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sungbeam · 1 month

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BIRD HUNT — three

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, depictions of violence, use of pepper spray, breaking and entering

▷ word count. 4.4k // taglist: open

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FILE_03 : by the tail

gotham city.

[seven days since your mother was murdered.]

"Is she here?"

The voice was familiar to your sensitive ears, and although your eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Lee, you shifted your attention mentally to the two—no, three—wait… four?—figures making their way over to where you and Mrs. Lee stood in the home office space. Their footsteps were as quiet as heeled loafers could be against hollow wood floors. The Lees' home in the suburbs was a safe distance from the heart of Gotham, so the neighborhood was much nicer and much more like a home. The Lees had been ushered here after Lee Sungjae had been found murdered, and they'd resided here since.

You had been called in the day after the incident happened—that was the day after you had gone to see your father. We must work fast, Yn. They've already gotten to one of my… men. That was what he'd told you, and when he elaborated, you had discovered that every news channel now blasted footage of Lee Sungjae's dead, glassy eyes.

You had been busy since, trying to both grieve in peace and work at the same time.

"—take more time, Yn-ah. Losing a loved—" Mrs. Lee's voice cracked slightly and she covered her mouth.

"Mrs. Lee—"

She waved your hand away, angling her body away slightly so she could regain composure. "No, no. It's alright. I'm alright. I just… I know how it feels, and I think you deserve time to yourself, as well."

Of course you told her about your mother. You had to take another day off when one of your coworkers had noticed how spaced out you were when you came in. No, you didn't tell her your mother was murdered the same way her husband had. That was between you, your father, and the motherfucker who did this.

But for now, you were supposed to be here to answer the police's questions about your employer. You had been one of three of Mr. Lee's secretaries for the past several months now, having come under his employ about a year ago after Choi Enterprises turned you away. But magically, a few days afterward, this offer from the office of one Lee Sungjae had arrived in your inbox. When one door closed, as they said, another opened. Whatever guardian angel was looking over you then certainly wasn't looking over you now though.

"Miss Ln?"

You turned around and expected to see Commissioner Kim Namjoon and your co-secretary, Shin Ryujin, but you hadn't expected the two others with them. They stood behind the two aforementioned, both in black domino masks that covered the top halves of their faces. Their suits were skintight, most likely to allow for more mobility, but they also accentuated their starkly muscular figures. The taller one wore a suit of dark blue and black, while the other donned a maroon red and black ensemble. You recognized them, respectively, as Gotham's very own Nightwing and the Red Robin. Vigilantes. What were they doing with Commissioner Kim?

Ryujin bowed her way out, gently taking Mrs. Lee with her. That left you with the others.

"Hello, Miss Ln," Commissioner Kim greeted with a tired, but not unkind, smile. He fished a small notepad out of his coat pocket, ballpoint pen clicking to life. "My name is Commissioner Kim. These two… not sure if you need any introductions."

When you remained silent with only a nod, he continued, "We're here investigating the murder of your former employer, and we were informed that you often handled his familial affairs. We've already spoken with Miss Shin and Mr. Yun, but we wanted to ask where you were last Wednesday night at ten o'clock."

You were very aware that Nightwing had decided to wander about the office, eyes taking in the shelves and the notes and the desk… then there was Red Robin, who's attention was pinned intently on you, arms crossed firmly over his chest. There was something awfully familiar about these two. "Is that an accusation, Commissioner?" You asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"It doesn't have to be," he said airily. "Just answer the question, Miss."

"I was at home," you answered, schooling your face into neutrality. "You can ask my employer's wife and my coworkers—I was taking time off to grieve my mother's death."

The shock was not the most stark on the commissioner's face, but on Red Robin's. "She's dead?—" He coughed; even Nightwing had paused his movements. "I mean, I'm sorry for your loss." You didn't recognize the voice, but you suspected it was probably being disguised with a voice modulator.

The commissioner sent him a bewildered look, but turned back to you. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Yn. Truly." He asked with almost a grimace, "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? I understand you were most likely home alone, but perhaps a neighbor, a significant other…?"

And there it was again—that shift in energy as both the vigilantes in the room stopped to focus on you.

You shook your head with a tight smile. It probably wouldn't bode well if you revealed to them who your father was or that you paid the Iceberg Lounge a visit that day. You were also a little too preoccupied with survival to have a significant other, and you hadn’t been close enough to a neighbor in years. "No. Just my cats."

There was something so familiar about this Red Robin character, but you couldn't put a finger on it. Or maybe it was the way he was staring at you with such pity (and sympathy) that made you wish he was someone else. Either way, you needed to know why these two vigilantes were put on the case, and what they might have already found out. At the moment, it didn't seem like it would pose a problem, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to be a little more careful.

When you arrived home that night, bones aching as much as your head pulsed, you collapsed on the couch. A few of your cats began to swarm your legs, soft fur tickling the skin exposed when your pant leg lifted. Blue, a very introverted Russian Blue who you managed to make an extrovert when it came to you, plopped himself onto your lap like a warm, vibrating mass. You ran your fingers through his fur to the symphony of someone's purrs (you figured it was Byeol; he was quite vocal).

"Should I invite him to the funeral?" You murmured to Blue in question.

He stared back at you, then silently turned his gaze to a particle of dust floating in the air.

You exhaled back against the couch cushions. "I'll take that as a yes."

In the dead of night—because there was always a dead of night, even for Gotham City—you pulled a dark beanie over your head and the top half of your face. Two holes had been cut and sewn for your eyes to see through, and at the top of the hat, two little triangles sat akin to ears. You recalled the night you had crocheted this on a whim, your mother having done most of the work.

"Blue wants it to have cat ears, mama," you'd told her just as she brought out her tub of yarns.

Your mother's eyes glittered. "Is that right? Well, we'll have to add cat ears then, won't we?"

You thought it would be fitting to find her killer in this. You thought it fit you quite well, at least.

The rest of you was dressed in black, and your hand grazed over Soul's fluffy, white head as you propped open the second floor window. "I'll be home soon," you whispered to the last of your family, then disappeared into the night.

"I can't get why this is so familiar to me," Beomgyu voiced into the echoes of the Batcave, hands braced against the main monitor as he stared at the copy of the note: A Debt Repaid. He had been staring at it for the past week, not consecutively, but it hadn't left the forefront of his mind. Like you.

Soobin trudged over to his brother with a bowl of cereal cradled in his large palm, the other hand spooning the sweet milk and wheat flakes into his mouth. "Mm. Maybe give it a rest for a little, Beom."

"And do what?"

"How do you know Ln Yn?"

Beomgyu whirled around just as Soobin settled into the desk chair, waiting. Beomgyu made a scoffing noise, eyebrows flying up to his shaggy bangs. "Where did that come from?"

Soobin smiled and shrugged. "You tell me." He slurped up a bit more milk before adding, "You're the one who reacted like that in front of everyone when she said she was grieving her mother's death. You sounded shocked that she died."

"Well yeah, wouldn't you be shocked to hear someone else died so close to another's death?"

"Stop trying to bullshit him, Gyu."

Both the brothers looked up at the voice who had just entered the underground space. Yeonjun strolled into the main area in a white tank top and sweats, hair sticking up in different places. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned loud and wide.

Soobin cocked a brow at him. "Nice of you to finally join us, hyung. How'd the date go?"

"Great," Yeonjun quipped. "We're going on a second one soon. I think Felix almost sent me off with a kiss goodnight." He slumped onto the edge of the desk, eyes lazily taking in the images and information displayed on the many monitor screens. "This is our stiff, huh?"

Soobin sent him a look that distinctly said 'No, we're just looking at dead bodies for fun.'

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied. "The note the killer left is so familiar to me though. Have you seen it before?" He knocked his knuckles against the monitor with the note.

Yeonjun's eyes narrowed on the screen, before he leaned back with that bored look renewed on his face. "You're both idiots. It's from that one killing a couple weeks ago."

Beomgyu and Soobin traded looks. "What?"

Their eldest brother leaned down to reach the lowest drawer at the desk. From its depths, he fished out a large bag of chips and grabbed a handful to stuff his face with. "Y'know," he garbled and gestured vaguely with his crumb-dusted fingers. "Beomgyu, you know! You were there with me. It was that one lawyer guy who was found dead in his car beneath the bridge. That same note was taped to his windshield."

"Oh yeah," Beomgyu drawled, while Soobin shook his head with a sigh. The former then knocked his foot against the latter's shin. "Aye! You didn't even know it."

"Yeah, because I wasn't on that case," Soobin fired back. He finished off the rest of his bowl of cereal and set the empty ceramic in his lap before crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes, like his brothers' were lined beneath with heavy eye bags. Someone was supposed to be on patrol around the city right now, but neither of the three brothers were in any rush to get up. "So it's just one person going after these people then."

Yeonjun chewed his bottom lip. "Then we just gotta find the connection."

"Was the lawyer guy from a couple weeks ago Lee Sungjae's attorney?" Soobin asked.

Beomgyu grabbed a hold of the wireless keyboard on the desk and braced it upon his thighs. He pulled up an internet browser and typed in their inquiry. All three brothers made noises of disgruntlement; if the lawyer hadn't been Sungjae's attorney, then how were they connected? It was no secret that 99.9 percent of the population here in Gotham had some sort of… shadow looming over their shoulder. It was almost impossible to get anywhere without the help of a corrupt figure, whether that be a mob boss like the Penguin or loan shark with special strategies to get someone to pay up.

Either way, there would be lots of digging required.

"Let's start with Lee Sungjae and the lawyer's records,'' Soobin decided as he sat up in the chair. "We'll sort through phone records, acquire security footage of their movements, their texts, etcetera."

"I call none of those," Yeonjun said. When his younger brothers scowled at him, he raised both hands in feigned surrender with a giggle. "Fine, fine. You're both lookin' at me like I murdered your favorite puppy."

They remained silent.

"What, too soon?"

The basement headquarters suddenly erupted in a dull siren sound, and Beomgyu was swift to pull up a set of footage on one of the monitors. It displayed a section of the sky, a white spotlight circle cast against a massive, dark gray cumulus cloud with a distinct bat shape in the center—their call to action.

All three men were on their feet in an instant—keyboard and cereal bowl abandoned on the table, capes and utility belts clicked into place.

"Meet you losers there!" Yeonjun hollered as the cave filled with the revving roar of his motorcycle engine like a clap of thunder.

Soobin and Beomgyu hurried over to their respective cycles. "Hey, we're not done talking about Ln Yn!" Soobin called to his younger brother.

Beomgyu flashed him a thin smile. "That's what you think!" And he sped away down the runway.

Soobin chuckled to himself, grinning. Then he revved his engine and launched himself after his brothers.

To be completely honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Actually, that was a lie. You kind of knew what you were doing, but that was leagues away from completely knowing what you were doing until it was muscle memory. Right now though, as you gripped onto the side of the building, fingertips digging into the concrete ledge like a lifeline (because it might as well had been one), you couldn't wait until it became muscle memory.

God, your arms were going to ache tomorrow morning.

"It's worth it, Yn," you muttered to yourself, under your breath, and that was what made you reach up one more time and grasp onto the ledge of the window sill. You had always wondered why buildings like this lacked security cameras, but based on its practically smooth facade, it was no wonder. Only a crazy person would dare scale something like this.

The law firm building was not one of the largest nor one of the dingiest. If it had been some place like Clark & Field, you would have considered other ways to get into the building, but it would probably be through the inside (because scaling a fifty story skyscraper without a net was not on your bucket list). And if the building had been on the dingier side, it would have, frankly, been much easier to find footholds and places to brace. Except for any mold or crumbly parts. That was not fun either.

Or maybe you could classify scaling buildings as just… not fun in general. But the skills and the strength would come with time.

This time, however, was fueled by pure willpower.

But the universe was on your side for once, and the window you clung to gave way and granted you entry. The stupid lock picks had actually worked.

Despite being dead for two weeks, Yang Eunhyuk’s office still looked like its owner was still alive. There were documents left out in the open, all of the furniture had yet to be touched, there was an old (upon further investigation, really old) cup of coffee on the desk, and a two-week-old calendar for the week’s appointments and cases. You peered at the calendar and skimmed its contents, but found nothing terribly noteworthy. You strolled by the bookcase, footsteps light as a cat’s, and glimpsed the titles. There were a lot of convoluted-sounding titles on the shelves, and honestly, you doubted that he even read half of the books there. They were probably just for show when clients came in.

After you had given yourself a tour of the space, you determined that no one had truly cared enough about this man to really clean up for him. The door out into the hallway was locked, and through its frosted glass door, you could make out the distinct yellow police tape crossed over the frame. This was no crime scene, but the police had still had the room locked down… odd.

You figured they didn’t care enough. But maybe this guy had more connections than you were giving him credit for. He had been one of your father’s clients, after all. (Actually, that wasn’t enough to determine whether or not Yang was smart or not. Resorting to your father’s ever-generous solutions was stupid; and you were very well-aware that that made you stupid, too.)

Your father had sent you to this office for something in particular.

“Yang Eunhyuk was an idiot and a half,” your father had told you the day you had come to him. “But he knows how to hide his things when he needs to.” He had carefully relayed all of the necessary information to you as the two of you sat on the couch together to outline your next steps and what exactly he was asking of you. “He owes me a compilation of files and a burner phone.”

When you’d asked what for, there was that gleam in his eyes as if he found the question amusing. “Well, to find out who betrayed us, of course.”

“To find who killed Mom?”

He had nodded at you—waved his hand flippantly. “Yes. That’s the same thing, Yn.”

A burner phone and a compilation of files. Your father had already searched Yang’s personal place of residence, but there had apparently been nothing but “shit." So here you were… sorting through more shit.

You drummed the pads of your fingers on the surface of the desk.

“Where would he hide you, hm?” You murmured to yourself. You tried all of the drawers under the desk—four of the seven came up locked. The top three drawers were all filled with a smorgasbord of knick knacks and junk like a fidget spinner, fidget cube, a package of cigarettes, and even a used gum wrapper. (Gross.) You slipped a lock pick out from your sleeve as you considered the remaining four locked drawers, then realized that Yang Eunhyuk might not have kept your father’s files in the same place as his regular, ol’ case files.

And so, you moved away from the desk.

You figured there were specific places a lawyer would keep their most sensitive files to ensure discretion and privacy. You recalled how your late employer, Lee Sungjae, often had his most precious files stashed away in a place that was so obvious that no one would ever assume any person in the right mind would hide such things. For Sungjae, it had been a picture frame on the wall of his office, the one with him and his entire family pictured. It was cute; but when one peered behind it…

There was only one picture frame in the entire office space. It was small and it housed his law degree. You wondered if it was phony.

You decided to give it a chance and reached for it with a gloved hand.

When you took the frame off the wall, a frown slipped onto your face at the solid wall behind it. Huh. It was worth a—

You stepped backward and inhaled sharply when your leg hit the back of his cheap office chair. You managed to right yourself, but your ears had also perked up at a curious sound. You swiftly replaced the frame on the wall and knelt down by the desk chair and twisted your body to peer beneath it.

The sound you had heard had been a soft swish. It was subtle and not at all loud, but thanks to the empty office and your own hearing, you had picked up on it. It was practically a miracle.

Your heart pounded in excitement as you stuck your hand beneath the chair and felt up the bottom. There—you felt a distinct, padded folder—and there—

Your fingers wrapped around a small device no bigger than the palm of your hand. It must have been attached to the bottom of the chair with some kind of tape, and you gave it a good yank. And behold… in your hand was the alleged burner phone, staring up at you, just begging for you to sneak a peek into its logs. But before you could, you removed the file that had been hidden beneath the chair as well. It was a standard manila folder stuffed to the brim with papers and, you assumed, lots of sensitive information. Your eyes were widening like your smile as you just struck gold.

Not too bad for your first time in a while.

You startled at the sound of a thump.

