because she did not have the courage to kill anyone? It's her first time as an exterminator, so she is terrified. Specially because it was not the noble cause she was made to believe it was. She eventually returns to Heaven, but promises to keep this act of kindness in mind. Thank you!

Hello there! This is rather short, and I also decided not to write it in simple present as I usually do, but perhaps...

...you guys would enjoy a longer, more detailed Part 2?

Let me know! Hope you enjoy this on its own nonetheless, at least for now ;)

━─━────༺༻────━─━━─━────༺༻────━─━

Husk x Exorcist!Reader

Husk panted, taking advantage of the rubble left in place of the Hazbin Hotel to hide and take a breath in the midst of the battle.

He had to admit that if they had been able to stand a chance against the exterminators it was only thanks to the residents of Cannibal Town, who were still out there slaughtering who was probably going to be their next meal.

 His wings fluttered, dust dissipating into the air, and he adjusted the hat that was miraculously still on his head, kept in place by his ears. Nothing like fighting with style, he thought, quickly grooming the fur on his arm.

About to come out of hiding and get back on the battlefield, his ears perked up as the slightest noise made him stop in his tracks. Was someone after him, and had they just been waiting for him to turn around and let his guard down?

Husk unsheathed his claws, his tails swaying from left to right in anticipation.

With a bunch of confident steps he reached a pillar; whoever was behind it was trying to be as quiet as possible, but nothing escaped his acute hearing as they shifted and emitted the same sound he had heard initially.

As the corner of his eye caught a splash of black belonging to the armour of an Exorcist, Husk hissed, throwing himself at the figure before they could do it first; his claws were about to come in contact with their skin before they weakly grabbed his arm and began pleading.

“NO! Please, please don’t hurt me! I wasn’t going to attack you, I-I swear!”

Husk assumed that his eyes must’ve been busting out of his sockets in surprise. He lifted his body from the Exorcist’s, who pathetically curled up on herself and clawed at her own upper arms’ skin, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her mask wasn’t covering her face, rather it was broken, long forgotten several feet away from where the two were positioned.

The bartender took a few steps back for personal safety and frowned at her;

“You...what’re you doing here? Maybe I shouldn’t be reminding you this but...” he gestured at the Angelic Spear thrown on the side, “Aren’t ya supposed to be doing your job? Trying to kill us?”

He waited for the Exorcist to calm down, her sobs slowly coming to a stop after what felt like the longest minute of Husk’s life, bombs exploding in the background and making the ground shake.

“I’m...” she started, clearly trying her best not to start sobbing again, “This is the first time I come down here, they’re shit at explaining! I-I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to hurt anybody! Adam made me believe this would be worth it, but I don’t...have the courage to kill anyone...”

He let her rant, fur flattening as he began calming down. He let out a groan, to which she looked down, most likely ashamed of herself.

“Look. I don’t know you, but do me a favour...” he looked around, making sure nobody was listening in, “Stay here, should be safe enough for ya to hide until the battle’s over.”

The Exorcist’s gaze travelled back up, meeting the demon’s.

“And once you’re out of here, leave that good for nothin’ army, if you’re as good as you claim to be.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone. She knew that, had it been anyone else, they would’ve probably killed her with no remorse. But the soul she had come across was kind, selfless. Perhaps not all deserving of residing in Hell. He had no time to stay and console her, of course, but she would’ve been thinking about his words a lot.

The chilling screams of her Exorcist companions in the distance brought her back to reality; she collected her mask and spear, and hid further into the rubble.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #husk x reader #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #husker #husker x reader #exorcist reader

[cablecar-s]

to love and self loathe

part 1 part 2 part 3

I'm Just A Guy, With A Boomerang!

Okay, so maybe she was a tiny bit rusty as being Spider-Woman. No big deal, just a few more days or nights being in the suit and she can-

Wait- No, this was supposed to be the only and last time she was even putting on the suit. It was just a precaution! You know, if the other vigilantes weren't able to make it because of the decoy or whatever Black Mask was planning.

. . .

God what was she doing...?

Swinging from building to building, she headed into the direction of Wayne Manor. Except, she soon found out just how far the manor was from the city. By the time she made it to the manor, just on the edge of the forest where she saw the clearing of the rather large and gothic mansion, she was quite literally out of breath.

"Damn rich people..." She wheezed, slightly panting as she tried to catch her breath. Once her breathing went back to normal, she climbed over the aging stone wall and jogged over to the massive building. 

Scaling up the wall, she peeked through the multiple windows, making mental notes to herself as she continued to go through each window.

"Now if I were a bunch of thugs, where would I-"

And as if on cue, a large explosion shook the mansion, smoke coming out from one of the sides of the mansion.

"There, I would be over there." She sighed out.

Quickly crawling her way over, she let herself inside the very large ballroom, trying her best to not gawk at how fancy it looked whilst crawling on the ceiling.

"Nobody move! Or the brat gets it!" 

Looking down, everyone was in a state of panic while a thug with a black mask held a young boy hostage, a gun to his head.

With the smoke slightly clearing up, she had taken note that there were about 8 men, and they were all armed, wonderful.

All of them were shoving through the crowd of rich folks, seeming to look for someone in particular. While they were busy doing that, she quietly dropped down, trying to use the smoke and people, hopefully they didn't scream out when they saw her.

"Sorry, pardon me." She quietly whispered, squeezing past the many expensive suits and dresses. "I like the tie." She complimented, though everyone just gawked at her as she put a finger up to where her lips were supposed to be as she made her way over to one of the thugs.

"Hey." She called out, poking the thug's shoulder.

"Wha-" Turning around, about to aim his gun at her, she quickly webbed his mouth shut with one hand while the other had shot out a web to take hold of his gun to take it out from his hand. Shooting out another web to wrap his upper body, she jabbed the butt of the assault rifle into his stomach, causing him to let out a muffle 'oomph!'.

Stumbling back from the impact, she gave him a simple push into the wall before using her webs to keep the man stuck to the wall.

Dusting off her hands, she soon took notice of the many rich folks who only looked at her in bafflement. A bit embarrassed at the attention, the Spider cleared her throat, pointing behind her shoulder.

"I should.. I should probably go." Raising her hand up, she had her web shooter pull herself back up onto the ceiling, crawling on her hands and feet to get to whichever criminal she saw next.

For the next 20 minutes, she was able to take down two more guys before the hostage situation had gotten worse.

Finishing up with keeping one of Black Mask's stuck to the ceiling, the sound of laughter from Mask's men had garnered her attention.

"Now we're getting somewhere." The man holding Damian grinned cynically. Just opposite of him was another one of the criminals, now having Bruce Wayne as a hostage, another gun pressed to his head.

"Alright Mr. Philanthropist, you're gonna listen closely and do as we say: Within 24 hours you're gonna give us 20 billion in exchange for the brat." Damian's hostage tightened his grip around his neck, pressing the gun even closer to the pre-teen's skull.

"I will kill you all." Damian hissed out, but he was only met with getting hit with the gun, making him grunt in pain.

"Shut the hell up." His captor growled out.

"You can have the 20 billion, just leave my son out of this." Bruce said, doing his best in trying to stay calm.

The man only cackled, the sound of his gun cocking, his finger now hovering over the trigger. "We're gonna need the 20 billion first Mr. Wayne."

"Ahem."

All heads quickly swiveled to the sound, only to see Spider-Woman standing there, almost a bit awkwardly.

"Didn't know we were supposed to bring guns to a party as fancy as this." She commented.

It went silent for a moment.

Okay.. Great start.

"Who the fuck are you?" The young Wayne's captor hissed out.

"Oh you know," She let out a small nervous huff. "Just a passerby, thought I would take a look around Gotham and all." She waved a hand nonchalantly. "And you know, it's really nice in Gotham, well, of course, minus all the crime and guys trying to mug an innocent bystander every ten minutes."

She continued to ramble, her arms moving about.

People only looked at her like she was crazy, and honestly? She couldn't blame them.

She herself had no idea what in the hell she was doing, she just hoped she could find herself an opening before the situation escalated any more than it already has.

At some point, the captors were getting irritated, now finding her ramblings tiring.

"Would someone get rid of this bitch already!?" One of them yelled out.

In that moment, her senses tingled, but everything had almost gone in slow motion as the sound of a gunshot rang out, making people scream while some sort of black baton was simultaneously thrown at one of the captors.

Bruce Wayne's captor let out a pained yell as he had been hit with the baton, to the Spider's left though, another yell of pain was heard, as it was one of thugs who was about to shoot the woman.

"What the-!?" Damian Wayne's captor's attention quickly turned to where the baton and gunshot had came from.

Taking this moment of distraction, the female vigilante quickly shot out a web and yanked the gun out from the captor's hand.

"Hey!" Turning his head to look at her, she shot another web, making it cover his entire face. Alarmed, his hands quickly let go of the boy and tried to pull the webbing off. Damian, in response, turned to his captor and gave him a swift kick, knocking him back onto his butt.

There was no time to relax though, for from the corner of the Spider's eye, she saw another one of Black Mask's minions point their gun straight at Damian.

"Hey kid watch out!" She yelled. Quickly running towards him, she closed the distance by grabbing him with her web before shooting another web and pulling themselves up to the ceiling.

An echo of screams rang in the ballroom, everyone now running and panicking, all of the rich folk quickly trying to leave the now dangerous room.

"You alright?" She looked at the boy who had a scowl, arms crossed.

"I'm fine." He retorted.

Rude.

"Okay Mr. Grumpy-Pants." She muttered.

Hearing more gunshots, she looked over and saw two of Gotham's vigilantes fighting off the rest of Mask's men.

"Hey so, I'm gonna leave you up here real quick-"

"You will not-" 

It was too late though, the young Wayne found himself webbed into a cocoon, now stuck to the ceiling of his home while the Spider made her way down to help the two men.

"Release me at once!" He yelled at her, fuming.

Both Red Hood and Nightwing were preoccupied and cornered by Black Mask's minions. Both fighting the men and dodging the bullets they shot at the vigilantes.

Too preoccupied, Nightwing had realized too late as one of the men were about a second away from getting shot. But an all too familiar sticky string had pulled the gun out from the minion's hands only to be promptly knocked out with a harsh kick from behind.

"You boys need help?" She questioned, tossing the gun to the side.

"We have it just fine."

"That'd be appreciated."

Red Hood and Nightwing glanced at each other, but Red Hood seemed to be the one to look away first. With a smile, Nightwing threw his escrima stick, shocking a criminal as they went down while he looked back at the Spider.

The two nodded nodded at each other at the result of Red Hood's lack of resistance and made quick work of joining the two men. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you around in Gotham before." Nightwing turned a bit, dodging a fist that flew his way.

"Ah well, I just thought I'd do a bit of sightseeing." Spider-Woman replied, webbing one of the men's foot to the ground, causing him to fall face first onto the ground.

"And Gotham was your first choice?" The first Robin looked over at her, both brows raised, while simultaneously kneeing a man in his face.

She let out a small laugh, weaving her way behind a guy before shoving him to fall to his knees.

"I let the wheel of fate choose for me." She shrugged.

 Nightwing quickly picked up his escrima and tossed it to her, her web shooting out to have it come to her faster.

Once in hand, she tossed the escrima in the air a bit before catching it once more and hitting the man, who was trying to get up, in the back of the head, causing him to fall once more, though this time staying down for good.

"You two, less talking and more beating Sionis' men up." Red Hood grunted in irritation, taking hold of the man throwing a punch at him and bent it the other way, causing the man to let out a blood curdling scream.

Both Spider-Woman and Nightwing backed up into each other, their backs pressed to each other.

"Is he always that snappy?" She questioned, causing him to laugh.

"He's nice, I promise."

She only let out an unconvinced hum in response. 

Clasping his fingers together, Spider-Woman stepped into his hands as he threw her into the air. Finding her target, she shot two strings of webs to the ground before pulling herself feet first, giving the last guy a good kick, and a long-term concussion, to the head.

A satisfied hum left her lips, hands on her hips.

Nightwing whistled a bit, walking over to her. "You're pretty good." He mused.

She couldn't help but feel giddy at the compliment, remembering the adrenaline rush that comes with being a vigilante. 

"Why thank you." She said in a bit of a posh accent, one arm slinging behind her back while the other wrapped around her stomach, and bowed.

Nightwing chuckled at her antics as she straightened herself up.

"I thought I'd be a bit rusty, but it seems I still got it." She hummed brushing her shoulder. Soon, she felt something sturdy and warm brush against the back of her head, slowly tilting her head backwards, the looked as Red Hood was tilting his head down to look at her.

"What are you doing here in Gotham?" His robotic voice questioned. "And don't give me that 'sightseeing' bullshit." 

Turning herself around to face the slightly scary man, she looked up at him clearing her throat and held a finger up.

"Uh well, for starters," She started. She only looked as he continued to stare at her, waiting for a response.

God was he scary when you weren't a citizen.

She seemed to be having a hard time trying to come up with something, a sense of deja vu coming upon her. 

"I have.. Family..?" Her response was more of a question than an answer, and that only made Red Hood even more unconvinced.

"Really." He crossed his arms.

"Ye.. s...?" She slowly drew out the word a bit more, slightly cringing at how unsure she sounded herself.

"If you are done chatting then it would be smart of you to let me down before I come down myself!" A voice, slightly far away, yelled out.

All three vigilantes looked up towards the voice and saw Damian still stuck to the ceiling.

Nightwing snorted a bit at this, the Spider quickly clearing her throat.

"I uh, better go get him." Letting out a nervous chuckle, she glanced at the two vigilantes before webbing her way up to the ceiling, ripping away at the webs to get the boy out from his cocooned confines.

"I don't trust her." Jason squinted his eyes at her, watching her every move.

Dick rolled his eyes at this. "You don't trust anyone Jay- Ow!" 

His head went forwards, a light slapping noise echoing in the walls.

"Vigilante names, we don't know if she can hear us or not." Jason stated.

Dick only let out an annoyed huff, rubbing the back of his head, there was a bit of a smile on Jason's lips, his mood slightly lifting after giving his older brother a good smack.

The Spider soon let their youngest brother down back to the ground. They only watched in amusement as the two seemed to have an exchange of words before Bruce made his way over.

"You're alright?" He questioned his son, crouching down a bit to take a look at him.

"Fine." Damian huffed, looking away, arms crossed. "I told you this party was useless." He slightly glared at his father who only chuckled, giving a small ruffle to his hair.

"I'll make it up to you, promise." He smiled. Standing up, the billionaire looked at the female vigilante. "Thank you, for saving my son."

"Oh, I mean.." The Spider became a bit bashful, a sheepish laugh leaving her mouth. Rubbing the back of her head, she slightly looked away, waving her hand a bit. "It wasn't just me who helped too." 

She looked over at the other two vigilantes, the two seeming to be talking—more like bickering, no one needs to know that but them though—until Nightwing lightly elbowed Red Hood who begrudgingly followed behind the masked vigilante who made his way to them.

"Mr. Wayne." Nightwing said with a smile.

"Ah, Nightwing." The billionaire smiled, looking over at the man that stood behind the more chipper vigilante. "Red Hood."

Red Hood only gave the man a curt nod, muttering the billionaire's name as a greeting. He shifted his weight, having crossed his arms before promptly looking away afterwards.

It became a bit awkward after that, Spider-Woman only watching with slight discomfort at the odd greeting she had just witnessed.

Clearing her throat, all three men looked over at her. "Well I uh, I better get going." She pointed behind her.

"To New York?" Bruce questioned, raising a brow.

"What?" She questioned back, looking at the man before blinking a bit too much. "You.." She pointed at herself. "You know of me?" She asked, dumbfounded.

He chuckled at this. "Of course, you were all over the internet with your disappearance." He mused.

"Oh.." She mumbled, remembering seeing the many articles as well. Everyone questioning as to where she had gone, and if she was coming back.

The flash of a smile and a melodic voice calling out her name came to her, making her grimace.

"Everything alright?"

She snapped her head up to look at the billionaire who had a bit of concern on his face, the two vigilantes looking at her with questioning look.

"Uh, yeah, sorry." She hummed nervously. "All that fighting really tired me out." She winded up her arm, rocking back and forth on her feet a bit. "Anyways uh, thank you, for having me. Sorry about the mess." 

Her hands moved around all over the place, taking small steps back towards the large hole in the wall. "I'll be, I'll be going now, haha.." 

Turning around, a web shot out from her wrist and she had left with the wind. 

"Some party that was." Dick mused. 

"Father did you see how she stuck me to the ceiling like some insect?" Damian quipped.

"Maybe because you are one." Jason mused. 

Immediately, Damian's head turned to look at his brother to give him a glare. Bruce only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Enough." Looking over at his two oldest, he gave them a questionable look. "Does anyone want to tell me what Spider-Woman is doing in Gotham?" He questions.

Dick shrugged at this. "Beats me."

Jason stayed quiet, a bit of a grimace falling on his face.

"Jason." 

The second Robin only rolled his eyes, looking at his adoptive father. 

"She seemed to have come to Gotham a week ago. Only trail she left was her webs." He informed, arms still crossed.

"And I wasn't informed about this because..?"

Jason shrugged. "Didn't seem important."

The father and son duo stared at each other for a good while, tension slightly building up.

Fuck, this wasn't how Jason wanted this to go.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce beat him to it.

"Well as long as she doesn't pose a threat." He sighed out. "You two should probably get changed, I'm sure Gordan and the others will be here soon."

And right as Bruce said that, the distant sound of sirens could be heard, the colors red and blue flashing in a distance through the darkness and trees.

With a nod, both Jason and Dick went to leave—Damian following along to head to his room—Dick going on ahead, all the while Jason having stopped in his tracks after hearing his name be called out.

Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder, seeing Bruce stare at him for a moment, his lips pressed into a line.

"Will you..." He hesitated for a moment. "Will you be staying for the night?" 

Jason stopped breathing for a moment. 

Did he want him to stay? Or was he just asking out of formalities? Of course Bruce wanted him to stay, he was his son for crying out loud.

Jason's mouth suddenly felt dry, having to lick his slightly chapped lips. His eyes darted around the room, suddenly feeling like that walls of the ballroom were closing in on him even though there was a giant hole in one of the walls.

"No, I'll be going back to my place." He flexing his hand a bit to try and calm his nerves, feeling his clothes suddenly feeling a bit too small on him all of sudden.

"I see. Take care then. I'll see you tomorrow." Bruce said softly.

"Yeah." Was all Jason was able to muster before walking off, leaving the man by himself in the large ballroom.

His footsteps quickened once he left the room, a somewhat nauseous feeling overcoming him. Quickly moving the arms of the grandfather clock once more, he wasted no time going down the stairs.

Fast walking to his motorcycle, he kicked the stand up and stuck the key into the ignition.

"Leaving so soon?" 

Jason paused, hand just barely about to turn the key to start his bike. It was quiet between him and Dick, the two not saying a word.

"Bye." Jason said, his bike roaring to life at the same time, almost drowning out his goodbye as he sped off.

Dick only sighed, watching his younger brother leave the Batcave, the smell of exhaust and gasoline filling the air.

At least he's trying.

part 1 part 2 part 3

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #spiderwoman reader #to love and self loathe #strangers to friends to lovers #dcu #dc universe #x reader #female reader #I'm pretty proud about the fight scene #reader is just a lil silly #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #nightwing #tim drake

[josephinekhawaja]

The most beautiful Kaya Scodelario looked in "The Gentlemen". And the overall scene is something that can actually be so personal. Him seeking her out. Like ending episode 6 thinking mom and dad (mum and dad) are going to war with each other...and then this...and then still the last two episodes being a roller coaster of whether or not they are going to be the literal death of one another. I have never had so much Good Stress from a ship that was Bad Stress when I was actually going through it. I aged and greyed so much through parts of this show, my poor heart.

To me, they have this low-key Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle dynamic (sooooo, Bobby Glass would be Carmine Falcone? I can work with that), which, given how BatCat is one of my lifelong OTPs, I am sure subconsciously pulled me in. Like posh boy that can get down and dirty (so his ski mask era would be his Batman era 😅😂 "We're not criminals, Freddy"), however much he sees himself holding a higher moral ground over the underworld he must move through. And working-class girl, street smarts, that can no less look "elegant and stylish" and navigate the upper echelons; but at the end of the day is who she is and matter-of-factly💋💋💋💋a career criminal. (Kaya honestly even works as a face claim for Selina though her eyes may be closer to blue than green. I mean, the Gunnverse has to cast a Catwoman eventually, depending on the age range of their Batman... I will just leave this here for you for free, James.)

And then Princess Roseanne, the Countess of Tournai, would be Talia Al-Ghul especially when Susie lets slip some jealous vibes towards her (made me think of Anne Hathaway's snark about Marion Cotillard in the last Nolanverse film...the characters, not the actresses). Though ultimately I do see Eddie and Princess Roseanne as Just Friends and no conflict in that direction unless further miscommunication. (So much Misunderstanding Drama in this series and between OTP. When a good romantic comedy is not a romantic comedy; or even entirely a comedy.)

But really it comes down to their having such an *easy partnership*, naturally yielding to one another when it comes to it. The way Susie has her way about things -- most notably when she invites herself to meet Stanley Johnston -- and Eddie smoothly submits to her without in any way seeming whipped. Like their actions are always in agreement, even when their words are not. Those two are more married than most married folks I have seen on screen. Should have blacked out in Nevada than on the estate.

(Also, gotta love how she has him saved in her phone as "The Duke". Like forget Bridgerton...I would watch an entire season of TheoKaya going at each other in, Bridgerton ways. As it stands with this though, I could see how the greater artistic choice might be to just make this a stand-alone, but I would be greedy for any subsequent season. This is already technically an expansion on a film -- that I have yet to see -- so Guy Ritchie does not mind a revisit. I could use any more of these 2 families who fully drive the story of this world.)

#OTP: Refined Aggression #OTP: Not Without Danger #Eddie Horniman x Susie Glass #Eddie x Susie #Edward Horniman x Susan Glass #Edward x Susan #I call them EdSie #but their shipping name is Horniglass #Guy Ritchie BatCat #I need Susie to be the next (unconventional) Duchess of Halstead like I need in every universe Selina to inherit Martha Wayne's pearls

[undertheorangetree]

Love in the Dark

Summary- Aemond must speak with his lover following the events at Storm’s End

Warnings- MDNI. Female reader. Angst. Hurt/no comfort. Unhappy ending. Thoughts of war, death and sex. Reader is from the Reach. Aemond is being a dick.

Author's Note- This came to me in the car while I was blasting Love in the Dark by Adele so I’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem. It’s just a little guy so this excerpt is short and the full thing is on AO3 in the link below :)

dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Though they are not stained, Aemond can feel the blood on his hands. Rainwater has been the only thing to soak through his clothes, gone cold with the wind chill, but it may as well be blood. Hot, red blood, coating his hands, staining his clothes.

It had been an accident, that much he knows. Some convoluted attempt to gain the upper hand and frighten his bastard nephew that had gone horribly wrong. Some dark part of himself thinks that perhaps Lucerys deserved it, but that is masked by a sickening twist in his gut. Shame, guilt, horror. The realm will be plunged into war now, that much he is sure of. Truthfully, he knows it was inevitable, despite what his mother wanted. War was always going to be how this ended, but there is something akin to guilt eating away at him now, knowing that he is the one who has brought it upon them.