There was a figure, a shadow, standing on the window sill by the end of the desk. He was familiar to you with his dark hair and domino mask, and his red and black uniform. His cape flowed from just off the precipices of his shoulders and hung around the backs of his knees—imposing and regal but not in the way of any movements he made. The Red Robin had stood before you just earlier in the day at Lee Sungjae’s suburban home. He had been the one with the familiar presence to you, along with his… colleague? You didn’t know his and Nightwing’s association or relationship, but you weren’t about to interact long enough to find out.

“Breaking and entering is illegal, y’know,” the masked vigilante mused, and you could just make out the shadow of his smirk in the darkness. “Even at crime scenes.”

You rose from your spot on the floor, slipping the burner into the holster pocket on the garter around your thigh and tucking the file in the crook of your arm. There wasn’t really a place you could hide the chunky piece of shit. Despite your heart palpitating in your chest, you maintained a cool exterior. He didn’t know who you were, and you expected that he wouldn’t be able to recognize your voice since you had only spoken to him once.

“Nothing done in Gotham is illegal,” you replied to him.

His head cocked to the side, arms folding over his chest. “You’re not wrong about that. But…” He nodded at the file folder. “I really can’t let you leave with that.”

Oh, dear god. You needed an escape plan—and fast.

Nothing was coming to mind; it was just get out get out get out! (Very helpful, as always.)

“I’m sure you can make an exception for me,” you said with a mocking pout. “How’d you even know I was here? I didn’t realize Yang Eunhyuk had a connection to Gotham’s exclusive Bat Boys.”

A scoff from him. “He doesn’t. Your luck just happened to be running out, sweetheart.” He stepped off the window sill and entered the office, stalking toward you with slow, methodical steps because he knew you were cornered. You really should have tried that office door when you had the chance.

As you began backing away, you shook his head and tsked. “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Give me the folder.”

“And I can go?” You wondered how fast you could disappear once you flung yourself out of that window.

He smiled. “If you give me that burner, too, sure.”

Your heart stopped for a millisecond. God damn it.

He must have seen the doubt in your eyes, and that fucking smile of his widened. Something about that was tug-tug-tugging a nerve. He stopped walking toward you as you slowly made a move to set the file down on the floor. “Good girl.”

The file flopped onto the wooden floor.

"Slowly," he drawled, eyes glued to your form as he watched your hand move toward the holster pouch.

All the while, you were counting down in your head.

Before he could blink, you swung a leg out and kicked the file back behind Red Robin and toward the window. His head swerved in that direction, and you launched yourself at him before he could realize his mistake.

You kicked at him, one-two, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a virus. He blocked your blows, just as you swung around and made a grab for his mask.

He caught your wrist; you whirled—it was a high stakes tango you had not been prepared for. But you jabbed your elbow behind you, fist flying up toward his nose. Every move you made was desperate and offensive.

You slipped free and ducked, body curling under his arm, under his cape, until you ended up in the flurry of the dark fabric.

The vigilante knew his own cape though. You gave him that much.

He grabbed the opposite end and arced it over your head, arm coming down to wrap you in it—but you threw yourself out of it, landing a swift blow to his shin. Wouldn't do much except make him curse and loosen his grip slightly.

The file was in sight—oh god, it was right the fuck there.

You made a mad dash for it, leaning down slightly and reaching out with your hand—

"Not so fast, kitty—"

You hit the floor with a curse, palms flat against the wood. His foot had hooked around yours and tripped you, his knee set against your back like his own palm as he held you against the floor.

You felt his breath by your ear. "What's in the file, sweetheart?"

"None of your concern," you gritted out, then throwing your head back until you heard and felt that telltale "fuck!" from Red Robin.

You ignored the throbbing in the back of your skull to fling yourself around and throw off his balance again. Your hand dove into your holster pocket to retrieve the small cylinder of mace, then sprayed it in a final move of desperation, breath and chest heaving.

The man sputtered, hand flying up to his mouth as he stumbled backward and tried to eject the chemical from his body. "Dirty fucking move," he spat as you turned tail and made for the file.

Only—

"Looking for this?"

Two others had joined the party, to your absolute horror. Nightwing stood with the file in his hand, while Red Hood—the vigilante from the bank, and supposedly Choi Yeonjun based on your deductions—was perched up on the window sill with zero care in the world.

Well shit.

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oftenwantedafton · 5 months

Text

Trapped - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Detective Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for blood and violence, sexual content.

Also available on AO3

William Afton is getting bored.

He enjoys the feeling of being in control, of always having the upper hand, of getting away with murder each and every time and yet…he now finds himself longing for more of a challenge. What if there was actually the possibility of being caught? What if, instead of begging for their life, a victim fought back?

He thumbs through the stack of folders on his desk and sighs, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. None of these candidates seem like possibilities. And let’s face it: once he’s done toying with Mike, a loose end from the past, it’s going to go right back to the same mundane routine of fielding individuals who are isolated, with no family or friends to notice they’re missing, the remaining lot getting actual employment in safe environments. This charade is growing tedious. It’s not a new hire he needs.

He needs inspiration.

***

Steve Raglan’s standing by a coffee machine when you first meet him, pressing a fresh filter inside the top of the appliance just as you reach the threshold of his office.

A spoonful of dark grounds fills the ivory paper receptacle, then the carafe of water waiting nearby is emptied into the rear compartment. The tall figure turns and your eyes meet.

“Can I help you?” The voice is a gentle rasp, a rusty drag of sound. His demeanor is warm, inviting even. He doesn’t show any signs of concern when you flash your badge.

You make your introduction as you enter the room when the middle aged man waves you forward, the friendly smile never quite touching those intense pale blue orbs.

“Coffee? It’s fresh, should be ready soon.”

“No thank you.”

Your trained eyes dart about the room, assessing the pair of yellow vinyl padded chairs, the rows of steel filing cabinets, the stack of folders neatly placed on the desk. The phone is a relic from decades gone by, its clunky plastic frame yellowing with age. A blazer hangs on the coat rack tucked into one corner beside a wall covered in framed certificates and accomplishments. It’s all very outdated and exceptionally tidy and you wonder if it’s a reflection of the owner; organized and nostalgic, an existence of order and reminiscence.

He gestures to one of the yellow chairs and you sink into the offering. You hear the machine hiss and spit behind you, the trickle of fluids draining steadily into the sizzling glass pot below. The career counselor settles across from you cradling a cup that looks comically small clutched between his long fingers and large palms, the brown leather office chair creaking as he leans back slightly, appraising his visitor once again. You feel as if he’s dissecting you with that penetrating gaze, every secret laid bare.

“So, what is it that brings you here today? I must warn you I have an appointment with a client in twenty minutes.” He takes a long swallow of the hot beverage he’s just prepared before setting it carefully on a coaster decorated with a yellow rabbit, very like a child’s drawing, crayon scrawled and out of proportion. It’s not the only rabbit themed item in the office, either; there’s a wire rabbit threaded with envelopes of outgoing mail and a keychain with a rabbit’s foot set to one side. He sees you looking and his lips twitch in the faintest smirk, dimpling at the corners, the lines framing his eyes creasing slightly. There’s a brush of gray at the temples and through his beard but there’s something ageless about him, in those eyes that have imprisoned you since you’d first walked into the room. His brows lift and you realize you still haven’t answered his question.

“Yes, Mr. Raglan. I apologize for visiting unannounced. This won’t take long. Earlier this morning I happened to be patrolling past Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. You’re familiar with the place.” It’s more of a statement than a question and he folds his hands and nods, waiting for you to continue. “And I met a young man named Michael Schmidt who said he’s the new night shift security guard. He also said you were the one who found him the position.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Still no sign of nervousness or deceit. Another nonchalant sip of coffee. “Is there a problem? Did something happen?”

“Well no, not exactly.” You clear your throat and shift in your seat. “I specifically asked him, even, and he said it was an uneventful shift. But I don’t think he’s being entirely honest.”

Steve sighs, leaning forward. “Mike is a…special case. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries and get into personal details, but, he has a troubled history. And a lot of issues finding and maintaining employment. This position was kind of last resort, but so far it seems to be working out ok. He’s better off having a job where he’s working independently. He’s had…conflicts when working with others in the past.” He strokes an index finger across the back of one hand, waiting for your reply.

“I see. And how exactly does the hiring process work? Where do you get the job listings from?”

“Various sources. Employers contact us through mail, faxes, phone, email, that sort of thing. Since it’s part of your patrol, I’m sure you’re aware of the issues with break-ins and the like. The owner needed someone on site to keep an eye on things and deter criminal activity. Mike has previous experience in security, so it was just a natural fit.” He traces the rim of the cup, stroking slowly. There’s the look of bemusement again, disarming you. “How long have you been on the force?”

“Uh…five years.”

“So not really a novice.”

“No. I’ve actually been recommended for promotion to detective. Chief says the next case that cracks will be mine.” You can’t quite keep a note of pride out of your voice, shoulders squaring a bit as you regain some confidence.

Steve nods, draining the last of the coffee. “Well I’m sure the owner will appreciate knowing such a capable individual is looking after Freddy’s. Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

You nearly shake your head, but something halts you. “It seems you know the owner pretty well. Do you have a lot of contact with him?”

“Oh, we have contact from time to time. He’s a private person, a veritable recluse after what happened even after his name was cleared, as you can imagine. Destroyed the business, his family...It was a real tragedy.”

“Why doesn’t he just get rid of it? Demolish it to the ground? Why pay the utilities to keep the place running at all?”

He shrugs. “That’s not for me to say. Maybe he still remembers the good times the establishment brought to families, to his own children. Maybe he’s nostalgic. Or maybe he’s just a sentimental fool,” he murmurs. “Have you ever been there? Before it closed, I mean.”

“Yes, when I was younger.”

“So you know what I mean. That’s the problem with society today. It tends to only highlight the negatives. Good deeds are so much more easily forgotten.” His eyes flick toward the clock on the wall. “Any other questions? As much as I’m enjoying the conversation, I’m afraid I’m out of time.”

“No, that’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll let you get back to work.” You stand and he mirrors your movements, escorting you to the open doorway.

“It was a pleasure meeting you. Feel free to contact me again if you want to talk further.”

“Likewise. If anything comes up, give me a call.” You dig a business card from your pocket, handing it to the older man.

Steve smiles, his fingers lingering perhaps a heartbeat longer than was necessary or proper over yours during the exchange and the hair on the nape of your neck rises. You blush and turn away, feeling his eyes on your body as you walk the length of hallway to the exit.

***

The voices skitter on the edge of William Afton’s mind, warning him there are intruders present at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

They’re amateur criminals at best, breaking and entering in broad daylight through one of the large garage doors. Dividing up is their next mistake, making it easy for them to be picked off one by one. There’s a young man knocking over shelves in the kitchen, delighting at the sound of pots and pans striking the floor until an ominous rattling from the fridge distracts him.

Moments later his face is a ruin.

The man in the security office with his bags of quarters stolen from the change machines fares no better, nor does the other one trapped behind the glass door. His blood paints the frosted surface as William collects the fallen change calmly, waiting for the final intruder to be dealt with.

He hears her voice, the sound of a folding chair scraping across the cement floor and then a brief scream before a large, wet thud. The children grow silent, returning to their dormant state within the animatronics, the mental connection broken. He moves the bodies himself, even though it would be easier to have the mascots assist him. He likes getting his hands dirty. He steps nimbly around broken glass, dragging a mop over bloodstains, arranging the corpses into various poses amidst the scattered remains of broken animatronics and endoskeletons. He checks the security cameras and deletes the footage, deciding Mike can spend his next few shifts cleaning up the rest of this mess.

William returns to the restroom to get washed up and he finds himself thinking of the young female patrol officer.

He remembers her smell, nostrils involuntarily flaring at the recollection of her light vanilla fragrance, the body spray sugary and alluring. The way her neck was exposed above the starched shirt collar makes him hungry. He’d like to lap at it, sink teeth into it, tear and taste. Slice buttons and move fabric out of the way, expose her to him. When she worries her bottom lip after asking a question, it’s maddening.

The murderer touches the springlock scars and feels ignited. Maybe it’s been too long since he’s cleaned his pipes. Maybe a little self pleasure will take the edge off and have him thinking more clearly.

He unfastens his pants and shoves a hand inside, gasping. His skin is on fire. He grasps the edge of the sink with his free hand, imagines wrapping those same fingers around her throat. Stroking slowly, picturing her bound on one of the metal tables normally used for endoskeleton repair. Her nails digging into his skin when he laps at her. Bruising his flesh with the end of her service pistol, maybe she’s even gotten a shot off and fuck, it feels amazing.

He increases his tempo as the fantasy continues. Maybe he’s bleeding onto her, maybe she’s wounded during the struggle and he’s got that taste mingling in his mouth as well, sticky warm and metallic. Binding her wrists with her own handcuffs, letting her press them against his throat, compressing and cutting off air. All of the cat and mouse tension during that interview, she’d known the truth on some subconscious level, he’s certain of it, how can she not? Such a pretty fucking tease, getting him worked up like this, breath sawing in and out, echoing harshly amidst the vacant stalls. He wants her to know everything, mapping the scars on his body while he marks hers, carving until she’s painted ruby and he explodes, spilling onto his fist, leaning against the sink for support.

After William’s finished cleaning up, he decides to take the knife home with him.

Just in case.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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boliv-jenta · 6 months

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Dieter Bravo x f!reader (from my Wardrobe Universe)

Inspired by this post.

Warnings: Smut. P in v sex.

"Dieter!" Your voice was low and warning as if you were telling off a wet dog who was getting ready to jump on the sofa.

It was fitting really, with those puppy dog eyes pleading with you from the bottom of the stairs. You'd be invited to an SNL Halloween party as Dieter was becoming quite the regular. You were all ready to go until Dieter laid eyes on your costume for the first time as you descended the stairs. Going dressed as one of his characters had seemed like a good idea until you saw the look on Dieter's face.

"Dieter! Really? You can't be serious?! I purposely stayed away from all the tiny, slutty versions of every single costume you could think of. I even saw a slutty tree costume, for God's sake. I am covered from head to toe in an unflattering outfit…." You trialled off as he walked towards you as if in a trance. His sword was dropped to the floor with a dull clatter. The pteruges around his thighs swung as he walked giving you a tasty peek of his muscle legs. Of all the outfits he'd worn for a movie, his gladiator armour was fast becoming your favourite. It afforded you quite the view, like at that moment, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the front.

Like a deer in headlights, you a

weren't sure where to go. You resigned yourself to the fact that you were going to be late to the party because Dieter would need to fuck you at least once before you leave. Do you go back up the stairs? Walk down to meet him?

Your question is answered when Dieter meets you. His needy hands grab your ass through the cheap material of your pants suit. "I need you now. Here."

Dieter's professional reputation was far from what it once was. If he was late now people knew it must be for a very good reason. Letting your Gladiator husband fuck you on the stairs was a very good reason indeed. "Will you keep the outfit on?"

"I just assumed we would."

"Really? The gray wig and everything?"

"Yep." Dieter eagerly lifted the skirt of his outfit showing that he did very much like the outfit even without the hint of slutty-ness.

"I thought Gladiators wore underwear."

"Not this one. Come here."

Dieter managed to turn you on the stairs without either of you falling to have you kneel in front of him. The sensible pink trousers were pulled down over your ass as Dieter gently bite into the exposed skin.

"Dieter!"

"Sorry, Baby. You just drive me crazy."

"Again, in this outfit?!"

"What can I say? Mrs Flores is a babe."

Thinking back to how sexy you'd found Dieter's confidence and comedy timing during his time as Mrs Flores, you had to agree.

Your body jerked at the sensation of Dieter's spit hitting your folds before the head of his cock swiped through it to circle your clit.

"Oh, Di. Are there any other costumes you'd like me to wear?" You moan as the tip of him rubs against you over and over.

"You could wear anything and I'd still find you sexy. Ohh." Dieter took his time sliding inside you.