He had not truly been in control of himself when he came here. It was as if he was possessed as he made his way through the secret passages and into her rooms. It is the middle of the night, she is fast asleep and curled into the plush of her pillow, and yet here he stands, watching over her like a spectre. He isn’t sure how long he has been standing here. It feels wrong and he almost turns and makes his way back into the passage, to put as much distance between them as he can, but then her eyes open, blinking up at him blurrily. She is still half asleep and in that daze but still, she smiles at him, so affectionately that he thinks his heart may burst. He does not deserve her affection, to ever see that smile again, and he is almost relieved when it morphs into confusion, brows drawing together as she notices his appearance.

Slowly, still stunted by sleep, she pushes the quilts away and stands from her bed. He sucks in a heavy breath as she comes toward him, clad only in a nightgown. It is one that he has gifted her and he does not know if he can take the sight of her in it. Her hands come up, cupping his face for a moment and he closes his eye, relishes in the feeling of her skin against his own, warm against the chill. They leave him far too quickly, running over his neck, his shoulders, wrapping around his arms and tugging him closer. He sucks in a breath as she moves him but he does not dare touch her. He will not stain her with this blood. It is his alone.

The confusion on her face is apparent, voice flooded with a concern he does not know if he deserves. “You’re soaking wet. What-”

“I killed Lucerys.” The words come out of him without permission. He still does not know why he has come here, not really. For comfort, maybe. To speak the words aloud and make them true. To reveal the truth of it to someone kind as when word spreads in the morning he will never be treated with a tender hand again. “He arrived at Storm’s End not long after I did with demands from his mother. I- we, Vhagar and I- followed him out into the rain and… and I killed him.”

The horror on her face is apparent immediately. Her hands freeze where they are on his arms, face dropping and whole body going rigid. For a moment he thinks she is about to retreat, to put as much distance between herself and a kinslayer as possible. But then her hands tighten on his sleeves and she lifts her face to look him in the eye.

“The storms there are legendary. If you were both out flying in poor conditions, no one could blame you if-"

“I meant to.”

He doesn’t know why he says that. He hadn’t. At least, he does not think he did. Perhaps a part of him- one full of anger and malice- had been the only part of him Vhagar could feel and she had acted on that deep hidden urge within him. As it had been Vhagar who had truly acted and that was something no one could ever know. No matter what others think of him now, they cannot know he lost control of his dragon, that she acted without his word and that he could do nothing but sit helpless upon her back and watch. That would be worse, he thinks, to look weak in that way. A dragonrider was a god among men, a dragon a weapon more powerful than any other, and he cannot afford to look weak. Not even to her.

Suddenly the reason for his arrival here is obvious. It is clear now, excruciatingly so, what will happen. He has brought war upon them all, has condemned them all to a fate worse than death. The realm will be plunged into chaos, but he could spare her from it. If she were far from it all, she will not suffer the consequences of his actions. And perhaps that will be enough for him, to see her safe.

Read the rest here

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #Aemond Targaryen angst #Aemond angst #Aemond Targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

[im-a-wonderling]

Safety Harness

This is my piece for @thepenultimateword's song-story writing challenge. My song was "Bloodshot" by Sam Tinnesz, which was submitted by @epiclamer. This was a lot harder than I thought, but such a good exercise! Shout out to @writing-on-the-wahl for helping me out with this. She just has a way of making everything better. ❤️

Word count: 2.8k

-

Hunter didn’t like using front doors. Nor did she like knocking.

That’s why, when she roughly pulled a gagged Kidnapee from her unassuming blue sedan, she went straight around the mansion to the French double doors at the back of Client’s house. She shoved the doors open with such force, they swung, bounced off the walls, and swung back in her direction. Hunter lifted a hand to block the door before it hit her. Kidnapee’s hands, unfortunately, were bound, and therefore he was unable to stop the door from hitting him in the face.

Client sat alone at the head of a long dining table of dark wood, several plates of food in front of him. He didn’t look the least bit surprised or put out by Hunter’s rambunctious entrance. He merely set down his fork. “That was quicker than I expected,” was all he said before lifting his pristine, cream cloth napkin to wipe his mouth. 

“I don’t mess around.” Hunter dragged Kidnapee to the other end of the table and forced them down into the chair.

Client rose to his feet, walking slowly closer, his eyes never leaving Kidnapee. Smoothly, Hunter stepped in between the two of them. “My money?” 

“Oh,” Client said with all his slippery charm, “come now, it’s crass to discuss–”

“Money, or I’m taking Kidnapee right back to where I found them.” She cocked her head. “Considering now they know where you live, that would not end well for you.”

Client’s upper lip curled. “Fine.” He slid his hand into his pocket, lifting out his phone. “Hello,” he said quickly. “I need you to transfer that money we talked about.” The voice on the other side of the phone garbled a bit. “Thank you, Barney.” He hung up and then made to walk around Hunter.

Hunter held up her hand. “Not so fast.” She pulled out her own phone, to wait for the number to increase. 

It did, by exactly the amount agreed upon.

Hunter dropped her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, tucking her phone into her pocket and leaving the way she’d come before Client could make her stay, whether for a drink or for participation in whatever nefarious treatment he had planned for Kidnapee. 

He hadn’t requested Kidnapee be blindfolded, so Hunter knew Kidnapee wasn’t walking out of this mansion.

And it wasn’t any of Hunter’s concern. All she did was find people and deliver them to her patrons. What happened after that was not her decision. 

Hunter was done having things on her conscience. 

All she cared about now was making enough money to follow through with her plans. Even after a month of doing these jobs, she still hadn’t made enough, but tonight, that could change. 

She knew firsthand how wealthy her next potential customer was. 

Hopping into her sedan, Hunter sped off into the evening traffic, heading for the Honey Cloud. No other diner in the city had as atrocious a name nor French fries as delicious as the Honey Cloud, but neither of those earmarked it as Hunter’s place of business. It was the alleyway behind it. Small, filled with trashcans, and dimly lit, it allowed for Hunter to keep her identity secret, and it was an easy location to litter with traps in case a meeting went poorly.

And should all her traps fail, Hunter always strapped herself into her harness. If anyone got too close, all she had to do was pull a strap, and the harness would yank her up into the air and onto the roof. She’d never needed the harness, but she knew the one night she didn’t have it in place was the night she would need it.

Once she was all strapped in, Hunter waited, heart pounding in spite of herself. 

She had her mask on, her hood up, her harness clipped on, and stood in the darkest part of the alley with a remote in her pocket that controlled all three hidden traps. She reminded herself that she was safe and prepared. If the conversation took a turn, if he threatened her, she could easily leave. In spite of her internal monologue, however, her hands shook as she waited for the customer to arrive. 

She didn’t have to wait long.

A car drove up to the mouth of the alleyway, and the backdoor opened, revealing the tall and imposing body of Villain himself. 

Simply by laying eyes on him, one could feel the sheer power contained in his tall, broad body.

Languidly, he got out, gave an order to the driver, and then shut the door. The car drove off, leaving Villain alone on the sidewalk, peering into the alley as he buttoned and straightened the blazer of his pale blue suit. Holding his head high, he walked into the alley, one hand lifting to check the knot of his salmon pink tie. As he walked closer, his nose wrinkled as the smell from the trash cans hit him. 

“That’s far enough,” Hunter called, taking on a voice a few tones deeper than her normal one. He was standing right on the edge of her first trap, and good customer service didn’t involve getting a weighted net thrown at you. 

Villain stopped, seemingly unsurprised with the sudden announcement of her presence. He then glanced around, probably realizing he stood directly at the edge of the direct light from the street. “You expect us to talk while we stand fifteen feet apart?”

“If you want to talk at all, yes.”

Villain pursed his lips in the nature of a man used to getting what he wanted, clearly unhappy with the arrangement and debating whether or not he was going to comply. 

Hunter nervously clenched the strap of her harness, ready to pull it if necessary.

But Villain finally bobbed his head once in a nod. 

“So what can I do for you?” Hunter asked, maintaining her alto tone. 

“I need you to find someone for me,” Villain said. 

“I would assume so,” Hunter said dryly. “That is the nature of my job.”

To her surprise, Villain didn’t frown or snap back. He just stood, squinting into the dark, rubbing his hands as if he’d just put lotion on them and was trying to spread it around evenly. 

Hunter’s nerves elevated. “If I’m going to find them, you’re going to need to be a bit more specific.”

Villain lowered his hands, sliding them into his pockets with a cool, practiced air. “I need you to find Hero for me.”

Hunter blinked, glad for the darkness and the mask to contain any surprised expression she might’ve made.

Villain was not the first person who’d come asking for her services in regards to Hero, but she’d expected him to come asking about a long-lost parent, a wayward henchman, even a recently jilted lover, not his nemesis. Her curiosity rose, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t beat it back. “Let me guess,” she said loftily, “you want Hero dead because–”

“No!” Villain snapped. “I want you to find her, not kill her.”

“Again, that is the nature of my job,” Hunter said. “But you’ll kill her once I bring her to you, yes?”

Villain shifted, clearing his throat. “What I do with her after you’ve located her is not in the nature of your job.”

“That it isn’t,” Hunter remarked. “But if you want to continue this conversation, you’ll tell me why you want to find her.”

Villain visibly faltered. “Does it really matter?” he asked. He must’ve really wanted to find Hero, because he didn’t try to intimidate or bully Hunter into leaving it alone, as if he didn't want to offend her.

Hunter stayed quiet. She wasn’t going to repeat herself, nor would she allow herself to get tricked into continuing the conversation anyway. Hunter once watched an interrogation once where the interrogator said barely three words the whole hour. The power of the interrogator’s silence was enough to extract any information they needed. She mimicked them now. 

Villain reached up a hand, loosening his tie. Was she imagining the beads of sweat on his forehead? “I…I owe her a debt.” Hunter tried to tame her interest, she really did. This was a business meeting, nothing more. 

But she needed to know.

“What debt?”

“Why do you want to know?” Villain countered, jutting his jaw forward, as if he were trying to make himself look more imposing. 

Hunter remained silent. 

“This information won’t affect your ability to find her or bring her to me,” Villain tried again.

Still, no words passed through Hunter’s lips.

“You’re being childish,” Villain scoffed. 

“You know, if you’re trying to get me to do this for you, insulting me isn’t going to get you very far.”

Villain stared at the ground in front of him, visibly struggling, but she knew the second he looked down that he was going to tell her. “She killed someone for me,” Villain said finally, looking back up into the darkness surrounding Hunter.

“You’ve killed loads of people.”

“You don’t understand,” Villain ran a hand through his neatly coiffed hair, messing it up. “For her, it is a big deal, she’s nothing like–” he cut himself off.

“Nothing like who?” Hunter asked softly.

“Doesn’t–”

“–matter?” Hunter finished. Villain turned to the side, staring at the trash cans as if he’d quite like to aim a kick at them. Hunter debated telling him that if he did so, he was responsible for picking up every piece of trash up again. 

Judging by the twist of his lips, Villain was two seconds away from walking out of this alley. 

“Last I heard,” Hunter said, trying for a bit of a drawl, “Hero broke your hand. How’d you go from that to owing her anything?” 

She expected Villain’s face to sour at the mention of his old injury. Instead his head bowed as he looked down at the appendage in question. He didn’t say anything. 

Hunter knew she needed to go back to the original topic. But as she watched Villain silently stare down at a bumpy scar on the back of his hand, she couldn’t bring herself to continue business. “Look, you want a bit of advice from me?” Hunter finally said. “Go home. Put your feet up. Forget about her.”

“No,” Villain said stubbornly.

“Trust me.” Hunter swallowed hard. “Hero’s not worth it.”

Villain pulled out his phone. “How much do you want?” His tone was cold and unyielding.

Hunter chewed on her lip, unsure of exactly what to do. She should end the conversation now. In fact, she should’ve ended it the moment he brought up Hero. But…she had no idea Villain cared this much about his famed nemesis. Her self-preservation pulled her one way, and her curiosity pulled her the other in a furious game of tug-of-war. “How much is Hero worth to you?” she asked finally.

“So you can ask for twice whatever I list? No, thank you.”

“No, I want to know.” Hunter ran the toe of her boot across the alley ground, creating a dim scraping sound. “How far are you willing to go to settle this debt of yours?”

Villain narrowed his eyes, still untrusting. His mouth stayed stubbornly closed. 

“Look,” Hunter said, adopting a tone of impatience, “if you want it quick and dry, go find the Beckham brothers and do business with them.”

Please, she added on silently. 

Villain shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “They wouldn’t take the job. They recommended you.”

Again, Hunter was thankful for the darkness to cover any expression she might’ve made. The Beckham brothers would do anything for money, even if it was streaking on a college campus as part of a fraternity initiation ritual. “Why’d they turn it down?”

Villain pursed his lips. “Few people want to take on the agency.”

A flood of fear rushed through Hunter at the mention of the agency, but she tamped down on it. “The Agency is offering half a million to anyone who brings Hero to them alive.” 

Villain cocked his head. “Then why haven’t you taken them up on it?”

Hunter swallowed hard. She’d made a mistake, a huge mistake in mentioning the Agency’s price. She could see the enormity of her stumble in the thoughts that swirled behind those calculating eyes. 

“Step into the light,” Villain ordered. 

“Excuse me?” Hunter replied, her heart jumping into her throat as she tried to sound offended. 

Villain just stared into the darkness, and Hunter’s heart swooped. “Nothing,” he said finally, falling away a step, and then another. “Nothing, sorry.” But while his words and feet backtracked, his expression didn’t. 

An alarm bell urgently rang in Hunter’s head. This meeting had stretched on too long, and she needed to end it now. 

“I’ll take the job,” she said gruffly. “Transfer a hundred k to account number 4982–”

Villain took a sudden step forward, and Hunter cut off, reaching for the strap of her harness to launch her to safety. “Come closer,” Villain commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Hunter’s heart pounded. What should she do? Did she cut her losses and escape? Did she try to continue the job? She needed the money, but…did she need it this badly? 

Villain’s expression turned uncharacteristically distressed. “Please…either I’m crazy or…”

That last word hung in the air. 

He knows, Hunter thought to herself, gripping her strap for dear life, frozen like a deer in headlights. He knows, he knows, he knows. She’d thought she was strong enough for this, but she wasn’t. She’d been so focused on the money she needed, she hadn’t thought this through, and now she was going to pay for it. 

She’d be better off cutting her losses and running. Screw the money, she could find it somewhere else. And yet, looking at the sharp desperation in Villain’s face, her will crumbled. 

Barely even aware of anything other than the man in front of her, she hit the button on her remote to deactivate all the traps. She edged closer to Villain, hyper aware that she was leaving the comfort of darkness, for once knowledge was known, it couldn’t be taken back. She was only three feet forward when the harness ran out of line, refusing to allow her even an inch farther. Hunter reached up to hold the buckle of her harness, still unsure of what to do. “What,” she rasped, “do you think you’re going to see?”

Villain’s eyes leapt all around the darkness, trying to seek out Hunter’s form. “The face of someone I very much want to see,” he said. Hunter’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. Her common sense screamed at her to pull the strap, to get out while she still could. Villain chest rose and fell rapidly as he sucked in air. “The face of the woman I love.” 

Hunter’s heart took complete control of her body as she reached up to unclip herself from her harness. Taking a deep breath, Hunter stepped into the light, letting her hood fall. 

Villain lifted shaking hands and pulled the mask from her face, exposing her features to the light. His mouth went slack, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Hero.” The relief on his face was so sweet, it hurt.

Hunter turned her face away. “Don’t call me that.”

Villain’s hands came to her face with such gentle caresses, Hunter peeked to see the equally elated and incredulous smile on his face. “I’m not calling you Hunter.”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse,” Hunter mumbled, letting her gaze drop to the ground.

Villain’s dress shoes stepped closer to her. “We can work out what to call you later,” he muttered, dipping his head.

The kiss he laid on her lips sent a quake through Hunter. She clung to the lapels of Villain’s blue suit, the only way she was able to stay on her feet. 

“I looked for you,” Villain said against her lips, inhaling like he wanted to breathe her into his lungs where she could never run away. “When I heard, I searched for you everywhere.”

To Hunter’s horror, tears pricked at her eyes. Villain pulled back, using his thumbs to brush the water away. “I thought that you were…” He shook his head up at the heavens, unwilling to say it. 

“I almost was,” she choked out. “I’ve been trying to get out of the city ever since, but the Agency took everything. My money, my apartment, all my things–”

Villain’s hand came to cradle the back of her neck, pulling her into his chest. “It’s okay, you’re with me now. We’ll get you out.”

“You were right,” she said, her words muffled by the salmon fabric of his tie. “I was on the wrong side.” 

Villain’s arms tightened around her. He didn’t say “I told you so” or chide her for not listening in the first place. He didn’t rush her away or immediately start cursing those that put her in this situation. He just held her.

And Hunter, in turn, gripped him like he was her new safety harness.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #hero #villain #bounty hunter #angst #writeblr #pen's song-story writing challenge extravaganza #bloodshot #sam tinnesz

[konigbabe]

little storm (part iii; set me ablaze)

final part

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x (vague and not described) fem!OC

Word count: 3.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; explicit language; keegan calls OC 'kid'; canon compliant; pre-canon; smut; p-in-v sex; kissing; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; slight dom!Keegan; soft(er) sex; female gendered anatomy; 3rd POV

Summary: Months pass after their latest meeting; yet here she stands, in his room, way past midnight...

A/N: It's been months since I last wrote any piece of creative writing so excuse the possible slight change in tone. I tried to keep it together as much as I could.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

little storm: part i • part ii

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

Desire bursting through her veins like liquid fire, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him. Yet the mask stays on.

There is an air of impropriety in the way her fingers trace the fresh wounds adorning the delicate skin over her knuckles. A gentle tap echoes through the stillness of the night as she stands before the wooden door, uncertain of what awaits her on the other side. A part of her yearns for him to answer, while another is hesitant, wavering in indecision.

Time had slipped by like a thief in the night since she last saw him.

She’d never admit it but she misses the feel of his presence. The annoyed tone of his voice, the watchful eyes of his that never seemed to miss. They shared a part of their past. Not a significant one, neither one that’d change their lives; but it still made her heart warm to find out that she might be the first person outside his team that saved the Keegan Russ. At least these words were said to her multiple times to her by her colleague after they found out what happened.

The door swings open with ease, revealing a shadowy figure with a mask obscuring his features. Keegan stands still, broad shoulders blocking the view into his room.

Words pool in her mouth, caught by her teeth when attempted to spill. Biting the kindness away, she can’t help but chuckle.

“Damn…you really never take the mask off, huh?” she slips past Keegan’s frame, arm brushing against the hard surface of his chest as she uninvitedly enters the room, “even when you’re alone—“

Her eyes dart around the bedroom. The room is spotless, an oddity in this dim, sulky space. It's too quiet, even the sound of her own breathing feels like an intrusion. The full moon casts a grey hue on everything, making it feel like time has frozen in this room. It matches his demeanor perfectly, she thinks to herself.

“—you’re here.”

Keegan’s voice breaks the silence as he turns around to face her. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, scan her every move as she approaches his bed, noticing the sheets neatly arranged. Her usually confident steps falter in his presence. Usually very secure and confident enough to get by, something about being here, in Keegan’s room, feels intimate.

“What you want, kid?” he meets her steps in the middle of the room.

“I just realized I never got to thank you; for saving me,” her eyes follow him, taking in the way the black military shirt hugs his upper body, vaguely outlining the defined muscles underneath, “twice actually.”

“‘s that all?” he asks.

She looks up at him, trying to read his stoic expression. The sharp and penetrating gaze seem to bore into her very soul. She can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at her.

She takes another deep breath, steeling herself to ask the question that's been plaguing her mind since the day she heard. The cuts on her knuckles throb under the bright light, a stark reminder of the past few weeks.

"Why’d you get me into Ghosts?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicker to her knuckles, then back up to meet her gaze. There's a moment of hesitation before he speaks, and she can see the flicker of something in his eyes.

"You're good, kid," he finally answers, his voice measured and calm. "It’d be a waste of potential if you left."

She raises an eyebrow at his answer, surprised by its simplicity. "That all?" she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Keegan nods, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed. She’d expected something more profound, some hidden meaning behind his actions.

"And here I was," she says, trying to lighten the mood a little, "thinking that I grew on you." She offers him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension between them.

Above Keegan’s tall frame, the analog clock clicks as it strikes way past midnight, yanking her back to reality. The late hour dawns on her as she realizes they have a lot of work to do the next day.

“Well,” she transfers her weight from one leg to another, stopping herself from clapping, “I better get goin’. We have a lot of work tomorrow–or today, should I say.”

She makes her way towards the door, still slightly ajar.

For a moment, Keegan doesn't respond, his silence stretching on as she grips the door handle. But then he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. It makes her stop in her tracks, her back towards him.

“You’re reckless, impulsive, and a pain in my ass,” he remarks, making her pivot to face him, “but you’ve got potential, kid. And that’s something I don’t come across very often.”

His words jolt her, heat creeping across her cheeks. She’s not used to hearing praise from Keegan, especially not when it’s mixed with insults.

"So yeah," he continues, his tone softer now, "maybe you've grown on me a little bit."

She turns back to face him, a small mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’ll take that.”

As Keegan closes the distance between them, his long strides are quiet but purposeful. The floorboards creak softly beneath his weight, the sound echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room. His eyes are fixed on her, unblinking and intense, as he steps up before her.

She can feel his heat emanating from his body, warming her as he moves in closer.

"But don't let it go to your head," he murmurs, "I'll still kick you out if you mess up."

Her heart thuds against her ribs as she faces him, her eyes meeting his. There's something different in his gaze now, something that sends a thrill through her. It's as if he's seeing her for the first time, really seeing her, and she can't help but feel a little dizzy.

“But you’re not my captain,” she teases, her eyes flickering down to his torso. Her fingers twitch with a desire to touch him.

“I still outrank you,” he retorts.

“Oh, c’mon,” she exhales theatrically, “you’ve been a lieutenant for a couple of weeks.”

Silence descends on the room, thick and electric with tension. She breaks the stillness with a soft inquiry.

“How's your side?” she asks softly, reaching out to touch his hip.

“It's fine,” he replies. “I've had worse.”

It’s at this moment, her arm barely moving in order to touch his side, that she realizes just how close the man before her actually stands. It emits questions in her head – did he move closer on purpose? Or was it the same string that pulled her towards him all those months ago? That made her run through bullets to get him to safety…

Out of reality, as if she’s watching her own body move on its own, her hand reaches for his mask. Slow. Calculated and careful. As if she’s reaching to grab a piece of delicate glass, afraid it might shatter at any moment.

Her fingers brush against the rough surface of the mask, feeling the contours of it, tracing the edges.

Keegan feels her hand on his mask and for a moment, he hesitates.

Her heart races in her chest as she begins to lift it off his face. The pace tantalizing, she offers him an escape route. Enough time to pull away. To stop her.

Yet the man stands still. Frozen in his own body, he allows the woman to do as she pleases. Vulnerable as the moment might seem, she might not be aware of the fact that he carefully calculates his timing.

Only to grab her wrist when she uncovers his mouth. It’s enough; enough for him to trace her jawline, watch her eyes widen, the moon illuminating her features. Him casting a shadow over her form, trapped between his battle-worn body and the wooden door that seem to survive many airstrikes.

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

But then he moves, his hand coming up to cover hers, and it's as if a dam has burst inside her. She leans into him, her lips meeting his in a slow, steady kiss gradually increasing in hunger and neediness. She longs to feel his skin, his body. To touch his soul. To let him light that fire within her bones.

Breaking away, Keegan's eyes flutter open at a leisurely pace, fixated on hers. His expression exudes an aura of tranquillity and satisfaction as if he's at long last discovered what he's been yearning for.