No matter how many times he did over the last four years, which was a whole lot, it still felt as good as the first time. Knowing that you couldn't be too late, Dieter picked up his pace. Reaching around, he made to grab your tits only to get a handful of a comically foam stuffed bra. He made a little disgruntled noise before shoving his hand up your shirt to cup your real breast.

"That's better." He groaned.

His fingers flicking against your nipple and his cock stuffing you impossibly full had you coming until you body was pliant you worried you might slide all the way down the stairs. Dieter held you up as he came, muttering absolute filth into your now displaced wig.

The two of you made a half hearted attempt to pull your clothes back into place as you came down from your shared high.

The two of you lay awkwardly on the stairs until your breathing sounded relatively normal in the quiet of the house.

Eventually, Dieter broke the silence "Tell me more about the slutty tree costume."

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #halloween fic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader

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certkidwhocantdomath · 2 months

Text

(Mod by @mortal-kombat-1)

Coldstar Headcanons, Part X: Interpretation of the Shadows

• After getting his powers, Johnny has been able to hear the lies and secrets of others.

• These lies and secrets come in the form of horrifying monster-like shadows that are heavily based on the sins and appearance of this person.

• These shadows and Johnny's new powers are inspired by nyoomian's comic on Webtoon and the main character Daph. Johnny and Kenshi are basically Daph and Tom, you'll see why later.

• Johnny has a shadow version of himself but it's just a pitch black entity outlined by glowing purple and glowing purple eyes with fangs similar to that of a Tarkatan.

• Johnny calls this shadow "John" and John is based off Alastor's shadow from Hazbin Hotel and Mr-eatyourheart's Tarkatan Johnny fanart. John can also be considered a more dark and serious version of Johnny as he is a manifestion of Johnny's self-loathing, low self-esteem and low self-worth.

• Johnny's ability to see lies and hear secrets works on everyone, even Shang Tsung and Liu Kang. Well, everyone but Kenshi, who's ancestor is blocking out his powers.

• The backstory of Johnny's powers is different. Instead, when Johnny was stabbed by General Shao, he unlocked his Arcana because it was a moment of crisis. The marking is on the back of his neck.

• Arcanas will now be a part of my headcanons, watch the Mortal Kombat 2021 movie so you know what exactly Arcanas are.

• Instead of Raiden getting burned by Kuai Liang, he simply unlocked his Arcana. Same goes for Kenshi, Kung Lao and Tomas who unlocked their Arcanas.

• Decided to say goodbye to the sigils and markings on Cage Match Johnny and say hello to the tattoos from his MK1 "Splits and Fists" skin. He still keeps the earrings though.

• John was accidentally created when Johnny had a mental breakdown. Like a mentioned before, John is a personification of Johnny's negativity.

• The reason for Johnny's large amounts of negativity is his father, Robert.

----ANGST----

(Johnny will be refered to as Janet and a "she/her" for now as this is the past)

• Robert was an abusive man and Jimmy(Janet's older brother) helped Robert beat Janet up in places he couldn't go or when he was at work. Jimmy basically bullied Janet in school and his friends(the bullies from Cage Match) helped him.

• Rose didn't know of this because she was a cop and she had work to do. So when Rose saw Janet constantly coming home covered in bruises, she assumed it was bullying and she sent Janet to the local dojo.

• After Janet finished her training, she beat up her brother and his friends.

• But eventually Robert and Jimmy took it too far. Rebbeca was held down and stripped naked by Jimmy, who was angry at Janet for beating him up, and Robert, who was drunk, tried to rape Rebbeca.

• Luckily, Janet noticed and had enough. She grabbed her brothers baseball bat and beat them both to near death. But maybe too close to death.

• Robert died due to a fractured femur and pelvis, cracked skull, smashed rib cage and blood loss.

• Janet called Rose, told her what happened and what she had done.

• When Rose came home, Jimmy desperately told his mom that Janet needed to be arrested for what she did but Rose simply handcuffed Jimmy and said that he will be the one to get arrested.

• Rose comforted her girls and praised Janet for her bravery. That was the catalyst that made Janet decide to go all around the world and train in different martial arts and fighting styles.

• Janet eventually told her mom she was trans and Rose used Robert's money to pay for the surgery(as a last "fuck you"). That was the day Johnny was born.

• Johnny told his mom he planned to go to Hollywood soon and Rose simply told him to pack his things now as he might forget something.

• At this point, everything follows the Cage Match plot. Johnny sees a snatcher, beats him up, the dude who got snatched was a big director and he decided to turn Johnny into a star.

#johnny cage #hazbin hotel reference #inspired by fanart #mentioned self-loathing and low self-esteem and low self-worth.#johnny cage has issues #johnny cage headcanons #trans johnny cage #johnny cage used to be janet cage before transitioning #robert carlton is an asshole #jimmy cage is an asshole #rose carlton is a sweetheart

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alisterix · 1 year

Note

Now my question is. Does Cacophonix's reputation as the ultimate gaylord precede him. Does anyone outside of the village know him as Mr. Gay. Is he like Lil Nas X where gays all around the. Area. Look up to him as the gay icon that he is.

Thank you kindly, I LOVE getting asks from you cause they are a perfect excuse for me to draw Cacofonix, and if there's one thing in this fandom I love drawing as much as Gaylois, it's Cacofonix. Here's a little comic inspired by your question since I can't help myself:

I can easily imagine Cacofonix on a big trip, having fun and indulging all of the opportunities and glamour of city life, making friends (lovers? possibly? 😳) easily, courtesy of his charismatic and pleasant demeanor (at least as long as he doesn't try to sing). People obviously aren't fans of his musical talent, or rather a lack thereof, but whenever a stranger happens to recognize him and call him by name he tends to immediately jump to that conclusion and brag about it to his fellow village folks, who clearly aren't buying it, lmao. Admittedly, at the end of the day, being appreciated and recognized for being entertaining, pretty and gay rather than for your art is not the worst position to be in, so he does take it for what it is, though not without a healthy dose of fussing about constantly, no matter where he goes, being "strangely surrounded by people who don't seem to understand art".

Funny that you mention Lil Nas X cause I just made a playlist with my favourite bardcore covers in honor of Cacofonix the Ultimate Gaylord™ and Montero is the first song on it.

#asterix #cacofonix #cacophonix #assurancetourix #my art #the sweet homosexual tension of a man piercing your ears in exchange for a date #listen... this is a sfw blog so we won't be discussing Cacofonix's jolly good big city gay time in great detail #it does make me admittedly uncomfortable to think adult stuff about a childhood nostalgia comic... BUT #if I had to choose one character who fucks it would be Cacofonix #I could probably make up a whole story about Cacofonix and his mysterious Lutetian admirer but I have a Gaylois wedding to attend to #and by that I mean I'm gonna make Gaylois wedding fanart in response to an ask I got #lmfao the way Asterix gives him a rude awakening and Cacofonix throws shade at him in return is sending me #what does he know about charm??? I dunno man maybe ask Obelix since he's clearly happily married #they are both such gay disasters #they give me strong gay besties/mlm solidarity vibes #but also it's a great ship imo #I'm all ride or die for Gaylois but if you see my art of Asterix and Cacofonix as shippy I won't stop you #I will encourage you even #it's my second favourite Asterix ship and I'm planning to draw some cute stuff with them every now and then #I wonder if they have a ship name #asterfonix?#I like that #anyway Cacofonix with piercings am I right 😳😳😳

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imarvelatthestars · 2 years

Text

Little Stardust

Premise: A slasher stalks the streets of London while whispers of a mystery man in white steal throughout the city - a man who saves the weak and unprotected travelers of the night.

Notes: I had a thought - since Khonshu is wearing the Mr. Knight suit in the post-credits scene, what if he was Mr. Knight? What if Khonshu and Jake were working together to protect the travelers of the night while Steven and Marc were left unawares and continued trying to live their lives? This is definitely inspired by the 2014 comic run where Marc/Mr. Knight becomes a sort of detective and rides around in his dumb little limo (affectionate), but specifically 2014 issue #1 and what we have of the 2021 run so far.

Warnings: blood, violence, Google translate used for some of Jake's dialogue (please forgive me), feminine language used for reader

Pairings: slight Jake Lockley x Reader (will be elaborated on in the future); Khonshu is there

Word Count: ~3.3k

There have been whispers of late, of a man in white who protects those who are unable to protect themselves in the dark recesses of the night. You hear people whispering about it on the bus or at the stations, in line getting groceries, commenting in hoards on the local news channel's Facebook page. What little you do hear tells you that this nighttime hero wears a white suit, he drives a white limo, and he speaks in riddles, but he always gets the job done. No one is ever turned away.

You don't think much of it at first. You figure it's another one of those creepypasta things or some weird joke that only 19 year old Londoners get, you brush it aside and go about your life none the wiser. Until you become what's known as a traveler of the night - your schedule changes, your hours shift, and what was once a daytime job devolves into an evening occupation. Still, you don't pay much mind to all the weird Mr. Knight crap, you carry on as you always have and make do with what you have. Then come the murders.

They call him the Backstreet Slasher. He stalks his victims down dark alleys, follows them through the park, waits until they're alone at a station or along a trail, until they're vulnerable. And no one ever hears them scream. The victims are always found hours after the fact, missing chunks off and out of their bodies, and there's no rhyme or reason that Scotland Yard can find. Which really sucks for you since 3 of the 4 murders have taken place near your route to and from work.

You push on, though. You have to. You have to work, you have to keep trying to make it all work out because that's the only option left. You buy a few cans of pepper spray and a Swiss Army knife to keep in your bag, you start making sure that people know when you're leaving work, when you're safe on the bus, and when you finally get home, that they know what you're wearing so they can accurately identify or report you (whichever comes first). You pray more than you ever have in your entire life, to anyone who cares to listen, and you don't get anything back. Until, one night, you do.

All it takes is a split second. You glance down at your phone to check the time and you realize one of your friends has sent you a message, so you go to unlock the screen when the world is suddenly flipped onto its head. You slam into the concrete hard and there are hands on you, all over you, pinning you down, covering your mouth, in your hair, and you realize that you're going to die if you don't do something. So you throw your head back, flail your legs as violently as possible, you bite down on whatever skin or body part comes near you and you taste blood. Whoever or whatever it is that tackled you wails and you roll forward, out of their arms and down the pavement, then scramble to your feet. You're only able to get glimpses of him as the streetlights all around you start to flicker out, but he's massive and mostly unclothed - built out of pure muscle, sweat, and anger, and you guess that he would stand an easy two feet taller than you if he were on his feet. Speaking of, he's trying to stand up.

You spin on your heel and run faster than you ever have before. There's a stitch in your side that hurts like a bitch and it worsens with every step you take, but you can't afford to slow down and allow it to pass. You'll be dead if you try. But then you remember the pepper spray in your bag! It takes a long several seconds of fumbling and struggling to get it out while you're still running, but you pull it out and brandish it as if it were a knife.

Suddenly, you're yanked back and thrown hard onto the floor. You narrowly avoid hitting your head on the concrete by slipping mid-fall and landing on your shoulder, but the world is still spinning as if you had. The thing steps into your line of vision until he's all you can see. Your hand flies out, wild, blind, terrified, and the pepper spray releases into his face, but it doesn't make him back down. The thing with blood in its eyes and gnarled, broken teeth screams so loudly that your ears start ringing, and that's when you realize that it's very possible he's immune to pepper spray. You've made it angrier and now it's definitely going to kill you. With the end of your life practically in sight and the stitch in your side spreading until it consumer your entire abdomen, there's much more to do except fire more pepper spray directly into the thing's face as a final "fuck you". Then you kick out and hear a sickening pop in the thing's leg, and he drops.

The front end of a white car comes careening into view, then. It jumps over the curb and screeches to a halt, just barely avoiding your attacker, but still managing to blind it with its LED headlights. The creature howls, raises its hands into the air to shade its eyes. Then the driver's door opens. You can see the silhouette of a cap on his head, broad curls at the nape of his neck, the crisp line of his denim jacket and the bulkiness of leather gloves on his hands, but his face is shadowed. And he's holding something in his hands, a… baseball bat? No, a baton, maybe? You blink and the baton comes crashing onto the creature's head. Over and over and over. It screams and there's blood and through the haze of your confusion, you suddenly feel sick. No. Wait, you're gonna be sick.

There's a sharp crunch and then the only thing you can hear is the car's still running engine and your savior's labored breathing. He sniffles, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth while you empty what remains of your dinner onto a nearby patch of grass. When you're finally able to look up without coughing up bile, you see that the lights are dimmed and that the trunk of what is actually a stretch limo is popped open. A pair of brown boots stick out below the bumper and you can almost see splatters of something dark on them, but it's too hard to know for sure in the sparse lighting.

The trunk is suddenly slammed shut. You jump, recoiling into yourself as you clutch terrified at your bag. Where the hell is the pepper spray? You eye the grass, the pavement, the area by the body of the thing that almost killed you, and you finally spot it at the base of a shiny, white rimmed wheel. A hand reaches out to grab it, a gloved hand. The same one that-. Oh God.

"You lose something?" he asks. You still can't fully make out his face with the way his cap is angled over his forehead. "Here."

You instinctively back away when he extends his arm in your direction. His body seems to pause. You can feel his eyes watching you, flickering over your face, studying you. And then his shoulders drop.

"Lo siento. Didn't mean to scare you." His head cocks to one side, just slightly. You can hear the faintest whisper of a Spanish accent in his voice, but he mostly just sounds American. He leans down, braced against one knee, and rolls your half empty pepper spray from the curb to your toes. "You alright, señorita?"

You think you nod in response, but you're not entirely sure at first. The world doesn't even feel real in this moment. A serial killer Hulk thing chasing you down the street and a mysterious Spanish man coming to your rescue? No, shit like that doesn't happen in real life. It sure as hell doesn't happen to someone like you!

"Prometo, I'm not gonna hurt you," he says and his voice is warm. You're not sure if you trust it or not. "I wouldn't save your life just to turn around and take it, would I?"

"N-No." It's the first thing to come out of your mouth in what feels like an eternity.

The stranger with blood splatter on his boots shifts his weight and raises a hand, slowly and purposefully like he's trying to show you he's not making any sudden moves. His hand knocks the brim of his cap back and up enough to allow what little light there is to shine over more of his face. He's clean shaven and olive skinned with a good smile and big brown eyes. There's a bit of blood on his cheek, but you try very hard (and fail) not to stare at it. "Jake Lockley. What's your name?"

It's an excellent question and it takes you longer than it should to recall it. But when you finally stammer it through chattering teeth and a stiff tongue, Jake Lockley smiles at you. It's a very kind smile, almost reassuring, and it makes you wonder exactly why you were so afraid of him in the first place.

"You need a ride home?" he asks, tacking your name onto the end with that same beaming smile. "There's all kind of creeps out tonight, ¿sí? You need to get home safe and sound."

Everything inside you is screaming not to get into the sketchy white limo with the guy who just killed someone in front of you, but then you remember that you would be dead if it weren't for him. A ride home that doesn't involve the city bus does sound amazing, but you can't help feeling suspicious at the offer. It's almost a little too good to be true.

"I don't know you."

Jake frowns a little. "No," he starts, "but I did just save your life. Has to count for something."

Your bones are aching, you realize as you stand there in the late spring evening, staring at the mystery man that saved your life, and your side hurts like hell. You want more than anything to just go home and lay down, pretend none of this ever happened. Hell, it would be even better if you just didn't wake up for a good 12 hours! Then you don't have to deal with all the bullshit that will eventually come with tomorrow. You think all these things and you think about Jake Lockley and the creature that nearly killed you, and you collapse on the spot.

"Mierda!" you hear him curse as he swoops to your side.

The world is spinning again, but faster than before, and your head is throbbing. Your heartbeat is echoing almost painfully in your ears and that awful ache in your stomach is getting worse. What the hell-?

"-okay? Háblame, querida. ¿Qué pasa?"

His hand resettles on your hip to keep you from rolling out of his grip and you immediately hiss and smack him in the chest. You're too pained to verbalize it, but you desperately want to cuss him out from whatever the hell it is he just did to you. Jake removes his hand straight away, but not before you can catch a flash of something dark on his palm.

His voice is almost hoarse. "Estás sangrando."

Your eyes squeeze shut of their own accord. "What does that mean?"

"That malparido got you, you're bleeding."

Your vision starts to go spotty even as you try to take a look at the wound, but the man - Jake - stops you from struggling too much. He starts speaking again, faster this time, and it's impossible to keep up with him. His English fades into Spanish and then you're being hoisted up to rest in the curve where his shoulder meets his arm.

"Camina conmigo," he huffs into your ear and you don't have the breath to tell him you don't know what he's saying. Your feet shuffle and drag under you as you're led to the door of his car. He braces himself against the car as he attempts to get the door open, but his hand is slick with something red and you take up all the room and space in his other hand. So he bangs a fist on the window. "¡Khonshu, abre la puerta!"

Silence rings heavy and metallic in your eyes and then-.

The door is ajar for hardly a second before Jake swings it wide open. "En, señorita, en," he urges. "Eso es, eso es, fácil."

You find yourself splayed out on the carpet. You think he was aiming you in the general direction of the seats, but it's a miracle you've made it this far already because your strength is fading fast. You're fading fast. So you brush a hand over your side where the ache first blossomed and feel your heart sink when you realize that your suspicions are confirmed because there's blood on your fingers.

Jake slams the door shut behind him, crouched over as he makes his way to your side. His eyes flicker to the blood on your hand, then back to you, and he gently pushes your hand away. "Don't worry about it, querida, don't worry. Look at me." You catch a glimpse of something sleek and ivory behind his head as you do and you try to go back for a second look, but Jake's smile is gentle and comforting and it steals your attention. "Gonna fix you up, ¿sí? You just focus on me."

But when he slips back into Spanish, it's not hard to pick up on the panic in his voice. "Está perdiendo demasiada sangre. No puedo llevarte a un hospital a tiempo, ¡ese bastardo!"

Your vision is so foggy now that you can only really make out vague shapes and colors. A large block of ivory comes into view at Jake's shoulder, but there's something off about it, something strange about the awkwardly and distinctly non-cranium shape that hovers over the body that's joined you in the limo. You should be scared, you should be screaming your head off and begging for a decent passerby to help you escape because this Jake guy and whoever else is here with him are clearly about to murder you, but you can't summon the strength. Or the fight. It's becoming a challenge to even breathe right. And somehow you know that this is it. Whatever happened on the sidewalk, whatever that monster did to you, it's the end of your story.

Hands are pressing at your side and it stings, but you don't react. You gather your strength and as much air as you can, and you reach for Jake Lockley. "Please," you croak through what feels like strained and shriveled vocal chords, "don't… don't leave me. Don't want to be alone."

"I'm here, querida," he promises, "no te preocupes."

If these are your last moments, you want to make them count. "I fought. As hard as I could," you say. "I tried."

"Shhh." His thumb presses over your temple where some of your tears have started to fall into your hair. "Don't talk."

"Thank you. Thank you, Jake, thank you for saving me. Was so scared, I thought-…" You hiccup and attempt a smile. "Kinda scared still, but…"

The air stirs near your head and the ivory blob at Jake's shoulder moves toward you, but you decide that it's just your dying mind conjuring up whatever it can in its final moments.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tight, and feel a sob bubble up inside your chest. Maybe it's silly, maybe it's a last ditch effort and maybe it's gonna land you in the wrong place so to speak, but you cry out to anyone who will listen. One last time. You're not sure if you're actually speaking the words or just thinking them, but they're raw and vulnerable and bordering somewhere between desperate and hopeful.

I know I'm not much. I know I'm just as special as anyone else, I don't deserve more than anyone else, but please. If you can hear me, anyone, please, I don't want to die. I want to live. There's so much more I want to do and see and experience. Please! Please, please, I'm not ready. I'm not ready yet. And… God, if it's really my time, please make it quick.

The limo rumbles and thunders in response, the floor hums beneath your body and you can feel it vibrating deep in your bones. The shapeless ivory thing in the car leans over you and you can catch a glimpse of something long, sharp, and curved protruding out of the emptiness. Its voice is low, deeper than the deepest depths in the ocean. It shakes you like a baby leaf on a tree, it's soft and it laughs at you, but it's also warm and curious and pleading. "Who are you, that I should spare your life?" it asks. The air shifts as the question echoes between your ears. Then the voice rolls your name around in its mouth, or at least it sounds like it. "Hmm. You have much to offer, don't you, little traveler?"

You think you hear Jake's voice snap in the background, but it fades away in an instant. You frown, wet your lips, and buckle down on the faint grasp you have on reality.

"Yes," the ivory voice continues, "I can sense it."

"Who…? Who are you?"

The voice smiles. "I am the one who protects the travelers of the night, who swears by vengeance and justice and the might of the night sky."

The night sky. You've always loved it. There's always been something about the moon, the stars, the planets, a touch of whimsy that connects you to them, something inside you that calls out to them, that yearns for the vastness of their beauty. "I like the stars," you sigh as your eyes grow heavy. "Like to think we're all made of stardust."

Another laugh, warm and knowing. "I can save your life, little stardust, but you must bind yourself to me."

You hum happily to yourself, but don't think to respond. Whatever it is this voice is saying, it sounds nice.

"Listen! Your time is nearly up! Do you want to live or do you wish to die on the floor of a dirty human transporter in the backstreet of this miserable city?" The voice snaps your name again and your eyes fly open, startled, but your vision doesn't clear. "Do you swear to bind yourself to me, to serve me and my Moon Knight by protecting the travelers of the night and bestowing my justice?"

Someone shakes your arm, your hand, lightly slaps your cheek to bring you out of your stupor, and you can just make out the shape of Jake Lockley's cap. "Think, querida. Not much time left for you."

You let your eyes rove over the vague shape that hovers above you. You keep thinking about the moon and how beautifully it shines, how this voice is clad in the ivory shimmer of starlight, how it called you "stardust" and it promised you life. You reach out a bloodstained hand and curl your fingers around the lapel of a crisp, white suit. "Yes," you whisper with the last breath you have. "I sw…"

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #khonshu #marvel #moon knight

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legendarywolf2022 · 1 year

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I posted 80 times in 2022

That's 80 more posts than 2021!

30 posts created (38%)

50 posts reblogged (63%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@starlightmeadowbloom

@sunnysstuffs

@tbgmoviecoverage

@luonnonvalinnat

@starlightmeadowbloomthesecond

I tagged 80 of my posts in 2022

#dreamworks the bad guys - 80 posts

#the bad guys - 78 posts

#the bad guys dreamworks - 77 posts

#dreamworks - 75 posts

#mr wolf - 68 posts

#the bad guys au - 61 posts

#mr snake - 34 posts

#sly cooper - 34 posts

#mr wolf x sly cooper - 26 posts

#mr shark - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 40 characters

#day of the little candles with starlight

My Top Posts in 2022:

Concept Art Cover of My Story (Number 1?)

Disneyfriend made this for me as a cover, but I can tell it will be more than just one for the story.

Connor Davidson, if you here (might be in DeviantArt if everyone let them know that), your Drake Lupus as well as your other oc characters will be part of my story as I’m a fan of your finest work.

@aggimaginary, if you may not know, that your character Mr Hornet will be inspired to my own character as well.

I thought I would keep it as a secret but Disneyfriend suggested that you deserve to know and I promise that I’ll credit you both.

Here’s the link of his work

6 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

SlyWolf (OMG from Turning Red Fan-Song)

I just want to show everyone a mini video that I’ve made a while ago.

I hope all of you like it!

7 notes - Posted November 8, 2022

The Bad Guys: The Black Diamond of the Legendary Wolf

Two weeks after one year in prison, Mr Wolf and his friends are trying to be best behaviour for the citizen who are no longer afraid of them anymore while they couldn’t help but enjoy few adventures they adore.

But then one night, Mr Wolf had a nightmare of his past that involved with a black wolf that caused him to seek answers.

Together with Diane Foxington (known as the Crimson Paw) and the five teenager girls as well as more new friends along the way, the gang must unravel the truth of Mr Wolf’s past and why he had great connection of the black diamond that everyone thought it once had dark magic thousands years ago. But little did they know that a cold hearted villain that hunted the family legacy for decades… is not actually gone for good…

(This blog is about my Bad Guys AU Story that me and my Disneyfriend are working on, please share this to everyone around you)

8 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

Mr Wolf’s Birthday Tomorrow! 2022

Tomorrow is Mr Wolf’s birthday and I’d love to see all the arts that would made my day because I’m feeling very down in the dump so…

Please bring the love and support for this former leader of the Bad Guys himself, he deserves it!

9 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The Letter to Pierre Perifel

(To @tbgmoviecoverage from my friend)

🧡💛🧡💛🧡

Dear Mr Perifel,

First, I want to say I'm your biggest fan of your latest movie The Bad Guys. Also, I am really happy to know that you also worked as an animator on other projects such as the Kung Fu Panda franchise, Rise of Guardians and even Monsters vs. Alien (honestly I think those last are underrated gems).

Anyway I want to apologize for bothering you like this, but since the tumblr "tbgmoviecoverage" canceled "submit and post" section I had no choice, but to ask you directly. Like I said before I really love your movie The Bad Guys. It has everything, charming anthropomorphic characters, heists, action, heartfull moments, really funny jokes and animation style like from manga comic. It's really amazing. But I couldn't help but notice some similarities with another concept I am familiar with. I am not talking about Zootopia, or Robin Hood, heck even not about Lupin the Third or Ocean 11 or any Tarantino's movies. No. The truth is that those similarities don't come from movies. They actually come from the more or less well-known video game franchise Sly Cooper.

Believe it or not there are so many similarities you could even imagine. There are heists, some car chases, foxy love interest on the side of the law (who is pretty much combination of Diane Foxington (be a fox, sassy, flirty with protagonist, sometimes quick to judge but understanding) and Police Chief Misty (temper and similar police status as inspector of Interpol), hero's narrating to us, side character who pretends to be good guy help protagonists until the reveal of him(or her) be the main antagonist who betrays them and put them in jail, villain who pretends to be a samaritan, villain who tries to prove be the greatest thief (there are many villains with different goals so that's why I mentioning it thrice). Some cutscenes have really great comic style, except Thieves in Times, that one is more cartoon style, but it's still cool.

The only difference I think they have (aside from location) are instead of 5 typical stereotypes of villain animals like snake, tarantula, shark, wolf it's actually 3 animals like turtle, hippo and of course a raccoon (who is actually a stereotype for a masked thief). And they only steal from others, because and I quote: "There's no honor, no challenge, no fun in stealing from ordinary people."

Fun fact: 6 years ago there was supposed to be a movie adaptation, but due to Ratchet and Clank movie failure, it never happened. Then there was a tv series idea, but it also ended up forgotten and as for the next game, nothing since Thieves in Times came and that was 9 years ago and it's only a speculation now considering the 20th anniversary is coming this year. But after the success of Sonic The Hedgehog 2 and of course The Bad Guys, being the two of the top movies at the box office in weeks, maybe there is still a chance.

So I am asking you only two questions:

1. Was Sly Cooper one of your inspirations for your movie The Bad Guys? (If you know about this game of course)

2. If there would be a chance of making a movie or tv series adaptation of Sly Cooper, would you take a chance working on it as a director? (Because honestly, there is no other who I would trust with this but you. Like I said, your movie is a great example of how to make a great animated heist movie.)

You don't have to answer that second question if you don't want to. But I still want to know the answer to the first one. Again I apologize for bothering like that, but I assure you this will be the only e-mail you get from me. I just only want to know this. And the rest of my knowledge of Bad Guys production I will learn from a blog on tumblr I just mentioned.

So for final words: Congratulations to your successful movie The Bad Guys and wishing you good luck for future projects like sequel or tv series. You, Aaron Blabey, Damon Ross, Rebecca Huntley, Etan Cohen, all actors, editors, musicians, choreographers, animators, everyone who worked on that movie, you all deserved it.

Sincerely, one of your fans.

P.S. So Long Suckers!🐺😎

🧡💛🧡💛🧡

Please share this to everyone who will get this letter to Mr Perifel himself to see it!

20 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #the bad guys #the bad guys mr wolf #the bad guys au #dreamworks the bad guys #the bad guys dreamworks #the black diamond of the legendary wolf

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jmg-digitalhistoryuta · 12 days

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Black characters of Marvel Comics

If you can't tell over the past few blogs, I grew up as a DC Comics fan, watching the cartoons like Batman the Animated Series, Static Shock, and Justice League Unlimited. We could even spend another week going over the black characters in DC's Independent Vertigo Imprint, black superheroes from the Indie Comics studio WildStorm, like Deathblow, or other black DC characters like Green Lantern John Stewart, Bronze Tiger, Steel, and Mr. Terrific. Instead, we are finally going over the black history of Marvel comics, all be it, briefly.

Marvel started out as Timely Comics in 1939 by pulp magazine publisher Martin Goodman to capitalize on the growing comic book and superhero market, creating Golden age superheroes like the Android Jim Hammond who was the Original Human Torch, Captain America, and the Sub-Mariner. Superheroes fell to the wayside after WWII, so in 1951 Timely Comics became Atlas Magazines, publishing Sci Fi and Adventure comics more than superheroes. One of their characters was Prince Waku of the Bantu, from the anthology series Jungle Tales, first released in 1954. During the early 1960s Stan Lee and artists like Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko led Atlas Magazines into becoming Marvel Comics, their first black hero was not Black Panther but Gabe Jones, a soldier a part of Nick Fury's Howling Commandos, coming out in Sgt. Fury #1 in 1963. The next character is the infamous Black Panther, T'Challa first leaped on the newspaper print in Fantastic Four #52 in 1966, inviting Marvel's first family to help him defeat the dastardly Klaw in his home country of Wakanda.

Three years later Captain America's sidekick Flacon flew to the page Captain America (1968) #117 in 1969, helping him defeat the Exiles and the Red Skull. Later, inspired by the Black Exploitation films like Shaft, and Superfly, Marvel published Luke Cage, aka Power Man, this one was a street level hero who patrolled the streets of Harlem and eventually partnered with the martial arts hero Iron Fists. Later in Power Man (1974) #24 Dr. Bill Foster's superhero alter ego Black Goliath was first introduced, a superhero who can become a giant and helped Luke Cage take on the Circus of Crime. A year later Marvel published Giant-Size X-Men #1, by writer Len Wein and artist Dave Cockrum, the first appearance of heroes like Colossus, Nightcrawler, and the iconic mutant hero Storm. Not all of Marvel's characters in the 1960s and 70s were as iconic as Storm and Black Panther, one of the most niche characters over the years is Jericho Drumm, aka Brother Voodoo from Strange Tales #169 in 1973. Created by Len Wein, John Romita Sr., Stan Lee, and Roy Thomas, Jericho was a practicing psychologist, who visited his brother in Daniel in their home country Haiti. After Daniel died from the hands of a rival Voodoo priest, Jericho visited his brother's mentor Papa Jambo, becoming the hero Brother Voodoo.

Marvel has had many more black characters added to their roster over the years. For this project it feels important to add almost all of them throughout the 60s and 70s, regardless of their status as a hero, villain, or supporting role. By the mid to late 2000s it's important to mainly cover the bigger events, primarily ending on Miles Morales Spider-man for simplicity.