He reaches up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more exploratory as if he's trying to savor every moment of it. His movements are deliberate and controlled, like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

Keegan's hand slides from her cheek to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he pulls her closer to him. For her, it's a kiss that tells her that she's not alone, that he's not just her lieutenant, but her ally, her partner, her friend, and maybe something more.

The day-old stubble scratches the delicate skin on her clavicles as his fingers unzip her jacket, undoing the single button at the top of her shirt to reveal more of her softness. Her content moans only fuel the hunger bubbling deep within Keegan’s insides. Hands grasping her hips, she feels like she’s flying as he picks her up.

Her legs cling to his lean frame, like vines entwining a sturdy tree. Gazing into his topaz-blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight peeking over his shoulder. She only catches a glimpse of his rugged features before he claims her lips once more. The taste of him, the roughness of his stubble, all enveloping her senses.

Keegan’s walls are slowly crumbling down around her as she grasps the back of his neck. Partially covered in his mask, her fingers slip beneath the scratchy material, nails scratching against his scalp. A content hum assures her of her actions.

He lowers her body down onto the bed, his touch like a feather as he pins her war-ravaged body underneath him. She hears the distorted creak of the mattress as their weight meets in unison. Keegan's name slips from her lips in a breathy sigh, as she feels his warm hand glide underneath her shirt, flattening against her tummy. With his body inching closer to her belt, he halts and pauses, hovering just above her skin. A single question hangs in the air between them.

Locking eyes with her, he softly whispers, "Are you sure?"

Without a word, she nods in response, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she surrenders to his touch and allows him to undress her. It doesn’t take long until she’s half-naked underneath the masked man; content with his wandering eyes, roaming hands. Lips tracing the contours of her legs – ankles, knees; then indeed thighs, hips.

Keegan takes his time. Hands gripping under her knees, heels digging into his shoulder blades, she feels his lips trace the apex of her thighs. So close to where she wants him the most, a desperate groan makes its way out of her throat. Shamelessly bucking her hips into his mouth, she momentarily swears to hear Keegan chuckle.

Looking down, the man’s eyes are already looking at her face and she can swear that he’s smirking; unable to see the lower, exposed part of his face. Keegan doesn’t waste much time after she lets out another desperate plea, swiftly and with expertise taking off the last barrier between him and her innermost parts, she lays completely vulnerable before him.

The moment his lips brush against her core, his touch sends a current of electricity throughout her body and she feels herself falling into the abyss. Too much time had elapsed since someone had caressed her with such sensuality, and Keegan's deliberate movements brought her back to life.

Bursting with hidden energy, her sounds grow louder the more his tongue delves inside her. Tasting her. Lapping at her like a man dying of thirst; she completely overtakes his mind as he watches the woman before his eyes twist in pleasure. Rapture coursing through her veins like molten magma, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him.

Yet the mask stays on.

She feels like she’s been thrown into boiling water; drowning in the feeling of Keegan’s tongue, fingers curling deep inside her. His hands heating the skin of her chest, feeling her hardened nipples underneath the remaining pieces of clothes none of them bothered to discard.

The symphony of her cries when she finally reaches her peak is music to Keegan’s ears, fueling his ardor as he savors everything of hers with unmatched hunger. Unwavering in his passion, if anything, it only grows more fervent as he loses himself in the intoxicating taste.

Something snaps.

Inside Keegan; something breaks.

The cage holding his inner, primal side of his; it escapes.

Keegan's fingers are like a vice around her thighs, an unexpected surprise that has her muscles tense momentarily. His grip only grows tighter as he easily flips her onto her stomach. Her skin aches from the sudden change of position and she feels his lips lightly brush against the back of her thighs. A gasp spills from her throat as Keegan's teeth dig into her plump flesh, a fire of sensations burning in its wake.

Shameful; that’s how she believes that she should feel.

Shameless; that’s how she truly feels.

She can feel his tongue trace the globe of her ass, moving upwards until he reaches her lower back. Blatantly digging her knees into the mattress, her body moves into override. All sense of rational thought fades away as her instincts kick in, driving her movements to a cardinal level. Her body moves with a life of its own, responding to the sensations coursing through her veins.

The desire coursing through her makes even Keegan’s smallest acts seem as if her whole existence depended on him. The way his voice rasps when he whispers into her ear; feeling his hand knead the skin of her ass.

“You never told me your name,” his teeth mark her shoulder.

That’s when she feels the side of his face brush against hers, a sudden rush of realization washes over her — he’d taken off the mask.

She answers with a name as sweet and gentle as the lilac flowers she'd pick on summer days, as beautiful as the melody of her father's song that used to echo through the kitchen walls, yet still as false as the family she was born into.

His hand clutches the back of her neck, pinning her in place and trapping her in the moment of wild passion, caging in any curiosity or doubt. She unsuccessfully tries to twist around and see him, but instead finds herself pressing further into the lone pillow adorning his bed.

When his fingers scorch her oversensitive folds, each stroke seeking out pleasure spots within; it makes her forget it all. Her hands fist the bed linen, almost tearing it from the mattress.

“Fuck me already,” her impatience grows as he toys with her more. Unbothered by her writhing body. By the way she desperately tries to back into him; to feel him inside. The fabric of his shirt still brushing against her bare back as Keegan stills, hearing her raring demand.

“Manners,” he challenges. He tortures her with his fingers; two of them completely buried, it's enough to bring her back when she would have felt right at home sinking into an infinite loop of pleasure, "I'll keep going until you ask nicely."

“Keegan,” his name tumbles from her lips now more as a plea than as a word, “please," she surrenders willingly, craving for more.

It’s then that she can hear the buckle of his own belt. Feeling its part slide over her bare ass as Keegan works his pants down; not fully, just enough to free his aching cock. It doesn’t really matter to him at this moment, whether he’s fully naked or not. He only wants one thing; and that one thing is laying beneath him. Bare. Vulnerable. Willing and oh so desperate for him.

Fisting his own cock, he can feel his heart pumping; hard fast thuds against his ribcage. All while his other hand grips the pillow right next to her head. A guttural moan escapes his lips as her legs move wider, inviting him in.

His name a sonnet, a mixture of moans and mewls fills the darkened room. The spongy head of his cock teases her entrance, collecting her wetness. Occasionally dipping inside just enough to feel her opening up to him.

He wants to hear her beg once more.

Determined to do it; “Fuck,” is all he’s capable of saying when her walls enclose his tip before he withdraws again. Teeth grazing the same spot on her shoulder, sure to leave a mark after he’s done with her, he continues to repeat the action – just the tip; in and out, drawing sweet cries out of her.

His name becomes a safe haven when mixed with her moans; her writhing body, ass pushed against his hips, thighs enclosing around his.

Gripping the metal headboard, her words fuel his starvation. Tongue tracing the slight teeth marks on her soft flesh, hand flicking over her aching nub, its the simple, sweet little word, the plea, that does it for him–

–”please”.

His pace is slow; teasing. Tempted to thrust all the way as for his it’s been way too long since he felt the exquisite squeeze around his cock, he continues the leisurely tempo. His fingers, circling around her clit, follow the rhythm.

It’s calculated; as everything Keegan does. Steady, quick thrust in. Punishingly slow thrust out. His desire to savor her, to savor the feeling overtaking her very own primal needs. Yet, she’s content. Chest pushed into the hard mattress, the feeling of springs pushing back against her; hand grasping the headboard, feeling its cold surface against her heated skin.

Keegan's rough breath tickles the skin on her neck as his face nuzzles against it, his lips occasionally brushing against her flesh. Her fingers delve into his hair, surprised by its length and texture. Soft and fluffy, with curls that she can feel around his temples. But even with her grip on his hair, she still can't quite see him – he remains a mystery to her.

Even now, deep within her walls, feeling the head of his cock kiss her cervix, Keegan Russ still remains as puzzling as the depths of the sea, unfathomable and enigmatic.

Her hand grips the back of his neck, pushing him forward; lips connecting in a crushing kiss, she can feel the muscles in her neck strain as she desperately sucks on his lower lip. Pulling away with a groan, his hands grip her waist; a single tug forces her lower body to move back on her knees. Breasts firmly pressed into the mattress, arms stretched forward, his name escapes her lips as his thrusts grow impatient. Hard and relentless, hands grasping the skin on her lower body, anywhere he can reach and squeeze.

The pillow muffles her cries of passion for only a moment; until Keegan moans out her name, hand sneaking around her clavicles, to grip the side of her neck just enough to bring her up to him. Back to his chest, the fabric of his shirt scratching her exposed skin, his breath fanning over her ear.

Eyes closed, lost in pleasure and pain, she thrusts backwards, meeting Keegan halfway. Hands gripping his forearm, she can feel the tension building.

Her vision is filled with shimmering pinpricks of light, as though her entire being were consumed by a starry night. Keegan's body moulds to hers, holding her tight in his firm embrace as she reaches the peak of ecstasy. His voice rasps out her name like a prayer, and he clings desperately to her neck, burying his face against her skin.

Breathing heavily, he clings to her as if his life depends on it. His fingers dig into her back, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, and his ragged breaths tickle her skin. He's holding her so tightly that it's almost painful; she swears can sense the fear and desperation in his touch. Despite the intensity of the moment, she can't help but feel a sense of comfort in his embrace, knowing that he needs her just as much as she needs him.

It’s not long after that he stirs before getting up, watching as she lets her spent body fall onto his very own bed, face towards his window; she watches as the moon shines over the top of the nearby building while listening to the rustling next to her before a towel lands next to her head.

Turning to face him, a sense of disappointment washes over her as she sees Keegan with his mask back on. Fully dressed, in stark contrast to her completely naked body laying on his bed, illuminated by the night sky. A picture he surely will remember for a long time.

She stares at him, intensely analyzing his stoic expression while her body still pulsates with his own cum leaking out of her cunt.

“You good?” she breathes, breaking the silence between them.

He hesitates before answering. "Yeah, I'm fine, kid. Just...trying to process everything."

A slight grin pulls at the corner of her lips.

“You shouldn’t call me kid now, Keegan,” getting up, she walks towards him, still completely naked, feeling the cold breeze wash over her glistening skin, “makes you look like a paedophile.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh softly, “you’re right.”

“Think I can use your shower,” she asks, “I’m quite sticky if you get me.”

Arms crossed, he nods towards the door next to his bed. She can feel the tension emanating from him and decides to break the silence, "y’know, for someone who just had sex with me, you're awfully distant."

“It’s not like that,” he huffs as she makes her way towards the bathroom door.

"Ah, I see. So, I guess that means no cuddling?" she says playfully, hoping to lighten the mood.

She can see his eyes quint beneath the mask; a small smile surely to decorate his face. But even now, she can still see the walls he's built around himself. "I don't cuddle.”

She shrugs it off, "Suit yourself," and enters the bathroom, leaving him alone in the room. The sound of the shower soon engulfs the space. Keegan stands there for a moment, lost in thought, before finally making his way towards the door. He takes one last glance at the bathroom door, his mind racing with conflicting emotions, before turning to leave.

#keegan russ x reader #keegan russ smut #keegan russ x you #keegan russ #keegan russ x oc #cod #cod x reader #cod ghosts #keegan cod #cod keegan russ #call of duty #call of duty ghosts #keegan call of duty #ghosts #moni writes #keegan x kali #kali #smut #call of duty keegan

[itsfeckinwimdy]

Arm - Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Reader

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Prompt: after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

Word Count: 0.8k (830 words)

Formula 1 Masterlist

Published: 28/06/2022

The brightly lit room in the FIA building was unnerving.

Hospitals. Hospital lighting that glares down at you. That bright fluorescent light capable of haunting your dreams or of putting a wide-awake child to sleep within minutes. The horrible lighting of death. That was what the room reminded her of.

The eighteen drivers had piled their way into the room almost an hour ago now, the young Schumacher unable to attend after his crash and Sebastian Vettel had obtained Covid. Thankfully the younger German was fine and nothing worse had happened to him or else she didn’t know how she would cope.