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vickiabelson · 2 years

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What to do when in the midst of unfathomable national tragedy, and your guest is 5 x Emmy Winner, Alan Zweibel, one of the funniest humans on the planet? Face the elephant in the room head-on. We discussed how comics and monologists deliver on a day like this, and what is verboten? From there we moved into personal, current COVID crisis, where listener Julie Warner, Billy Crystal’s co-star in the film, Mr. Saturday Night, informed us we were depressing (she was playing… Alan is never is anything less than hysterical), and then we segued into his latest co-creation with Billy, Here Today, about an aging comedy writer whose memory is fading due to dementia. Har har har dee har har. Well, the story that inspired the film is crazy funny, as is Alan’s telling of it. It was all comedy gold from there, covering Alan’s many of Alan’s most memorable collaborations, more on Billy from the early 70s standup days to their Tony-winning Broadway smash, 700 Sundays. The first sold joke to Morty Gunty (still a winner today), and other Borscht Belt favorites, to Larry David bombing at The Improv, Lorne Michaels recognizing his gift and hiring him in the very first wave of Saturday Night Live, where Alan’s collaboration and friendship with Gilda Radner yielded iconic characters and moments, week after week, year after year, the trajectory of their relationship thru till her untimely end, where he wrote for her, yet again… his collab with Garry Shandling and their multiple Ace Award-Winning co-creation, It’s The Garry Shandling Show, and the evolution of them… to writing Lunatics with Dave Barry and then For This We Left Egypt with Dave and Ada Mansbach, the definitive Haggadah in my house, to Alan’s Bunny Bunny, his love letter to Gilda from page to stage, and his latest, Laugh Lines, My life Helping Funny People Be Funnier, which spans 50 years of fab stories, one after another… my favorite tonight, and it’s such a Sophie’s Choice with the wealth presented, is Alan’s college poetry “recital.” I was crying. In the good way.

This time with Alan was chicken soup with noodles, matzah balls, and latkes, for the pandemic, crazy-world weary soul. Warm, flavorful, sizzling, and delicious… with a side of hysterically funny. Perfection!

Alan Zweibel on Game Changers With Vicki Abelson

Wednesday, 5/124/22, 5 pm PT, 8 pm ET

Streamed Live on my Facebook

Replay here:

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treasureswordsgirl55 · 2 years

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Inappropriate Thoughts

Character: Marc Spector / Mr. Knight

Pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Inspired by: "new posters" especially Mr. Knight poster

Mentions: About DID.

Warnings ⚠️: Sexual Tension. No Smut. Implied sexual references. Jokes. Nights. Fears. Worried about Reader. Friends. Site in New York. Post!Endgame.

Author's Note: Hello everyone!

I hope you're doing well, I will be brief: I still don't know how I wrote this. But that poster triggered things in my brain and in my imagination.

Because I admit, he looks pretty good like that.

And more fics like these will come... I assure you.

I ask you, if you like it, I would appreciate it if you would reblog it or comment on what you thought because it would mean a lot.

XOXO 😘

- You will kill me, you know that, right?

I shake my head as soon as I turn around and see his silhouette completely covered in that expensive white cloth that identifies his identity as Mr. Knight.

- What are you doing here, Marc?

I allow myself to call him by his name because I know that here, it's just the two of us in this lonely street.

- I'll accompany you home.

I roll my eyes and hold back at his almost childlike fake-innocent tone until he's in the same leve with me and I do nothing but glare at him.

He shakes his head in denial, extends his glove-covered hand to the strap of my bag, removes it from my shoulder, and while placing it on his, tells me to keep walking, placing both hands in his pants pockets. We do it in silence for a few minutes, but the sound of the bus passing makes us both look up from the ground. I flatly refuse to look at him because that small gesture is too much for my poor heart.

- Thanks for coming. But it wasn't necessary.

- Of course it is. I don't like you walking around here alone - Some of the few people who pass us greet him with a wave, a smile or call him by name, but it is inevitable for them to smile when he sees him with a yellow bag that is a clear contrast against his white suit and mask. Anyone who didn't know him would say he came from a comic book convention - It's dangerous, darling.

The only problem with that mask is that it hides the beauty of the face underneath.

- I didn't think affectionate nicknames be your thing, Spector.

- I do what I can...

I smile as we reach the bus stop and as if by magic, one of them stops in front of us.

- Get on - I let myself be carried away by the serious tone of his voice while he indicates the doors of the bus, hands me the backpack and I look for a second at the driver who only nods his head towards Marc, or should I say, towards Mr Knight.

- But... - I don't want to get away from him. His work already kept him too far away from me and I only saw him randomly a couple of times a month. I don't want this to end so soon - I can walk with you a couple more blocks.

He doesn't answer and just looks around as if someone is chasing us. He shakes his head at my look of regret that I can't hide and gives me a little nudge in the small of my back, a touch that triggers many unconscious reactions in my body.

- Come on up, please.

- I hate you - I want to get mad at him but I can't. He mutters that phrase to me, but a throat clearing confirms that he heard me.

- I don't think so... Come on up.

The driver looks at him in amazement without even hiding it and I hurry up the steps without even turning to look at him. I refuse to give him the pleasure of basking in my sad gaze as he disappears into the darkness of the night without even looking back.

I'm not going to let him think it's hard for me not to think about him. Especially when I know it's true, especially when he's wearing that damn white three-piece suit.

I try to think of something else but the only thought that comes to me is one where it's just the two of us and I'm more than focused on getting it off him.

I sit in one of the empty double seats and within seconds, I feel someone occupy the seat next to me.

- Don't you dare say a single word about this.

I let out a laugh when I see Marc scramble into his seemingly small seat and after cursing, he just folds his arms as we ride in silence in the middle of the night.

We continue like this until we get to my apartment, none of them says a single word and it's still hard for me to see his face knowing that I can't read his expressions because of that piece of white cloth that covers his face. It's the aspect of Mr. Knight that I hate the most.

I look in my pocket for the key, and when I can't find it, I reach for it in my backpack, but I'm distracted by the tapping of her fingers against the cream-patterned blue wall.

- Why don't you do your magic or bibidi babidi bu and open the door if you're so impatient?

He rolls his eyes as he stops hitting the wall.

- You know things don't work in that way.

- Do not tell me. I just found out, Mr Knight. I did not know it. I'm sorry - My voice is tinged with sarcasm while the only answer I get from him is a laugh - Are you laughing at me now?

- I like it when you're upset - he admits without a hint of guilt and brushes my arm with his gloved hand. I stop myself from moaning as I feel the softness of the fabric and the delicacy of his touch and put on a show for his ego - I just want you to be okay.

- I was fine without you behind my back....

"Although it would be better if you were on me, with this suit and that hand in other places that I won't even pronounce in my thoughts..."

- You have to take better care of yourself, darling. I already have enough with New York without having to keep an eye on you and your steps.

- It wasn't something I asked of you, Marc.

Ignore how my mind screams at me to unleash my nightly fantasies and I turn away from him to keep my sanity.

- But I want to do it. Let me take care of you while I can.

- Whatever you say - I open the apartment door and enter without even closing the door because I know it's coming after me - Answer me one thing, why did you choose this colour? And why wear a suit?

- Elegance - his answer comes to the second without the slightest hint of doubt - He likes it. We all like. It is the color of the moon. Men finds it intimidating and women finds it attractive. I don't know... - I feel the sincerity in his voice and I turn around at the same time I see him sit on a stool in my kitchen as if it were his apartment, which is across from mine, in the building when crossing the street. He takes off his jacket and places it delicately on the other empty stool next to him while I make two cups of tea and set one on the table in front of him. He don't have to take off the mask to know that he is frowning in clear sign of displeasure - Don't you have something stronger?

- We don't drink alcohol here, sorry.

He lifts his mask up a bit and takes a sip of tea and I can't help but look at his neck and see how it moves every second a sip of drink passes down his throat.

How the hell did I find that so attractive?

- Enjoying the view? - I look up and look at his brown eyes that shine with amusement. He had caught me and I couldn't deny it. He shrugs at me as I take a sip of my drink and I watch as he unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up to his elbows.

And at this point it is already impossible for me to contain the sigh that escapes from my lips.

- If you keep doing that, you'll have a serious problem.

For a moment I regret throwing away the bottle of vodka I bought on impulse last month.

- Doing what?

- Nothing. Forget what I said.

His eyes are curious and I can tell he's smiling, as if he's caught a little mouse trying to get out of his hands.

- You can tell me what you feel, maybe I can even help you.

- Don't push your luck, Spector.

- I like to do it. More if I will get something more than just a chat with you - I feel a shiver run down my spine when I hear the change in his tone of voice and the first image that appears in my mind involves us both, my room and without any clothes.

I have to go to confession after this.

- You will not get more than my invitation to withdraw from my department.

He motions for the door nonchalantly and he chuckles as he gets up, but I hardly think he's going to walk there, I'm blinking at my side as he pins me against the kitchen island.

- Do you really want me to leave? -His hands go up both sides of my arms and I can't help but hide the tremor that his touch generates in me. He lets out a snort accompanied by a laugh - You may tell me yes, but your body says something else.

- These are wrong signals. I'm cold.

- You lie - I try to move away but his brown eyes, which now have a wicked shine, keep me in place while he plays with the laces of my shirt - You want my touch. You want me to stay here and maybe I can fulfill some of the thoughts you have in that beautiful head.

- Now you read minds?

- No, but I know what you think when you see me - his voice drops a few decibels and I feel that his whisper reaches the depths of my being - You want my full attention on you. And everywhere. You just have to ask for it.

I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest or stop beating at any moment if he keeps talking.

- Tell me you want me and I'm yours.

- Marc...

- No, this time I'm Mr. Knight for you. I will be the one to fulfill the fantasies that are in your head... And maybe he will help me with it.

- What are you talking about?

- That the moon gives me greater strength in many aspects besides the fights, and in this one it will too.

I reach out to touch the buttons on his vest and lose myself in the brush of his fingers on my neck as well as in his closeness.

- Take your mask off.

- The halo of mystery will disappear. So no.

- I want to see you. I want to feel your lips on mine and tangle my fingers in your hair, and with the damn mask I can't.

He laughs out loud as he pulls away from him slightly and seems to think about it, but when he reaches up to his head to remove his mask, his cell phone starts ringing...

"Day and night...." 🎶

- Dammit...

- Will you answer?

- I must - he sighs as he walks away and I hear him ask Reese, his secretary, a series of questions. He's back in a minute as he grabs the jacket and puts it on quickly - I have to go. Some problems have arisen.

My attraction and libido deflate and I see him reach out to take my hand and bring it to his lips.

He leaves a kiss on her and walks away from me towards the door.

- This will not stay like this. You will be mine, in all the ways that you have imagined and in ways that I will teach you, as well as in every way. Don't forget.

#marvel cinematic universe #marvel #fanfic writer #marvel fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #mr knight x reader #marc spector #steven grant #mr knight #i write for myself but you can read it too

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sungbeam · 26 days

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BIRD HUNT — four

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, depictions of violence, mentions of corruption, a funeral

▷ word count. 4.5k // taglist: open

« prev · m.list · next »

FILE_04 : death brings us together

gotham city.

[eight days since your mother was murdered.]

"Looking for this?"

Soobin's eyes took in the woman before him. You were dressed in all black, form-fitting clothing. Over the upper half of your face and head, you wore a black beanie with eye holes cut out and a cat ear silhouette on top. There was a thigh holster wrapped around your right thigh, and your hand was primed with a can of pepper spray. He had to give you props—simple, but effective. All the while, Beomgyu was still trying to hack out the chemicals from his mouth.

"That's why you wear full face coverings," Yeonjun coughed.

Beomgyu growled. "Shut up."

Soobin held up the thick folder in his hand, eyebrow lifted in your direction while pretending his brothers weren't making a fool of themselves as per usual. "So? Why're you snooping around here?"

"Did you shoot our Mr. Yang in the head?" Yeonjun chuckled, cocking his head to the side. "Bad, bad kitty."

Soobin caught the flash of panic in your eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. You felt familiar to him—your stature, the way you carried yourself. He couldn’t label why those aspects were familiar to him yet.

"Give me the file and I'll be on my way," you said. "No harm, no foul."

"All foul!" Beomgyu cleared his throat from behind you. He clutched at his throat, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "You are so lucky I still have some morals left. That was rude!"

You rolled your eyes and cast a cursory glance over your shoulder. "Maybe you should carry pepper spray on you, too."

"I like her," Yeonjun said, completely unnecessarily.

Soobin shot him a look that said as much, and Yeonjun shrugged his shoulders as if he was helpless to his own running mouth. "Who are you?" He asked you.

"You first," you fired back.

"Ladies first," was Yeonjun's drawled reply.

Soobin massaged the space between his brows. "Okay, look. We really don't have the time to chit chat all night. So why don't we crack this file open right here—"

In the distance—no, that was right here. Right at this building. Car wheels squealed and engines roared, and Soobin looked to Yeonjun who had his body tipped out of the window and peered down at the street below. His hand reached for one of the pistols in his side holster with a groan. "You've gotta be shitting me."

"What? Who is it?"

Yeonjun grumbled an obscenity under his breath as he assessed the situation below on the street. "The Penguin."

Soobin shook his head. "Fuck this."

"Exactly."

"Ah, Bat Boys!" Trilled the obnoxious mockery of the Penguin's voice. Oswald Cobbletpot, better known by his moniker, the Penguin, was a well known mobster in Gotham, widely recognized as the owner of the Iceberg Lounge and in kahoots with some of the most dangerous and most powerful villains in Gotham. And one of the most annoying pests the vigilantes had ever had the displeasure of dealing with. What the hell was he doing here? "Are you finished chasing tail up there?"

"Chasin' tail—?" Both Yeonjun and Soobin's heads whipped around, but the space where you and Beomgyu had been was now empty. Instead, the office door out into the hallway had been busted open. There was only one way the two of you could have disappeared off to.

The two eldest brothers cursed their younger brother out. "Fuck this," they both groaned.

Beomgyu had just left them both high and dry to deal with the Penguin on their own while he could chase your tail… as if he had a chance of catching it in the first place.

Your heartbeat thundered loudly in your ears as you pressed your body up against the wall of the rafters. There was something so satisfying about hearing the Red Robin's noises of frustrations as he failed to find you in the labyrinth of wood scaffolding in the abandoned building. It was the old construction site of a skyscraper, but the project had been abandoned years ago, the project paused, and no one ever returned to finish it or buy it out. Wasted resources for them, but you had spent so much of your adolescence in this self-proclaimed jungle gym, discovering all of its kinks.

And when the Red Robin finally gave up on finding you on the fifth floor, you slipped out of your hiding place, back onto the shadowy streets. You skipped the well-lit places, quickly making your way across what felt like half the city, back to the Iceberg Lounge.

Part of you was grateful that the Penguin had shown up when he did, but the other half… you didn't know, really. Was it just a coincidence or had your father sent the Penguin out as a precaution? Was it worry or a lack of trust?

There was no real way to find out, you decided, as you were granted entry into the lounge. Because it was the ungodly hours of the morning, the nightclub was in full swing, and you squeezed your way past sweaty, crowded bodies. You had removed your mask while walking up to the door and tucked it into the back of your waistband. By the time you had made it to the elevator, your heart rate had slowed to a more regular speed—and then you remembered that you only had half of what your father had asked for.

He can suck it up, you thought to yourself, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal the entryway to your father’s penthouse suite, classical music floating in the air like an expensive perfume. There was a part of you, however, that worried there was actually something important tucked away in those files. Would you be led to your mother’s killer without it?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Your father was seated in one of the armchairs with a book propped open in his lap. One leg was crossed over the other, and a glass of amber colored liquid sat on the coffee table next to the chair. He glanced up from his literature, eyes flickering up and down your form. “Where is the file?”

Something about that irked you. You dug the burner out of your thigh holster and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand. “Back with the vigilantes.”

“Vigilantes?” His eyebrow arched.

You collapsed into the armchair across from him. Your bones and joints were already groaning and aching. Maybe you could just curl up here for the night… getting back across town to your apartment was just far too much effort—shit. You had to feed the cats though. “Yeah,” you said, your head resting against your fist, “how come you didn’t tell me Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin were interested in Yang’s death? A warning would have been nice.”

Your father busied himself with the burner phone in his hands, eyebrows bunching up. “I sent the Penguin,” he quipped, his tone dismissive.