The adrenaline junkie children had all come to the same conclusion within twenty minutes of them all discussing the topic at hand. None of them wanted to continue with the race here this weekend. Would they get listened to though? Fuck no.

The following hour passed slowly as she tried to keep herself occupied and not sink into the waves building up in her chest threatening to pull her under.

More people entered to room. Team principles. Bosses. Head of departments. FIA staff members.

Her eyes flittered around the room as she searched for faces she knew, the floor of the steps beneath her now feeling scratchy and course to the skin. Her body temperature began to rise, the red bull shirt feeling uncomfortable, the mask on her face too restricting. She clenched her fists, her bitten nails only providing pressure to the center of her palms rather than ripping open the flesh.

Everything was too much.

She didn’t want to be here.

She didn’t want to race this weekend.

It’s too hot.

There's too much.

She wants out.

There's too much in the room.

Mick’s not here.

Where's Max?

Why.

Why.

Just leave.

Her head dropped down as she wrapped her arms around her torso, her leg starting to bounce without her realising. She was crying. Why was she crying? No, stop crying.

She tried to control her breathing which only caused her to panic more.

Max had been deep in conversation with Charles and Lando as he took another sip of his Redbull. He was bored of waiting for this meeting to come to an end and all he wanted was to sleep in the surprisingly comfy hotel bed next to his partner ready for the race tomorrow.

He looked up and around the room to see where she was, or if she had moved from where they were sat before he'd been forcibly dragged away by the Monegasque lad. His eyes landed on her and upon switching his attention away from the conversation, slight panic filled him.

Max immediately made his way over to her, pushing past people in his way, not caring if he was being rude. It didn't matter to him at that moment and being honest, wouldn't matter to him later. All that did, was getting to her.

He crouched down in front of her, his right knee clicking in the process. That wasn't something he focused on, probably just a build-up of pressure from him being stood up to long. She was more important at this moment.

Not just this moment, every moment.

"Schatje," He began, attempting to get her attention without touching her, "It's me."

His eyebrows creased as he noticed her rapid breathing pace and the tears falling freely from her eyes, "Schatje, I need you to breathe with me okay?

"In," he spoke counting to four in his mind, "An out. Keep doing that for me, okay?"

He slowly reached a hand forward and gently placed it on hers, waiting for her to turn her own over to hold his before he made another move, all the while talking her through breathing. He knew what he was doing, how to help her. At the same time a part of him wished she didn't have to suffer through anxiety attacks, he was determined to learn every way to help her.

As time passed, her breathing evened out, and her hand which she ended up turning and clasping Max's with, loosened from the tight grip she enforced on it. Her mask was damp and stained with tears so she was now focused on changing it. It was better she drew her attention to that and Max, rather than the accumulation of stares the fellow drivers had on her. They just wanted to see if she was okay.

Max gently removed his hand from hers, causing her eyes to focus on his movements. His hand dragged up her forearm, his touch gentle as he reached her bicep, pausing to see if she was uncomfortable. Seeing her make no move to push him away, he continued his hand's movements, his hand coming to a stop against her neck.

Closing her eyes she leant forward and rested her forehead against his. No more words were spoken as they ignored everything happening around them. Just the two of them present in their little bubble.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #type: romantic #pronouns: she/her #fic: drabble/imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula one im #tree writes f1 fics #tree writes stuff

[lexxierave]

When Fate Intervenes- tasm!Peter Parker x Reader Part 5

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

The last thing Peter expected to find during a routine robbery was y/n. 

He was going through his usual banter routine when the sight of you distracted him enough for the other robber to get the upper hand.

Now there was a gun pointed to her head and Peter hated the hostage situation as it was but something about seeing her in one made him into a very angry hero.

Something he didn't waste time showing with the people in the room. Unfortunately all he could do was agree to the terms set before him but that didn't mean he was actually going to follow them.

"Common Mike, get up already." The one with the gun shouted to his partner.

Great, Peter had the name of one of the goons, something to listen out for in the streets after they left.

The one with the gun moved with y/n out from the counter and to the back of the store. His partner was still trying to get the webbing off from his feet as he reached the backroom.

As Mike got the webbing off his feet the three quickly disappeared into the back room.

Peter was thankful he came in through the back and decided to show himself to the lady back there and tell her to get out, and that she actually listened to him. 

Last thing he needed was this guy to get spooked and shoot someone. Or have to deal with a Spider-Man hater too.

Peter dropped down from the ceiling once the thugs had left with y/n. 

"You're gonna go after them, right Spider-Man?" The guy that got hit in the face asked him. He was bleeding from his forehead

"You can count on it." Peter said as he listened closely, the sound of police and ambulance sirens could be heard. "Make sure you get that gash checked out."

"I will but please save y/n. I saw her grab some pepper spray. I'm afraid she might try and save herself." He warned.

Perfect just what Peter needed another variable added against him.

"Thanks for the tip." He replied before rushing out the back and jumping at the building across from him and climbing up it.

Peter had his ears opened to any sounds of distress or gun fire. He didn't leave too long after the robbers and he also didn't know what way they went. If they were on foot or in a vehicle now.

"Let me go!" He finally heard.

"Either there's two hostage situations going on or I hit a bingo." Peter thought to himself as he took off swinging in the direction of the shouting.

It looked like the two idiots had taken a vehicle only for it to break down. They were now trying to y/n force down back alleyways with them and being this was a crime neighborhood no one was helping.

A thwip was the only sound you heard before one of the goons disappeared.

"Hey! We had a deal Spider-Man!" The one holding your wrist yelled out.

Peter quickly disarmed him, "Deals off." He venomously replied.

You took it as you opening to pull the guys mask off and spray him with as much pepper spray as you could.

Thwip.

A shot of web hit your waist and you were pulled free and into the arms of New York's hero.

"Stay here." He commanded, in a voice that seemed deeper than what his normal voice should be.

Peter had you safe now it was time this guy learned his lesson for good. He shot some web behind the guys so fast he didn't even catch that there was a giant spider web now directly to his rear.

Peter just had to take a step forward for the guy to turn and run right into.

But Peter didn't want to stop there. Guys like him would just keep coming back and get more dangerous. No, to Peter he needed to end it here.

You watch as Spider-Man approaches the man and your once captor starts to throw punches at him. Spider-Man easily dodged them before he threw his own. The hits were filled with rage but you couldn't understand why, even though things had worked out in his favor. Why was he so angry? The final hit knocked the guy back and straight into the web and the hero took a

 step forward to continue.

"Stop!" You yelled out, finally finding your voice. The shock and adrenaline wearing off you. "This isn't how heroes are supposed to act."

Peter stopped for a moment regarding your words as you continued.

"Heroes are supposed to help people and stop the bad guys. But not like this. This doesn't make you any better than they are." You warned him.

You were right, but there was just so much loss and rage in Peter it fell on deaf ears. The man before him was battered and blooded. He lost consciousness with Peter's first hit and others were just his anger fueling him, urging him to keep going.

"Look I'm new to this whole superhero thing but my friend John is a big fan of yours. Please, don't do something to tarnish that." You pleaded with him.

At the mention of you having a friend Peter stopped, his eyes went wide. You told him you didn't have time for friends, so who's this John guy?

Intrigue took over Peter as he turned to face you now. He took notice of the way your hair looked slightly out of place from the struggle you were in and the red ring around your wrist that you'd have to explain to him tomorrow. 

You were like a puzzle to Peter and he wanted to solve you but some pieces his body didn't react logically to. Why should he care if you have a friend named John? He shouldn't. He doesn't. Does he?

"Um…no. Can't have John thinking poorly of me." Peter finally answered when he realized he had been staring at you for a little too long. Maybe John was just made up? Someone to take the place of what she really thought of him? He could live with that.

"Good. So…if you're finished here," You told the hero, circling your finger around in front of you "I'm gonna head home." 

"Wait!" He shot out, causing you to stop.

"At least let me take you home, I want to make sure you get there safely." He pleaded.

"That's ok." You answered, taking a step back as he took one towards you.

He might be John's hero but after seeing him easily beat up a guy to a pulp like it was just a Sunday walk and how he seemed to have no remorse for how badly he hurt him?

You weren't so sure if he was fully deserving of the hero title. Maybe antihero seemed like a better fit at this point in his career. You still weren't sure.

Part 6

#tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield #peter parker #tasm! image #spider-man #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm peter parker #spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x reader #andrew garfield x reader #andrew!peter parker #andrew!spiderman #andrew!peter x reader #when fate intervenes

[imthepunchlord]

DaB Ch 2: Hero?

Ao3

It was so nice that the universe always provides. Lila stood on the rooftops, admiring an exclusive view. Enjoying a moment of being Paris' new hero. It was just what Lila deserved. And to a near window, she admired herself. 

Her long thick hair was in a ponytail, with two long ribbons acting as antennas on top. Her jumpsuit was black and vermilion, with black covering her legs up to her thighs, sparsed black dots over the vermilion section, and a black upper part, with white ovals over her color and a white star in the middle between them. Vermilion gloves stemming from her elbows, continuing the sporadic and few black dots over the warm color. Her mask was a simple vermilion, but had a black star in the center. Her olive green eyes made out to be darker, not clashing too much with the orange-red mask. 

She looked stylish and cute in Lila’s own opinion. 

But who should she be?

What name should she do? 

Ladybug was too on the nose. 

Coccinella was a mouthful, and would hint to her Italian origins. Lila’s not so certain she wants to give that away. Harlequin also came to mind, but that also hinted at her Italian origins. She was here in France so she should stick to a French name. But what… 

Humming coyly, she zeroed in on the stars on her, she thought of how she was a beauty and here to be Paris’ new star.

“Bella Stella,” she murmured. Humming, she murmured, “Or maybe Bella Stellata?” She shook her head. No, Bella Stella rolled off the tongue better. For hero names, they mattered. They said who they were, what they were about, and the aesthetic. The suit came with stars, best to play off it. And the beauty that she was. 

#Punchie writes #ml fic #dodged a beetle #arrival swap au #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien agreste

[crazychaoticizzy]

Stranger Than You Dreamt It

She let curiosity get the best of her, and found out that maybe her Angel of Music wasn’t an angel at all…

WARNINGS: mild memory loss, Eren gets a little mad

Word Count: 1.2k

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Her head was pounding, something that sounded like a discordant piano melody playing faintly in the distance. Y/n clenched her teeth, softly groaning as she fully regained consciousness.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she waited until her bleary vision was clear before looking at her surroundings.

She was under a pile of blankets, her hand gently petting a fur pillow to her right. The bed she laid on was large, the silk sheets engulfing her and making it difficult to leave.

Sheer curtains hung around the bed, and a small light fixture hung above her. It looked secure enough, but the flame lighting the candle stood dangerously to the thin fabric hanging from the ceiling.

She drew the curtains aside, watching to make sure she didn’t hit the flame before she stepped out of the bed. She stretched her body, lifting her arms above her head and yawning. She glanced around, trying to remember how she had gotten in the cluttered room.

She searched her memory, remembering swirling mists upon a vast glassy lake. If she closed her eyes, she could see the cave and it’s romantic lighting. She could count every individual candle in her mind and feel the odd warmth they gave the chilly cave. A boat rocked as she stepped inside it, glancing around in awestruck wonder as someone rowed her along.

That someone was tall. She remembers he wore only dark colors and didn’t look at her until the bottom of the boat scraped against rock. He wore gloves, the satin smooth against her skin as she took his hand and—

Y/n opened her eyes. She was no longer in her own head and it was cold. So very cold. Her blue sundress did little to provide heat. She glanced around again, her attention snagging on a doorway.

She cautiously took steps toward it, peeking around it and seeing the glassy lake in her mind. She stood starstruck for a moment, taking careful steps on the dias that overlooked it. The piano melody was no longer discordant, now a sweet melody that trilled and made her soul happy.

Y/n’s gaze moved to where the music came from, and she saw a man sitting at a piano. His back was to her, so he didn’t see as she took slow steps closer.

This had to be her Angel of Music. It had to. There was nothing dizzying about him like when she was around that other man. Her mind was clear and she was completely conscious of what she was doing.

She bumped into a candelabra, reaching out to grab it before it fell. A candle slipped from its holder, falling into the lake with a sizzle and catching the mans attention.

The music stopped, and he turned his head. He wore a mask that covered everything on his face except his lips. They tilted up as he watched you fix the candelabra, and he disregarded you to continue playing.

When his fingers tapped the keys again, it was a different melody. You recognized it as a duet from your most recent performance, and after a couple notes the masked man started singing.

His voice was everything it was meant to sound like, dark and seductive, luring the heroine into a false love.

She stepped closer, finding herself gently caressing his shoulders as she followed along in the music.

Eren Yeager. That was the name written in the upper left corner of the paper. That was the name of the conductor that wrote every play and opera performed in the Eldian Opera House.

That was the name Y/n’s Angel of Music had told her to call him.

Her hands slowly moved along his neck to glide through his hair. It fell over his shoulders, unlike the bun he had it pulled into that she remembered. She mindlessly ran her hands through the silky strands, lightly scratching his scalp as he continued playing.

Eren faltered for a moment, voice cracking before he hit the wrong note. He took a moment’s pause, quietly apologizing before continuing. She heard the satisfied sigh in his voice as your fingers glided along his head, moving closer and closer to the edge of the black mask.

Her gaze moved from the music sheets to where the tips of her fingers met the smooth material of his mask. She thought about taking it off, it was right there after all, but then the possibility of this being the infamous Phantom rumored to haunt the opera house crossed her mind.

She had thought that was a fairy tale. But then, perhaps, anything is possible when your Angel of Music takes you to another realm.

She’s not sure what was going through her mind when her hands slowly slipped down the sides of his neck, feeling for the edge of the mask. Eren leaned into her touch, his breaths ragged as the music slowly faded away. Y/n looked down to his face, seeing that he had closed his eyes and was basking in the feel of her touch. She gently traced the line of his jaw, carefully slipping her hands under the mask and yanking it away.

She softly gasps in wonder at the sight—a series of red lines running down both of Eren’s cheeks like bloody tears. Eren’s eyes snap open, and he immediately looks away and stands up, covering his face as he turns to Y/n and jerks the mask out of her grasp.

She stumbles back at the anger in his eyes, tripping on her own feet. She reaches out for anything to balance herself, catching Eren’s arm as he pulls her back in front of him.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” he spits. His hand tightens around Y/n’s wrist, pulling her closer. He removes his hand from his face, making sure she gets a close look at the scars and abnormalities of his features.

Y/n takes heavy breaths, trying to unwrap his fingers from her wrist as she looks at him with wide eyes. In truth, Eren is handsome. The sharpness of his nose and the raise of his eyebrows and the fullness of his lips compliment each other well. If anything, the scars along his cheeks almost accentuate his attractiveness.

But his eyes—burning with white hot anger and embarrassment. That is what scares her. That is what makes her try to draw away and return to whatever safety she could find.

Eren’s expression softens, his brows no longer pulled together and his lips no longer pressed. The soft glint returns to his green eyes because he realizes she’s terrified of him and the way he looks. His hand slowly uncurls from her arm and he pulls away. He turns, only allowing Y/n to see his side profile as he secures the mask around his face and clears his throat. He still doesn’t look at her as he says, “We should be getting you back. Those devils up there will be wondering where you are.”

Y/n nods silently, obediently. Because this is not her Angel of Music, and there's no telling what he'd do if she wasn't obedient.

hope y'all enjoyed! the next chapter will hopefully be out soon

-Izzy <3

next part >>

TAGGING: @antichristisbby @rebekah-george @rosesforblues

#izzy’s imagines ❀ #attack on titan #aot #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera au #phantom of the opera x attack on titan #aot x poto #poto x aot #attack on titan eren #eren yaeger #eren jeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager #jean x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #jean x reader x eren #eren x reader x jean

[brutalmasks]

' it's quite funny how the world works. suddenly, killing makes you a villain if you're not some high end fancy pants ordering men to die in the name of honour. a flag is a stupid think to waste your life over, but, it's made glorious and beautiful and honourable. nobody tells you about the rage that comes with it, with the understanding that war is man-made violence and, therefore, it isn't a part of the natural cycle of life and death. '

bunny mask's first thought when the other first began speaking that the other had a very powerful way of commanding her attention; a trait that bunny mask herself found interesting, for this meant whoever possessed it oozed confidence, in her opinion. and although the spirit herself would willingly listen to anyone given the chance, it made her wonder about who this woman beside her was already. or what all she had experienced, as it were, since life events seemed to often have a tendency to shape who you are. bunny mask was clad in her usual attire at the moment; her mask in the shape of a rabbit obscuring the upper part of her face completely, with only wide slits cut out of it near the top to accommodate her glaring white eyes, and the dress she wore a nearly pristine looking white color.

and i say nearly because of the soot that was smeared across her collar. however, she thought she knew what she was getting into whenever she followed the sight of smoke in the distance, so this was of little importance to her: what was important to bunny mask was seeing if anyone needed her help here. it was usually a bad sign whenever a deep, dark smog that screamed ' fire ' had created a wall of it's own in the sky. but it turned out that she was wrong. this place was clearly pillaged and completely torn apart brick from brick, as the places that people used to call home were reduced to piles of wood scorched by embers. a thick layer of ash seemed to have formed in the midst of the landscape, and bunny mask could feel in her gut that something terrible had happened here.

perhaps as part of a war, as mya highlighted. the spirit could feel her heart drop while the other described her perspective on the sometimes militaristic and bleak nature of humanity. no, was it her experience? bunny mask thought that the way she phrased her words made this all sound very personal. a frown tugged at her lips as she bent down to touch the ash, letting it run through her fingers. mya was right — this was nothing to be proud of. she looked up at the other from the side, then, and spoke, ❝ you are right. i sincerely hope you were not here to witness what had happened here, for that would be a horror that you would likely never forget. but the men who do things like this, who ordered their own to risk their lives to ruin other's; they simply refuse to think they are the villains of anyone's story because they believe they are doing it for a noble purpose. though they are certainly not. ❞

bunny mask stood up and took a deep breath as she surveyed the land before her. there looked to be no survivors here, so the people here were either all killed, or maybe some had escaped. the latter might've been wishful thinking but bunny mask wanted to have some hope that this place was not turned completely into a mass grave, ❝ was that what this conflict was born from? the excessive pride of a nation, who are of the mind that they're righteous and good, but commit barbaric acts such as this one? ❞ she had to tell herself to take a deep breath now or she would likely lose herself to anger. and that would not be a pretty sight, for neither her, nor the other who stood just an arm's length away from her. in and out. bunny mask could feel the claws of her right hand dig into her palm as she took a moment to inhale, then exhale, but she didn't care.

everything about this was wrong. bunny mask let her eyes become half-lidded with the sense of sorrow that had come over her suddenly, like a tidal wave. it was just as she feared. mya had experienced this for herself, ❝ it is not natural. that, i must agree with. i am of the belief that we are fated to leave this world at a specific time and the lives of the humans that died in this town were stolen. they still had much to experience, to love. and from what i am hearing, you were forced to partake in the wrongful robbing of people's lives yourself, were you not? through war. an organized form of slaughter, glamorized to appear necessary by the masses, where there is no true victor. where everyone loses something and you are left feeling full of rage because of what you were coerced to do. ❞

the chill running through bunny mask's bones only intensified when she saw it on the ground. a doll, abandoned by it's owner, within the ash. bunny mask's voice became low, ❝ i am sorry. i am... so sorry. ❞

#furiaei #tw: mentions of a fire. #tw: war. #tw: allusions to a child's death. #i'm sorry for making this super sad near the end... but i felt like it was needed for such a heavy topic. when it comes to things like war- #that are so terrible in nature you kind of have to include little things to emphasize the horror of it. #but i hope you liked my response anyhow. i tried really hard to further the really good and i think important point you were making- #regarding war and the people who get swept up in the midst of it.

[starfall-spirit]

Ancient Tales Retold Masterlist

AtMotS Playlist

Read on Ao3

Summary: An irksome trip to the Summer Court on matters of business and assistance against a threat at sea takes an interesting turn when Rhys discovers the solution to Nostrus' problem no longer lies with his army, but a female sacrifice, bound at high tide in hope of appeasing the beast terrorizing Nostrus' shores. He certainly never predicted the rescue mission would result in an accepted mating bond.

*Inspired by the myth of Perseus and Andromeda*

AN: Chapter four of my acotar gift exchange fic for @eat0crow

CW: Fluffy Smut

Chapter 4: Caught Up in Your Spell

Massive, yet cozy. It was the only way Feyre could think to describe the large cabin Rhys had winnowed them to after one of the shopkeepers in the Rainbow had gotten too close for his taste. As a courtesy, they had tried to suppress things until after the formal ceremony was behind them, but there was no sense arguing reality. 

Pathetic as it may seem to some, the four days of push and pull had been exhausting and Feyre was probably feeling more guilt than she should regarding the bloody nose Rhys had given Cassian when he’d made his flirtatious nature known the night prior. She could feel her mate watching her as she took in the space around them, absorbing the modest kitchen, living space, and hall exposed. Beyond the walkway would be two bedrooms, she’d been told. She didn’t imagine they’d be spending much time outside of whichever they landed themselves in.

“I apologize, Feyre. That was impulsive of me to—” She cut him off with a heated kiss, every inch of her aching to feel him against her, skin on skin with nothing in between, for the foreseeable future. “Feyre, fuck.”

“No more apologies. No more gentleness. I want this and I want you. Now. You asked me before what I was willing to claim.” He took in a ragged breath, his eyes locked on hers as she threaded her fingers into his dark hair. “I claim every single part of my future. I claim you, Rhys. For the rest of my life, long or short as it may be, I claim you. Now take me to bed.”

“As you wish, darling.”

Rhys hauled her up into his arms, groaning as her nails bit into his scalp. Pleased by her mate’s clear need for her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, scraping her teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck she’d discovered not-so-accidentally the night before.

“Needy little thing,” he growled, not that he seemed to be in a much better state of mind at the moment. Seconds later her back hit the mattress in the nearest bedroom. “That’s alright. I know just what to do with that.”

She swallowed hard, watching him peel out of his shirt before joining her on the massive bed. “Rhys.”

“My pretty little mate. Look at you.” He planted a kiss on her throat, feather-soft, and meant to leave her burning for more.  Frustrated with his teasing, she pushed up on her elbows, growling his name. Only to be given a sound of warning. His hand slid around the front of her neck, the softest touch carrying every bit of longing that was growing between them. “Patience will give you far more than pressure, my love. Now, be good for me.”

And though part of her wanted to hate the gentle order, she couldn’t ignore the other bit of herself that wanted to surrender to it. Rhys pulled her upright just long enough to strip her top before leading her back down onto the nest of pillows, his hips resting between her thighs to keep her legs parted.

Exposed to his whim and leisure might be more accurate.

While his mouth and left hand worked to tease her upper body, his right was keeping a steady rhythm over her clit, working the sensitive flesh through the fabric of her pants. “Stop teasing,” she growled, teeth clenched as her irritation grew. “Rhys, I mean it.”

“You and I were born to wear a mask. I am not afraid to let mine fall for you, Feyre. I am not afraid to give in to the madness of this bond. Let it fall,” he urged, finally removing her pants. “Let me see your truth, Feyre. Let me see all of you.”

She would. For him she would. “I need all of you, too, Rhys.” Raising her hands, she gently stroked the smooth skin between his shoulder blades, a silent request. 

She’d been cautious, asking Avyanna why she was the only sibling with wings. The girl hadn’t hesitated to explain their peculiar ability to summon and hide their wings as half-breeds, and the discrimination they and their mother would sometimes see in the company of High Fae. It was why Rhys only exposed himself in Windhaven and Velaris.