“I could have gotten killed. Or worse, found out.”

“But you didn’t.”

You scoffed. “Of course you would say that—”

His eyes sliced up from the phone screen to you, and you hated the part of you that wanted to shrink under his gaze. You supposed there was a reason why he was called the Capo, and why he had the power he did. It was one of the many reasons your mother never wanted you to have anything to do with him after those initial couple of years. “Your mother’s killer can do much worse to you.”

Your jaw snapped shut.

There was a satisfaction that rolled off him, and it made you shift uncomfortably.

You cleared your throat. “By the way.”

“Hm?”

“The funeral—” When he said nothing in reply, you continued, “I wanted to invite one more person.”

He nodded to you. “Of course, my dear. Who else would you like to invite?”

You exhaled. “Choi Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu had been awake for the entirety of the night. His body sat slumped in the desk chair behind the Bat Cave monitors, head buzzing and turning and working. With the assistance of about three cups of coffee, he had managed to distract himself enough from the fact that he had found you breaking and entering into a murdered man’s office tonight. Well, he supposed it was no longer “tonight," but “last night." Alfred had long since gone to bed after Beomgyu’s repeated insistence that he could take care of himself.

(Truthfully, Alfred never believed any of the Chois when they claimed they could “take care of themselves," but he had grown tired of arguing. He would watch after them and take care of them to the best of his own abilities. He never liked fighting with the Chois, even Minho, the boys’ father. The lot of them were more alike than any of them would like to admit. Alfred noticed much about the Choi family.)

Besides the fact that he had just physically brawled you last night, Beomgyu had been actively engaging his brain by finding out any and everything about you. The last time he’d seen you was the night of his sixteenth birthday, when the day afterwards, he was to move back into the Choi Estate. He never told you, and he never reached out to you again. He suspected you hated him for that—leaving without any explanation. He had grown so fond of you, and when you had said so blankly yesterday that you had been grieving your mother’s death…

A wave of grief and guilt washed over him once again, and he found himself reaching for his cup of coffee.

As he set the mug back down onto the desk, the sound of the elevator carriage and his damned brothers’ voices erupted into the quiet. Quiet gone too soon, he thought to himself as he massaged his temples.

“—evil! You are evil, I tell you! I was having such a good dream—”

Soobin audibly rolled his eyes (Beomgyu had learned that yes, this was, in fact, possible). “For the love of all things holy, shut the fuck up.”

When Beomgyu looked over, he sputtered out a laugh as he watched Soobin practically drag Yeonjun over to the desk by his ear. It was clear that Yeonjun had been forced out of bed from the strands of his dark hair sticking up everywhere and the disgruntled wrinkle in his forehead. Soobin looked slightly better, but only slightly. There was that telltale Choi family set of eye bags beneath his eyes, but his hair was slightly damp as if he had actually gotten up and showered.

Beomgyu subtly sniffed himself. He usually showered after coming home from patrol, but his lack of sleep was making him think he forgot to.

Soobin dumped Yeonjun right next to the desk, and the eldest crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Hey! I could have hit my head against the corner, you dickwad!”

Soobin rolled his eyes again, coming by to lean over the arm of the desk chair and smack the manila folder from last night onto the desk, right in front of Beomgyu. He even startled slightly at the sound—coffee definitely didn’t do that for him.

Yeonjun muttered a string of obscenities and complaints under his breath as he crawled to his feet, only to perch himself on the table itself to peer at the unopened file folder. “Are we gonna open that thing or is it gonna keep bein’ a—”

“I think Ln Yn’s the cat woman.”

Soobin and Yeonjun turned to their younger brother, eyes suddenly awake. Beomgyu reached for his cup of coffee and took another sip before confirming, “That cat woman from last night? I’m pretty sure that was Ln Yn.”

“Ln Yn…” Soobin’s voice was barely audible, his eyes glazing over as he pondered that revelation.

Yeonjun waved his hands out in front of him. “Waiwaiwait—you think Catwoman is who? Who the fuck’s Ln Yn?”

Beomgyu leaned forward and pulled up a particular window on the main monitor. He had been doing some digging on you… not that that was creepy or anything (he was fully aware how creepy it sounded, but he swore to God he was just trying to catch up on what you had been up to lately). Your profile appeared before them, a small portrait in the top right hand corner. Notably, he had found this in the Choi Enterprises database.

Apparently, you had applied for a position at the company about a year ago. And upon further digging, Beomgyu had discovered that you had been one of many rejected applicants, but you had somehow fallen into the hands of Lee Sungjae. Someone must have recommended you, but he was working on finding that particular tidbit out, as well as who in the world decided to deny you that position—

Yeonjun squinted at the screen, then a lazy grin appeared on his face. Beomgyu did not like that smile on his brother so early in the morning. “Oh, hey! That’s the girl from the bank!”

Now, Yeonjun was at the center of his brothers’ attention.

He elaborated, flinging a hand at the monitor with your soft-smiling portrait. “I was telling you guys about this girl in the Gotham Bank vault the other week—that one badass chick—well, that’s her. She might also know that I’m the Red Hood—”

That woke Beomgyu up faster than any shot of espresso could. Soobin smacked his palm against his forehead. “Fucking christ, hyung.”

“Relax, it was only ‘cause I let her,” Yeonjun protested, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Soobin opened his mouth, most likely to rip Yeonjun a new one for such an arrogantly stupid mistake when a voice cut him off.

“Master Beomgyu.”

All three heads whirled as Alfred made his way from the elevator carriage and toward them. He seemed to be as put-together as always, hair combed back neatly and dress shirt crisp. Beomgyu had always admired Alfred’s ability to stay so sharp. He definitely couldn’t relate. The object in Alfred’s hand, however, was the point of interest for this morning. It looked like an envelope—wait, it was definitely an envelope. It looked expensive, too. Like that type of shit that the company would use for banquet or gala invites. Stupid 110-pound cardstock or something.

The envelope was placed in Beomgyu’s hands, and he examined the outside very carefully. He wasn’t the biggest fan of social functions, but sometimes they were a necessary evil… the thought died in his head and on his tongue when he read the return address on the back. Ln Yn.

His heart leapt, unmistakably. Why? He didn’t have a clue why.

But he was tearing into the flap a second later while everyone around him waited for a report. The Bat Cave had gone quiet as Beomgyu wrestled the expensive accompanying card out of its confines. Where had you gotten the energy to make invitation cards like this? Why were you inviting people to the funeral in such a fancy, unnecessary form? And why, in Hell’s name, were you inviting him?

Dear God, there was something inside him that awakened when his sleep-deprived eyes roamed over the words, however flowery, inviting him to attend the service of your mother’s memorial. You hadn’t forgotten him after all. And maybe this was a sign that you didn’t hate him.

“—Bro, who’s got him smiling like that?” The spell was broken.

Beomgyu cut Yeonjun a look, and the eldest simply replied with a wolfish smile. Beomgyu said, rereading the contents of the invitation for what felt like the thousandth time, “Yn invited me to her mother’s funeral.”

Soobin placed a hand on the back of the chair and leaned over Beomgyu to take a peek at the words. Beomgyu had this odd feeling that this was not what your handwriting looked like. It was far too… detached. Like a computer-made font kind of script. Not like the scrawl he remembered you had those couple of years ago.

“Well,” Soobin breathed out, “if Yn really is the Catwoman, as you said Gyu… then you need to go to that funeral to confront her.”

Beomgyu snapped the invitation closed and slid it back into the envelope sleeve. “I’m going there to honor her mother. Giving my condolences comes first and foremost.” His eyes shuttered. Fuck, he was praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he was mistaken—but he’d recognized your voice, your posture. That was you under that cat mask. “No matter if she’s the Catwoman.”

“Of course,” Soobin agreed, letting up off the back of the chair. “You’re right.”

“What the hell am I missing here?” Yeonjun piped up. His face was contorted in utter confusion. “Why is Yn even inviting you to the funeral, Gyu?”

“I believe Miss Yn is Master Beomgyu’s… friend from so long ago when he lived in the apartment,” Alfred answered, coughing slightly as he side-eyed Beomgyu with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As Alfred made his exit from the underground headquarters, Yeonjun laughed. Beomgyu despised the way his eyebrows wagged suggestively at him. “Ooh, so Yn-ie was the Romeo to your Juliet, hm—”

“Don’t call her Yn-ie, old man,” Beomgyu fired back.

Yeonjun bristled at the bite, much to Soobin’s utter delight. “Whatever.” If there was one sure-fire way to get Yeonjun to shut up, it was by over-exaggerating his age. There were far too many times that he hated being the eldest Choi brother.

A smile danced on Soobin’s lips. “Okay, then that’s settled. Beomgyu’s going to the funeral and we’re pretty certain that Ln Yn is the Catwoman.”

Yeonjun reached down to the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out that half-eaten bag of potato chips. “Now can we open up the file?”

Soobin nodded his agreement, and reached over Beomgyu’s shoulder to grab the file from the desk. Beomgyu and Yeonjun sat quietly while Soobin propped the file onto his forearm so he could open it up like a massive book. He flipped the cover open, and his head tilted to the side. He blinked—flipped to the next thing.

His skin paled.

His brothers questioned him.

Soobin’s lips parted slightly. “Holy shit… this is an exposé on the Capo.” No one had seen who the Capo was, but everyone felt his existence. He had his dirty fingers in every crevice of Gotham, almost every crevice, at least. It was one of the main reasons why he was still out and about, ruling the city like a kingdom. Despite the fact that very few people knew his true identity, the Capo was on everyone's hit list.

Yeonjun pushed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Soobin replied, “that there might be enough evidence in my fucking hands to put away the Capo for life.”

Once upon a time, you loved your father.

That had been several years back, when your little teeth were still falling out, and you just barely reached your mother’s stomach. It was when your father had only been the accountant to the Iceberg Lounge, counting up bills and counting out expenses and the like. It was a dull job, but your father had been good at it. Maybe even the best at it.

Your mother loved him, too. She loved that he never asked for more, that he always smiled when she brought you into the office for a surprise visit, that he cared so deeply about you. There was this sparkle in his eyes when he looked upon you, your mother had once told you when she had stopped bringing you to the Lounge to see him. She explained in simple terms that he had changed.

For better or for worse—you just knew if your mother couldn’t stand to see him as he was then, that you wouldn’t be able to stomach it either.

You remembered how he hadn’t even fought to see you again. So you never did. You grew up just fine under your mother’s wing; struggles were constant and persistent, but you and your mother were even more persistent. No matter what befell the two of you, it would be just that—the two of you.

Sometimes you wondered what you might have turned out to be like if your father had fought to see you, to have an influence in your life. Maybe you would have ended up like him: empty, cold, alone.

The buttons on your dress jacket were large, but stubborn. The jacket was pretty with bell sleeves and a flared hem—definitely one of the garments that you had purchased after coming under Lee Sungjae’s employ. You didn’t have a lot, not now and not then, but after landing that secretary job with the Lees… you had only your secret benefactor to thank for recommending you. Lee Sungjae had never told you who it was, but his eyes had been teasing whenever he said that, and you could only guess that it hadn’t been your father.

Lee Sungjae had been a good man, but even good men wanted to succeed.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t wholly blame him for wanting that either.

A fluffy entity snaked its way around your heels and the cuffs of your slacks, the white fur now clinging to the hems. You lacked the energy to even admonish Kiyo for doing such a thing; you had literally just rolled away all the fur with a lint roller five minutes ago. You bent down with a sigh and picked up the mewling ball of fur into your arms so that your entire upper half was now fluffed.

“Time for the funeral, huh, Kiyo?” You murmured to her softly as you made your way out of your bedroom, and down the narrow stairs to the first floor. The rest of the cats were huddled around the food and water bowls. Many of them were unhappy that they couldn’t accompany you to the memorial service, and you had to admit that you wished they could be there, too. They had known your mother far longer than anyone else who had been invited to the service today. Plus, you figured you were way more comfortable speaking and interacting with cats than real people anyway.

You set Kiyo down and she trotted over to the nearest hoard of cuddling cats, and you looked on with a bittersweet smile. You always had this growing family of seven or so strays, but you yourself weren't a cat. You envied how close they had all gotten sometimes, and it baffled you how you were jealous of your own beloved cats. They weren't just pets, after all, but family.

You checked the time on your phone. It was time to go. So you picked up your purse from the bottom stair, slipped into your flats, and headed out the door for the funeral.

You had been careful with the list of people to invite, really. All of them had to be someone you knew, too, which wasn't too difficult since your mother always introduced you to people she was comfortable and close with.

The service had been brief, but as you watched your mother's casket be lowered into the ground, you realized that you would never see her again after this, except in images and dreams and memories. The longer you stared at the casket, the more you determined you hated how polished and expensive it was. You hated that your father had been the one to pay for it instead of you. Hated that he even had a hand in this, like he did everything.

The distinct feeling of eyes on the back of your head had you turning back to meet them. You almost started in surprise at the person you saw at the back, lingering on the edge of the crowd. You felt hands taking yours, hands clasping your shoulder, words in your ear, kisses to your cheek, sorries in the air—and then you were standing in front of Choi Beomgyu, who had come in a pressed, all-black suit and a bouquet of calla lilies. His eyes were rimmed red and silver, similar to your own, you imagined.

"I didn't know if you were gonna come," you confessed, crossing your arms over your chest. You realized that he had grown up—not just grown taller or handsome, but up. He wasn't the kid in the apartment next door who called you weirdo anymore.

Beomgyu's lips twitched into some sort of smile, but then a tear slipped down his cheek as a genuine one broke out onto his face. It was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. "Yn, I'd be stupid not to come. I'd be stupid not to pay my respects." He cleared his throat and shoved the bouquet into your hands, like they caught fire. "Here. These are for her."

"I'm surprised you remembered," you mused, walking over to place the bouquet among many others atop the dirt pile where they had buried the casket. Beomgyu walked beside you as you did.

"I'm surprised you remembered… me," his voice became quiet at the end. His eyes hadn't left you for a second, as if he had taken these few minutes to soak in the years he had missed. "Yn, I'm so sorry—"

You nodded, letting the words fall from his lips. He deserved to grieve, too.

"You're probably sick of hearing that, huh?" He said with a small chuckle. His cheeks glistened with tears, and he reached up to swipe them away. "I wish I was there."

That was when you shook your head. "No, you really did not want to be there." No one should have ever had to see something like that. God, that image of your mother on the floor in a pool of her own blood would be ingrained into your memory as thoroughly as the blood had sunken into the floorboards.

There was a flicker of confusion, before it disappeared. "I mean, I wish I was there—with you—and with your mother. That I never disappeared like that."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and a different ache appeared. "Beomgyu, let's not talk about that. You're not sorry."

"I am—"

"How about if you buy me ice cream, I'll consider believing you." You just wanted the aching to stop. He had been a friend—a close one. You never had a lot of those, and you didn't exactly want your first reunion to be filled with this many sorries and regrets.

There was that familiar twinkle in his eyes. He licked his lips, smile peeking out like the sun through an overcast sky. "Sure. I owe you for all the hot chocolate anyway."

You grinned. "That's the spirit." It was as convincing as you could make it.

You could walk away from your mother's grave then. You thought you'd be stuck there for a few more hours after everyone had gone, but something told you that Beomgyu's appearance was important, and there was something else he had left to say to you.

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maybe-your-left · 2 years

Text

In My Room

HS Ben Solo x Demon Reader... Happy Halloween sloots.

be aware this is a Halloween fic, there will be blood/gore/violence/and full-on delusions. Read at your own risk.

TW/CW: NSFW, bullying (Poe is Bens bully & I'm sorry to Oscar lovers but whoops), monster f*cking, Female reader, violence, blood kink, knife kink, breaking and entering, disassociation, voices in your head, depictions of murder, manipulation, overall this is a ride, mention of underage drinking/drugs, I might have a finger sucking kink if we are being honest, sort of slow burn, this is just a mess but I love it.

Inspired by: In My Room by Insane Clown Posse

"Solo!"

Ben blinked lazily to the left, eyelids heavy from another night of restless slumber. He wasn't able to fall asleep, nothing felt right, the covers weren't warm enough, too scratchy against his aching skin. Sweating all night but somehow freezing, he was too scared to sleep with his leg dangling off the edge after Rey played a trick on him.

But he needed some fucking sleep before-

"Heads up, fucking asshole!"

"Dameron!"

A basketball came flying at Ben's face, colliding with his cheek before bouncing off his comically large nose. Groaning out for everyone to hear before he clutched his cheeks, "Fuck-fuck-fuck," he gritted through his teeth.

Ben could not cry again, not in gym class. Everyone already picks on him for being so big and still fucking sucking at sports. But that ball hurt and now his nose is bleeding, he could feel it running between his fingers as they clutched his pale skin.

Breathing shallowly through his mouth, the sound of the gym teacher, Mr. Maul, in his ear. But it felt like ocean waves crashing against him.

Stiffening when he felt someone's hand on his shoulder, Ben's eyes darted over to the culprit.

"Are you okay?"

Some girl, Kaydel, hangs out with his little sister, was touching him. Looking at him with her big eyes, swimming with concern. But it wasn't for him, it was so the class could think she was a good person because she coddled the freak.

Ben swallowed harshly, trying to make his voice sound as big as he was instead of small and weak. Nervously rolling his tongue over his bleeding gums to taste the coppery substance that probably dripped down to the collar of his white t-shirt.

Mom was going to be so pissed when she did laundry.

"I'm fine."

"Boo-Solo! I told you a head's up!" Poe called from the opposite end of the gym, in a group with all his other tormentors. While Maul looked at him disappointed, another Solo accident to clean up.

"Fucking dude can't catch shit," one of his friends chuckled.

"Even with those huge hands, he fumbles like he's a toddler."

"Or a newborn deer."

"To the nurse, Solo. Miss Kaydel won't need to help you get there, I'm sure you remember the way," Maul rolls his eyes before calling the class back together.

Completely ignoring Ben as he slinks off through the creaky double doors to the empty school hallways.

-------

"What happened to your face?"

Rey sat in the front seat of Ben's car, picking at her backpack pins that decorated the zippers. He had waited for her, watching Poe shamelessly flirting with her in the parking lot.

While Ben iced his nose, no use trying to convince her Poe was bad news when no one believed that someone would pick on him. With his stature, everyone assumes that Ben picked fights with the smaller kids and no one says anything when he tries to explain himself.

Ignoring him and his problems.

He shrugged, moving his left hand to hold the pack to his face while he pulled out. Trying to stay quiet, his sister didn't give a shit, she had her own life to salvage. Separating herself from being 'Ben Solo's sister'.

They arrived at home in silence, the radio playing some random boy band Rey was in love with. All while sirens went off in Ben's head, imagining how nice it would feel to push back when Poe pushed him.

Every time it happens, he thinks how it would be different.

How easy it would be for Ben to punch him in his handsome face, but it would end badly.

Going home bloody and bruised, blamed for the carnage. Probably suspended, or worse, expelled from school.

That would really make mom proud of him when she barely speaks to him anymore. She's too busy with her prodigy, Rey, in all her AP classes when Ben struggles to focus on basic math.

He can't help it, he told her about the voices in his head. How he couldn't relax and doesn't have the span to pay attention and take notes, but she brushed him off as lazy.

Sometimes he just wants to scream at everyone.

Without realizing it, Ben was in his room.

Slamming the door shut in a huff before being enveloped in the quiet of his safe space. Bed messy and unmade, magazines scattered underneath, some of them crinkled and sticky in places.

He kicked a few of them back under in case someone decided to inspect his stash.

In the corner was his desk, computer chair pulled out where he left it when he was sitting there last night. Talking on his Discord, people who felt like him, all too far away to be Ben's real friends.

A suspicious bottle of lotion next to it, stolen from his sisters' stash, not for gross purposes. It just is smoother than his and she has so much of it, Ben wouldn't be caught dead buying that frilly brand at the store.

Not when Poe's minions work there, seeing him with ladies lotion?

Might as well ask to be punched in the gut.

He slumped down in the chair, creaking under his weight as he leaned back.

Next to his bed, conveniently along the wall because he likes to sleep with his back against it. Makes him feel safe, glancing out the two-story window.

There was a group of kids running around the street, giggling and laughing with one another as they played with a blue ball. Jumping into piles of leaves Ben raked for their parents the other weekend for some quick cash. Probably talking about the upcoming holiday and what they would do for it.

Ben would be doing nothing, hiding in his room.

Last year he was foolish enough to accept an invite to a party and ended up getting something slipped into his drink and was posted all over the schools' social media half-naked with sharpie penises on his body.

Lesson fuckin' learned.

After checking the lock on his window and the door, he pulled up his private browser.

Typing in his shameful desires with one hand while he unclipped his belt. Careful to not let it fall too loudly, Rey's room was next door and she didn't need to know he was a disgusting pervert.

He scrolled for a few minutes, trying to find his favorite video. The one he could probably see when he closed his eyes, knowing every time the actress on screen would moan or squirt.

Eyes crossed while her co-star shoved their cock in her cunt. Or her ass at the timestamp 12:53, if anyone was counting...

Ben grabbed his still soft length, smoothing from base to tip with a low grunt. He got hard today in Spanish 2 when Rose went up to talk to the class about making a banana split, he almost came when she peeled that fucking fruit.

Why his teacher okay'd that project, he had no idea but he was fucking grateful for the image to be added to his spank bank.

Sensitive from a day pressed against the seam of his boxers, Ben smeared on some lotion before pressing play. At the lowest setting, he watched with eager eyes as the camera panned in on her.

Sitting on the couch, playing with herself in some black and red panties. Biting her plush lips that Ben mirrored as she cooed to the camera about what a bad girl she was today.

"Yeah, you're a bad girl," Ben spoke under his breath.

His cock grew to full mast, watching in awe as she pulled off her panties. Greeting the viewers with her glistening cunt, hot little clit twitching from being ignored. What a bad-bad girl she was, touching everywhere but her hot little button.

Ben wished he was there to flick it with his fat thumb. Let it slide back and forth while he played with the plug nestled in her tight asshole. All stretched out, but nothing fucking it.

He tightened his fist around the head of his cock, spreading pre-come down the length before dipping a little lower. Sometimes he tugged on his balls while masturbating, only saving it for days he really needed release.

Well, that's today.

The actor came on screen, smacking her on the face a few times, smearing her spit along her cheeks. While she moaned dramatically, choking while he throttled her throat. Ben loved this part, where she stared at him like he was in control.

The only thing in the world she cared about, and he had it.

Ben could feel his orgasm coming, lightheaded from the tips of his toes all the way up to his sore face. Breathing heavily while he watched the actors fuck in so many positions.

Zooming in on her cunt as it gripped his length, Ben was a little bigger. She would love his cock, scream out for him to go harder, rubbing her clit faster, choke her more.

Maybe bite her shoulder for her to shut the fuck up, her master needed to use her and she needed to be his quiet little cumbucket.

Drinking all his cum, drain his sore fucking balls.

"Oh-shit! Fuck," Ben came at the thought, painting the hem of his shirt that he stupidly forgot to lift up in the process. "Shit-shit-shit."

Ben rushed to clean himself off, grabbing at a box of tissues he had thrown at the floor during last night's performance. Knocking the bottle of lotion over in a loud boom, panicked that his sister would hear he shot off his seat.

Pants falling to his ankles, softening cock flopping around while he tried to turn off the video. Hissing out fuck when he smeared cum on his keyboard. That thing wasn't cheap and now his 'm' key might be broken.

A loud banging on the wall made him yelp, "Can you shut that shit off? It's super gross!"

"Yup," Ben's voice cracked, red in the face as he scrambled to pull his pants back up. Giving up on cleaning himself in the process, he would just have to change.

He glanced at the clock, 5:30.

Not too early for a shower.

-------

Dinner was full of non-sense conversation.

Why is your nose so crooked?

Is it always like that?

You have a black eye, what does the other guy look like?

Did you retake your math test? Your teacher emailed me and said you were failing again.

Rey said you were on your computer until late last night. If that keeps happening we will have to take it away, it's distracting to her when she's trying to sleep.

Any word on colleges? It's weird that the neighbor boy got his already while yours are lacking, maybe you weren't accepted.

Ben just tried to blink through it all, he was old enough to not let the sentiments sink in. When sometimes it felt like a knife was plunged into his side, or Rey's fork, or his own that he was slowly stabbing into the meat of his thigh.

All he wanted to do was slink back upstairs and see the faces of random women get fucked, maybe play some APEX with his friends.

He would probably have to cut back on it since his last grounding lost him his headphones. Even though he bought them himself, mom still stole the things he earned with his own money.

My house my rules, young man!

He went back upstairs in a flurry, trying to shut the door in a more respectful manner when all he wanted to do was rip it off its hinges. Ben would just have to settle with screaming in his pillows, he sighed.

Rubbing his hands along his sore face, wincing a little over the bruising. If he pressed and it hurt, that meant he was still here and this wasn't a fever dream.

He had to be quiet for his sister, he had to think of her health instead of his own. She was more important, that's how they put it. Every day, all day, even on days when Ben does something good.

Got his driver's license? Great, you can take Rey to soccer!

Got an A in English lit? You need to tutor Rey, she is failing and can't figure it out. You might have to write her papers for her while she's away at the tournament this weekend.

Got your first job? Well, you'll have to pitch in for the family, you can't just spend it on things you want when we have to pay for all of these bills. Your sister needs to have a new uniform for school, and she's too young for a job.

You're a senior! That means you can help Rey find colleges, she has offers already and needs her big brother's help in finding the right one.

Ben trudged to his bed, sitting down on the edge in a slow exhale of strangled breath. Elbows on his knees while he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends hard enough to let a few tears drop from his sunken eyes.

He couldn't get on his computer tonight, it would be better to lay down and try to get some sleep. Ben couldn't zone out in class again, especially gym class when Poe was looking for any way to topple him.

His face couldn't handle another 'accidental beating'.

Ben rolled onto his back, the top of his head skimming the wall on the far end. Too tall to fit any way he tried, meanwhile Rey had a queen bed, he still suffered from back pain with his creaky full-size mattress.

He glanced up at the window seal, "What the?"

The latch was undone.

Unlocked and pulled open just a little over an inch. Letting the cool fall air flood his room, a gush of wind pulling it wider and bathing his dark cave in a cold deep freeze.

Ben's brow furrowed, Rey wasn't in here, was she? Between his shower and going to dinner he was 99% sure she was in her room. It was unlikely she came in here after his performance earlier, she wasn't that stupid.

Dad came home after he got out, he remembered his hollering for Ben to come down and help him with the car. Which he ignored, he didn't want to spend his evening holding a flashlight over a hot engine while he yelled at him for not knowing how to fix hubcaps.

Mom brought home pizza, she was always home late and never made dinner anymore.

Ben sat up, tugging the piece back into place. Groaning in frustration when it wouldn't budge.

"What the fuck," he swore, tugging harder. He didn't usually use his strength, but right now it was fucking cold and he needed this to get fixed. He couldn't handle another night tossing and turning-

Caw!

"Fuck!"

"Dude-can you be quiet! I need to study!"

There's a fucking crow.

Staring at him, on the roof of his house.

Ben blinked rapidly, trying to see if it was real or a hallucination from his fucked up day. But no, there it was, cawing back at him when he tried to move to close the window.

Growing louder and louder, all while Ben tried to shoo it away. Afraid that he was going to be punished for making crow noises while Rey was trying to study, he could hear it now.

Make bird calls somewhere else Ben! We are trying to sleep!

"Please leave," Ben whispered.

To his surprise, the crow seemed to nod slightly at him. Maybe it was his imagination at that, but it flew off to perch on a nearby oak tree branch. Still staring at him while Ben tried to pull the window shut, successful, except for the latch not clicking shut.

He shrugged it off, burrowing down into his cold sheets and trying to fall into the deep sleep his body craved.

------

TAP-TAP

"Hello?"

"Ben-Bennn-Benji..."

"Wake up sleepy head."

TAP-TAP

"Come on Benji, don't you want to let me in?"

"Ben!"

He shot out of bed with a scream bursting from his aching lungs, panting rapidly into the dark of his room. Ben blinked rapidly to see the landscape, illuminated by the full moon through his window.

There's his bag, hanging by his door, still locked and shut. Dresser, half opened with clothes sticking out of it, closet door broken on the floor and leaning against the closet from a rage last month.

Wiggling his toes under his black sheets, sticking out just a little from the edges. Ben watched as his toes shined in the moonlight, only to be eclipsed by something.

A shadow of gloom plunged his bright room into complete darkness.

Not the normal, average, everyday darkness.

An abyss of color.

He stayed stock still, trying to blink away the fear that shivered through him. Hair on the back of his neck, arms, legs, fuck even his nipples were standing at attention. While this darkness bathed his psyche, like a bath in onyx soap.

Engulfing him and everything he held dear.

TAP-TAP

"Are you going to let me in?"

Dead panning to the left, there in his window. The darkness spoke to him, holy shit.

He took a shaky breath, met with a cold fog from his parted lips from the cold rushing through his cracked open window.

"Hello, Ben."

"Holy shit."

There, in the window, was someone.

Blinking at him, and it wasn't his reflection. Big eyes lit up like the moon in a clear blue sky, constellations dancing across the edges as they bounced back and forth on Ben's face.

Leaned against the seal of his window was a woman, hair silken as it fell from the top of her head. Cascaded down to frame her face, she was...

Everything.

Ben's heart was at a standstill, watching her huff in annoyance at his antics. Still staring at her like she was an illusion, maybe she was? If he could touch her-

"Can I come in?" She pouted, pushing her bottom lip out and almost whimpering. Ben watched as one of her fingers traced the sill, long nails scraping the wood like it was butter.

How would those feel against his skin?

Ben shivered, unable to speak. His arms shot out to push his window open further, she smiled at him. Showcasing rows of shiny teeth almost pointed for the brief minute she flashed them before crawling into his room.

On his bed.

Across his bed...

"I'm so glad you're awake," she cooed, climbing across Ben's lap like a cat before settling down. Her thighs on either side of his own and slinging her arms around his neck like they were a couple. Ben stayed frozen, eyes wide watching her wiggle around to get comfortable like she had done this a dozen times before.

Ben hadn't had someone in his lap in a few years, and in a sexual sense? Only once when he lost his virginity to that senior girl when he was a sophomore.

Pitful and definitely on a dare because she looked at him like he was nothing while popping his cherry and ignored him after, but she wasn't as delicious as this woman.

Ben resisted the urge to reach out and lick her, she probably tasted wonderful. Phasma didn't let him do that, she pushed his face away when he tried.

"Oh-you want a taste?" She smiled at him, leaning forward enough for her breath to hit his face. Oddly cold for her body thrumming with warmth against him, "You can, later."

"I-I-I'm sorry? Do I know you?"

"Oh, so cute," a whine before she rocked on his lap, knocking the apex of her thighs against his pajama bottoms that were becoming uncomfortably tight. She moaned out at the feeling, "I've been waiting for this for so long, I'm so fucking glad you're awake, baby."

Ben nodded along, he wasn't really listening. All his blood was rushed to his crotch as she ground more. Ignoring the window being wide open, probably floating their collective sighs for the entire neighborhood to hear.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, digging into the tender skin with her nails. Ben hissed at the feeling, brow scrunched in pleasure that coursed through him. Just a little more of that and he would ruin these pants, she leaned forward more.

Shivering when her tongue flicked out and touched his throat. Shit, immediately it was cold, but it was wonderful. Lapping over the edges of his Adam's apple, seeking out his jugular vein in the process.

He could feel his heartbeat against her muscle, gasping for air as her mouth closed around him. A few gentle sucks before her teeth grazed the edge, Ben's hands shot out. Latching to her cold waist to try and gain some semblance of reality.