Since they’d only had a few days together, Feyre had yet to see him in his full glory and her curiosity was undeniable. The only question now was if Rhys was willing to let her near them during such an intimate moment.

“You, Feyre, always.” Her eyes widened as he summoned them, letting them open wide to display his full wingspan before tucking in to better suit their position. Awed at sight, her hand drifted up once again, pausing only when she recalled the disrespect it could be taken as. “It’s okay.”

Starting at the top bone, Feyre traced down the hard edges, marveling at the contrast of the bone and membrane with an artist's scrutiny, its silky texture only marred by the peppering of scars. “From the war?” she whispered.

“It certainly left its mark.” Feyre wasn’t so certain the tension in his voice had to do with dark memories as much as the physical torture she was inflicting. Delighted as he seemed to tease her earlier, sexual tension was still crackling between them, waiting for them both to yield to their instincts. She couldn’t help but smirk, earning a soft growl. “Wicked thing.”

She squealed as he pulled away, yanking her down to the foot of the bed. “We’ll play later.” 

The first stroke of that silver tongue had her burning from the inside out, squirming beneath the weight of his forearm that now pinned her hips to the bed. “Rhys!” Chuckling,  he gave another flick of his tongue before shifting to close his lips over her clit, fingers sliding home to curl inside her, feeling every bit as exhilarating as she’d been imagining the past three days.

“I could spend the rest of my life on my knees and die a very happy male.” She whimpered, losing herself in the slow curl of his fingers and the drag of his tongue. Bared to him, head thrown back, quivering from top to toe, she had to be a sight. “Gorgeous,” he purred into her mind. “Come for me, Feyre.”

The scrape of his teeth sent her over the edge, gripping his hair tightly as she shattered. “My Feyre. Exquisite.”

“Cauldron, Rhys.” 

He laughed again, his amusement cut off by her kiss as she raised herself to a sitting position and claimed his mouth. The blend of his taste and her own was heady, feeding the feral need building inside her once again. Breaking away, she sucked at the skin of his neck, nibbling along his collarbone until he was distracted enough she could shift his weight, pushing him down on his back.

Though he instinctively disagreed with the pressure against his wings, he seemed willing enough to let her have this moment. That was until she tried to reciprocate the service he’d done for her. “No,” he barked. “My patience is wearing thin enough. While I’m dying to feel your mouth on me, all I can think about is being buried inside of you.” He gripped her hips tight, repositioning her. “You're going to ride me, Feyre. Show me how you claim what’s yours.”

She didn’t falter for long. Shifting over him, Feyre braced her hands on his shoulders, making sure she held his gaze as she sank down on his cock. That first stretch was bliss, strengthening the bond as they were joined in every way. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge again, this time taking him with her. But she made herself slow her movements, basking in the heated bliss of their connection as he claimed her mouth again.

“Gods, if I could spend eternity like this…” He shifted beneath her, urging her to move faster and give them both what they needed. “Feyre. Fuck.”

Buried deep inside of her, he came, triggering her release for the second time. When she finally came back to herself, she was curled up on top of him, head pillowed on his broad chest as he stroked her hair the same way he’d done each morning and night since they’d met. 

A moment of peace before the urge to resume overtook them again. “I’ve never felt so out of control,” Feyre murmured.

“Me neither.”

Biting her lip, she smirked, nipping at his collarbone once more. “I can’t say I mind what it leads to, though.” 

He gave her a full laugh, affection bleeding through it and warming every part of her. “I can’t either.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#feysand #acotar gift exchange #acotargiftexchange2023 #acotar #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #greek mythology au #perseus and andromeda

[automeris-io-moth]

I met you before

Her parents had sent her to die. 

Her face was warm too, growing warmer before disseminating in coldness as the breeze brushed against. 

The other stood frozen for a second. 

“Where’s the microphone, Hero?” 

The name she stupidly thought was clever made her cringe each time their lips said it. It was stupid and nothing but a mockery could be made of it. 

She tilted her head to the left pocket of the upper part of her neck, right next to the neck. Her body shuddered as the hand opened the button, her eyes blurred as they smashed it in her hand. 

God how her jaw ached from her clenching teeth. 

“Well then, Hero” 

“[Civilian Name].” she spat. 

Their eyes opened wider “What did you say?” 

“[Civilian Name], name’s [Civilian Name] I…” the cough dissolved inside her throat, yet she spat still to the side “It was stupid, Hero was an stupid idea.” 

Villain’s heart skipped a beat. 

“[Civilian Name]?” they cleared their throat “Why would you go against me? You are clearly underprepared.”

“I didn’t choose.” 

“Adds up.”

Towering yet bigger the shadow grew, as the other, the opponent, the villain her parents would tell her to call, kneeled beside her, hands ghosting intimidatingly close to actually touching her skin. Bruised, bloody, aching skin. 

They circled the area, lifting slightly up the piece of ragged fabric once called a shirt from the oozing wound, buffing out as if hurt when the girl shivered under her touch. [Civilian Name] did too, upset, to the very least, for not being able to keep the complaints down and swallow them along with the urge to weep, to at least no give them the satisfaction of acting hurt, even when the blood pooled around her and her fingertips were growing cold. 

The air was short in her lungs.

“I’ll take off the mask.” 

Villain, antagonist, the other, the rival spoke too softly to match the demeanor, the gloomy more blurry than clear ambience [Civilian Name] was perceiving from the floor would not match the gentleness of the other’s hands brushing her hair to the side to grab on the bands strapping the object to her face. The girl shook her head side to side, trying to get the hands off her head, to not allow it to be unbuckled. 

Yet if she died on the cold floor of an abandoned factory, they would take it off either way. 

Her head fell to the floor slowly, cradled behind by another’s hand. 

The soldier gave one shaky breath, and they pulled it off. 

“[Civilian Name].” 

But the voice was different this time. 

“You’re bleeding out,” 

Clearly. 

“They are right outside, this should be fine, this must be fine, okay?” 

Probably not 

Her tongue weighed too much to lift it, and her head spinned too harshly to make a word. And she knew one thing only. 

It was cold. 

***

The room smelled of disinfectant, clean white light made the only distinction between wherever she laid, and the old bathroom stall of a gas station convenience store. The lights were painted in an ashy kind of brown, as in her father’s old studio back at the hills, tainted in a light yellow undertone. Then, she concluded, it could not be the hospital, and it could not be the medical wing in her parent’s work. No doctor, for as cruel or careless as they appeared, was inept enough to smoke enough to taint inside a clinic room, less even their own. 

That was a stupid thought, she said to herself, her head would make them in train, one after the other as it tried to set itself in the place and the moment [Civilian Name] was founding herself into, counting aimlessly the cracks and lumps up in the popcorn ceiling looking to dissipate the fuzziness she still felt, the usual sensation of being barely woken up, known and common, still, that time, it felt heavier, harder to break off of.

Warm fingers settled over her freezing skin, holding her right arm carefully, thumb caressing over her skin steadily, almost mechanically. 

Until it stopped. 

“Hey love, you can go back to sleep,” the voice said, “the doctors still have to stitch you up.” 

Stitch her up. 

Those words she recognized. 

Spine bent over backwards to sit herself up, leaning against nothing but the thin pillows lifting her up by under and around her hips. There were two medics inside the room, and a young-looking man beside the metallic table, probably, she thought, a nurse. They were all too  many (and doubtlessly too skilled) for her to take down in any normal circumstances, yet then with aching ribs and bleeding spots scattered from place to place, it was all too fatally absurd. 

Blinding pain shot from her side, white and hot made her eyes physically blurry out in tears. 

Someone pushed her back firmly, adjusting the pillows to lay her back half-sitting “Don’t move like that, you’re gonna hurt yourself more.”

The warmth of the hand moved from her shoulder to her arm, steady motions again with her fingers over skin. Another hand travelled to her face, cupping the side of her cheek for a second before moving upwards to touch her forehead gently. 

“The fever hasn’t yet come down.” 

“Give it some minutes to settle,” another voice said calmly, as if trying to sooth whatever unease the one touching her face had, with the metallic sounds keeping on cracking against the table “but we need to start now, the wounds are already disinfected and they might get contaminated.” 

Ominous, her hands were then held both in between the other’s fingers, gentle yet firm enough to not allow her to slip beneath them.

“Another dose of anaesthesia,” the person ordered.

[Civilian Name] pulled harder against the restraint, heart pounding a little louder, a little harder, the monitor's ring accelerating along. 

“Can’t, we already went a bit overboard, it might be dangerous.” 

“Everything is ready, Villain, we need to begin.” another voice, a man this time, interrupted “Just waiting for your approval.” 

The girl shook her head harshly to the sides, breathing pitching, and hands looking for something to grab.

A hoodie she grabbed, and pulled. 

“I don’t want to, I don’t.” 

Hands guided her down, kindly down, understandingly down, mockingly down too, that felt certain, [Civilian Name] then thought, as if something as cruel as the enemy could be was capable of such. Thumbs still rubbing her forearms, her hands, and sounds, weird breathy sounds, as if blowing off a candle.

“We have to get the stitches done, nod please if you understand.” 

A shake of the head. 

“She’s never been one for needles,” the person scoffed. “That's why I told you to make sure the anaesthesia would last.” 

“Be patient, child,” another voice, older and raspier than the rest, intervened. “she’s built a resistance to anaesthetics, you can see it on the charts, the dosage was in the higher ends, we even went up by a couple units.”

Cold air entered through an open window somewhere, prickling against her skin the hairs of her arms stood straight by the chill, only yielding under the touch of the one cradling her hands. They, the enemy, whoever that was, was warm, and guilt crawled up her skin as she found some comfort in the fuzzy state her head was left made into. 

“And how in hell has she built such a thing?” the hands tightened their grip shortly, and [Civilian Name]’s eyes searched for the one holding her so familiarly, but her mind has still too lethargic to grasp the whole scene, they said whatever drugs they gave her weren’t working yet her mind would not finish a thought before wandering away in an urge not to sleep but to fall unconscious, and she tried to speak, yet her throat ate her words and left only a whimper out “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry but they really need to start now, all right? It can get worse if we wait.” 

“I don’t…” 

“Come on, grab my hands, okay? You can squeeze them as hard as you can, you won’t hurt me.” 

“Please…” 

Worthless.

How do you let us down when we already expect so little of you? 

They sat on the bed before her, blocking whatever view she still got from the medics, leaning in to face her.

And their eyes were familiar, from somewhere she was sure. 

“You can start.” they said, barely more than a whisper, and [Civilian Name] thrashed, as much as her sluggishness would allow, and those eyes darted back to her “Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t move, they're gonna hold down your legs so you don’t hurt yourself. I’m sorry, I really really am but we need to do this. They already did most of it, five stitches in the side of your abdomen, no surprises, I promise.”

The cold metal needle touched her skin and she flinched. But whoever’s grip held down her legs, was unyielding. 

And the needle pierced her skin. 

“Villain…” the scream faded halfway, leaving her lungs as an unintended breath.  

The other’s eyes widened. 

_

Masterlist

This is a little snippet from one of my longer works, the characters do have names in the original things but I adapted it, I really liked this scene so I wanted to share it.

Some disclaimers becasuse I know it's the whole thing: this is a wlw childhood friends to enemies to lovers, and I don't do physical descriptors normally when using Villain and Heros instead of names, so people can imagine whatever they like best, but perhaps I missed one or two here cause these were supossed to be set characters with established looks, sorry about that if it happened)

Hope you like it :)

#hero x villain #hero/villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain #villain x hero #villain/hero #villains and heroes #villain and hero #hurt hero #naive hero #caretaker whumper #even when she did the damage #she just didn't know who Hero was #my writing #creative writing #short story #writing wip #hero #wips #writing snippet #wlw #wlw writing #lesbian writing #lgbt writing