This couldn't be real, this bombshell of a woman was not kissing a hickey on his neck like she was trying to suck the soul out of his body.

Just a dream-just a wonderfully real dream that he could touch and squish and squeeze against his aching cock until he came.

He was so right earlier, he needed to go to sleep.

If this was his dream, then he never wanted to wake up.

"You're so eager, baby," She released his neck with a slick pop. Smiling down at him with her plush lips closed, he whimpered when her hand came to cradle the back of his head. Closing in a fist of his dark hair, Ben let a moan slip through his parted lips.

Staring at her as her face lit up with pleasure, Ben wanted to give her whatever she wanted. Just so she would keep touching him, it had been so long since he was caressed. The tips of her nails scratched the surface of his scalp while the pair fell backward to his mattress.

Ben felt like he was floating, listening to her purr while she roamed his body. Humming out as she inspected him, Ben let her do what she wanted. Rewarded with a kiss when she was pleased, he shivered while she traced every prominent up and down his forearms.

He gasped as she took his hand in hers, so small and dainty against his own.

"You know I've been watching you?" She peered through her lashes, holding Ben's fingertips so close to her lips. Her tongue flicked out for a moment to wet herself.

A harsh swallow, "Y-you have?"

"Mhm," Ben couldn't hold back the groan that rumbled from his chest when she closed her lips around his middle finger.

Feeling her tongue cup the pad, before moving down to the first, no second, "Fuck..."

Her eyes flashed to his for a moment, lips pulling into a sly smile while she took another in her mouth. Ben's fingers were slipping up and down the length of her tongue, tickling just the back of her throat.

He watched with eyes as wide as saucers while her saliva pooled at the base of his fingers. A sharp gasp when a droplet fell to his bare torso, her free hand dropped to the mess.

Rubbing the cooling spittle into his skin, soft and slow circles while she traced her way towards Ben's left nipple.

She sighed, "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Yes," he nodded, a small whine leaving his lips as she placed his wet hand down on the bed. Ben desperately wanted to know what she was going to tell him.

Her form crawled over his own, clutching the crinkling sheets beside his head. Ben whimpered again as she straddled his torso, the warmth from her core almost sizzling against his freezing skin.

Ben's lips parted as she leaned towards his face, mouths only centimeters away from connecting. It's all he wanted, just one kiss and then he could go to sleep. Something to think about all day at school, this dream would be everything, she was everything.

His world exploded, their lips smashing together. Ben couldn't hold in the moan when it happened, teeth clashing against his. He threw an arm around her, desperate to touch and hold her.

The moment he touched her, she froze.

Wiping back with his bottom lip between her teeth, almost shaking it like a pet with a chew toy. Ben pushed on her, but she wouldn't move, sinking her fangs into his flesh harder until he tasted copper.

Tears began to pool in his eyes, watching through the blurry mess as her eyes almost turned black before she ripped away from him.

Almost levitating by the window sill where he found her, folding her limbs into the small opening. She hadn't blinked, Ben's blood painting her chin before speaking.

"You belong to me now, Ben Solo."

-------

All-day Ben's been fighting a pounded headache, the worst one he's ever felt.

He could see his veins throbbing along his temples when he was in the bathroom before lunch, staring at his reflection.

Last night wasn't real, whenever he thought about it the pain grew worse. From a dull wailing to a full-blown siren, cars crashing against his skull. Over and over, and he had already taken the maximum amount of ibuprofen that the nurse would allow. She said it would pass and that he just needed to drink more water.

Well, he had been pissing all day, and still, it was there.

When he looked in the mirror, he was two things that made his skin crawl.

First, the bruising from his homemade nose job was completely gone, which was not normal. Usually, on day two the injuries would worsen and the pain would be unbearable. But no, Ben checked in every mirror and they were for sure gone.

Second, his lip was split open, right where her teeth had sliced through. Maybe he bit himself in his sleep from the dream-nightmare-and that's why it's there.

But it was swelling, almost like it was alive.

Poe made fun of him, saying that he had herpes because of how red and engorged it was at the beginning of the day. Ben felt a rage flicker through his body at the thought, where he pointed and laughed while their Physics teacher shrugged it off as boys being boys.

When he thought about Poe, his lip hurt more. Almost like it was egging him on to doing something he would regret. Instead, he dug his fingernails into his palms until the pain went away.

And the relief! Instantaneous, he would let everyone laugh at him if he could feel this over and over. And when he imagined taking out that anger on someone besides himself? Well, it was like the sore shrunk!

It was a weird day, he needed to just get home and go to bed. Maybe beg mom to take him to a doctor, theses new nightmares were new and if they were going to continue he was slightly worried for himself.

But, if he went to a doctor, then there's a chance that she wouldn't come back...

"Ugh," Ben groaned, his chest hurt now. Maybe he was having a heart attack, thinking about her and how her attitude changed when he touched her.

It was his dream dammit! He should be able to touch the mysterious woman who crawled through his window!

But no, he fucked it up like everything else.

Ben slinked out of the bathroom, trying to blend into the crowds of students rushing the hallways. Kind of impossible being one of the tallest kids in school, he hunched his shoulders, trying to appear small so he could go to his car.

He wouldn't dare go to the lunchroom, Poe would be there and Ben didn't want rotten food shoved down the back of his hoodie again. Mom wouldn't let him come home, because having dirty clothes was his fault for not doing the laundry enough.

Parked in the very back of the school, he locked himself away.

Backpack in the passenger seat and phone in hand. He scrolled through social media for a little, with the brief friends that he had, none of which lived near him, unfortunately. Replying to Discord, trying to just relax before he had to go in for P.E.

Ben scrolled for a while, getting lost in some girl's Twitter feed. She was on only fans, and he had been debating buying her page because he was disgusting and desperate for human interaction.

He clicked the link, prompting him to his Safari app. The website wasn't loading fast enough, "I have service," he gritted to no one.

"Come on-come on," all he wanted was to see some fucking tits, that was it. It didn't have to be this hard-

I thought I told you that you belonged to me now?

-------

"How'd you get that sore, Solo? Kissing someone's ass in your spare time?"

Ben grit his teeth, standing once again on the court of the gym. In his still bloodied shirt because he didn't want to give mom something else to bitch about. Poe was across him, about to tip-off, he was always chosen because he was tall.

Even though he fumbled with the ball every fucking time.

Poe grinned at him, nodding once again towards his face, "I can't imagine anyone would want to be that close to you. Even from here, I feel like fainting from how ugly you are."

"Shut up."

Both of them stilled, Ben had never spoken back to Poe when he taunted him. Opting to roll on his belly like big dogs at the park, trying to show that he wasn't a threat. In his head, he would swear and punch and scream all he could but in every scenario Ben never vocalized it.

But it just fell out and judging by the frown on Poe's face, he couldn't take it back.

The whistle blew, the ball in the air and Ben panicked. Trying to touch the fucking ball that had given him so many bruises before him. Barely grazing it and tipping it towards his team with a sigh of relief.

Poe was off towards another player, yelling at the other kids to get the ball, "Don't just fucking stand there! Get it, did you forget how to play?"

"Dameron! Stop swearing all the time," Maul whistled, moving his attention to Ben who was still standing there dumbfounded that he even touched the ball.

"Come on," he motioned to the crowd of kids at the other end, trying to get the ball back and shooting too far away like they were in the NBA, "You're supposed to put it in the net, Solo."

Well, he guessed this was happening.

Moving down the court, trying his best to dodge the others who were ramming into alongside one another. It was like they were feral, the scales tipping the balanced hold on the group's dynamic.

All because he touched the basketball?

Ben stared at Poe, snarling at his friends to pass the ball before they locked eyes. His lip suddenly felt like it was pumping in time with his heart, aching while they stared off.

"What are you staring at you freak?" Poe barked.

"Fuck you."

"Solo!"

"You can't talk to me like that," suddenly Poe was on him, clutching the stained collar of his shirt and yanking him down. Back hunched over while he snarled in his face, eyes wide and furious. Ben watched as his fist cocked behind his head.

Waiting for the inevitable blow, time felt like it was moving in slow motion. Hoping to god Poe didn't knock any of his teeth out today since he was mouthing off, and then it happened.

"Do it, Ben. Don't you want to show me how big and strong you are?"

And suddenly, Poe was on the floor.

Now Ben was over him, his hand wrapped around his small throat like he always dreamed and squeezing. He could feel his pulse thrumming underneath his chestnut skin, Ben's other fist collided with Poes jaw.

Bones crunching, a scream filling the echoing gymnasium while Ben pounded his fucking face. Ignoring the gasps, the whistle from Maul drowning out from the absolute euphoria Ben felt from his head to his toes.

Like he was walking into the ocean, letting the waves crash over his sore and battered body while it welcomed him with open arms.

Arms, yes it was like when she had wrapped her arms around his neck last night. Like he was important and that she would hold him like he craved.

Every time his fist crashed down on Poe's stupid fucking face, Ben felt her constricting around him. Like the hand around his throat, he tightened the grip, feeling his fingernails dig down until something felt like it was full to burst.

And then it all went dark.

-------

Han had to pick him up from school, stunned how he ended up in the principles office when the last thing he remembered was almost strangling his bully to death.

And now he was driving home. Looking down at his hands, they were shaking, but they always were. His right hand had some dried blood under the tips of his blunt nails, he didn't wash it.

Honestly, he didn't want to.

Seeing it made the headache go away, Ben hadn't felt it since the moment he told Poe to shut up. Placated, for the time being, Han's throat-clearing pulled him from his daze.

"So," Ben watched his dads' eyes dart to his lap before the road, "Are you gonna tell me what happened, kid?"

Ben shrugged, what would he say? There was nowhere to run, he did what was right and he felt good about it. "The voice told me to."

Han sighed, "Not this again, look kid. There are no voices in your head, you did this when you were younger for attention but now you're eighteen, and that Dameron boy could press charges on you."

"I'm not lying."

"We will see what mom says, but until then you aren't allowed in school for a week."

"Great."

And the headache was back.

-------

Ben laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while his parents yelled at each other from down the hallway.

Scratching his chest while he listened to them blame the other for Ben's behavior, how he was unstable and now everyone was going to think they had a psycho for a son. How would the neighborhood react? When big-Ben beat the wonderful Dameron boy?

He scoffed at that, if they only listened to him they would know why Ben snapped. It was very simple! He wanted to show that he wasn't weak or stupid or all the things that he was called, and he didn't feel one drop of remorse for it.

Which was strange, usually Ben would lay awake for hours agonizing when he made a mistake.

Getting sick to the stomach at the very thought of failing or making his parents upset, but it was gone now.

Everything he did was wrong already, and that felt good so it clearly was okay.

Rey had avoided him when she came home from school, just sticking her nose up when he said hello from the kitchen island. Eating a bowl of cereal, he wasn't doing anything to hurt her.

She didn't need to be fucking rude.

"Thats because she hates you, baby."

Ben jumped at the voice, sitting up on his bed to see the creature perched on his window sill. He could've sworn he locked it, but there it was, completely open to the darkening neighborhood lights.

He glanced to his bedroom door, which was still locked tight, a relief given his visitor was known to bite.

"Your lip looks like it hurts," She slinked closer, making herself at home next to him. Hands clasped in her lap, Ben was able to see more of her with the dim light.

Legs tucked under her bottom, she smoothed out the skirt of her outfit. A black and red sheer thing, it looked like the outfits from the videos Ben watched. It wasn't very warm given the cold temperatures when she came in, maybe that was why her body wasn't emanating warmth as she cozied to him.

Ben leaned away from her a little, slightly afraid. Racing back to his phone bricking itself after the strange messages, fogged of her secret she told him last night. How he belonged to her, which couldn't be real, no one wanted him.

But this was all a hallucination. Clearly, the event from today had broken him and now he was along for the fuckin' ride.

She smiled, leaning towards him to inspect his face. Pouting her bottom lip, "Can I kiss it better?"

"Uh-um," he stuttered, eyes flitting from her hooded lids as she moved even closer. "Yes, please. It hurts."

The last part he whispered, her tongue flicking out to lap at the wound. Another wave of relief like earlier, the pain was being sucked away with every lick of her cool tongue. Ben whimpered as their lips locked.

Tender, much softer than before. Slotted together like two pieces of a puzzle that he had spent so long trying to force to completion. Both sighing, Ben peppered soft kisses against her lips. Basking in the small sighs she exhaled each time.

He raised a tentative hand to stroke her shoulder, hovering as he remembered what happened before.

"Can I," he placed another kiss, "Can I touch you?"

She pulled away for a moment, glancing towards the offending limb before she popped her lips. "Is that the one you choked him with?"

"What?"

"Is that the hand that almost killed him?"

He looked towards it, flexing his fingers into a fist a few times. Popping knuckles in the process, "Yeah."

She cocked a brow.

Ben felt this urge to tell her more, seeing how it piqued her interest in a peculiar way.

"I still have his blood on it," he turned his palm over, showing her his bloodied nail beds. To his shock she gasped, grasping him before bringing it to her face.

Moaning before her tongue slipped out and licked at them. Ben was entranced, softly nudging his fingers into her small mouth. He wanted to shove them in, but she would probably bite them off.

Deepthroating two of his fingers, the scene made Ben painfully hard. He hadn't jerked off today, losing his computer after his fight, but this was enough. Watching her slob all along his hand, desperate to taste the blood of some random man she didn't know.

"I want you to tell me exactly what happened, " She pounced on Ben, flat on his back before she tugged him to be on top. Legs wrapped around his hips, Ben groaned at the sweet friction.

Her muscles twitched as he gave a small grind. Ben hissed as her fingers dug into his cheeks, drawing his attention back to what she asked for.

"I-um-first I told him to fuck off..."

"Yeah," she moaned out, pacing a firm kiss on his lips, "Wrap your fucking hand around my throat, do exactly what you did to him. I want to feel it, baby."

With a harsh swallow, Ben placed his shaking palm against her throat. Afraid to hurt her, but he didn't want her to leave, "I-I held him down to the floor, and I squeezed."

"Do it," she whispered, her eyes were rolling back in her skull. Ben carefully applied pressure, careful to not touch her artery in the process.

But he was having a hard time finding her pulse, but that could be because he was nervous...

A dark laugh made him stop, glancing back up at her and feeling frozen by her eyes. They were black again, like yesterday, grinning at him with rows of sharp teeth before she hissed.

"You imbecile, you won't find one because I'm already dead."

Rage coursed through him, how dare she call him that?

After everything she knew?

Without thinking, Ben closed his hand in a fist as best he could. Listening to her throat spasm under his flesh, choking, gagging, and laughing as he strangled her.

He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, nails grasped at his wrist, dragging long red lips that were deep enough to drip blood. Ben felt...

Power.

Raw power.

Like he imagined while on the computer, those poor girls wouldn't be able to handle how rough he wanted to be.

You imbecile.

*SNAP*

Ben looked down, her entire body going limp in his hold.

"Oh my god," he dropped her, quickly leaping off the bed to stare at her corpse. Splayed out on his mattress, blood seeping from the crooked indent where his hand once was.

Soaking his sheets in her remains, Ben's right hand was wet too, dripping on his carpet.

"Oh-fuck," Ben ran his left through his hair, tugging hard on the ends like he usually did. Paced from left to right, he walked to his bedroom door, careful to not drip on the white wood. If his parents found blood in here they would flip out. He would be sent away, probably to the military or someplace worse...

Maybe even Uncle Lukes 'natural preserve' in the middle of fucking nowhere.

There was no movement on the other side of his door or the shared wall he had with Rey. Now, all he had to do was hide her body before anyone came looking for her. He could slip out with her in the morning after everyone left. Unless they were planning on babysitting him tomorrow, he couldn't walk out with a limp black body bag in his arms and not have any interrogation.

He had to get rid of it now.

Ben spun on his heel, only to see that no longer was she a corpse. But sitting upright on his bed, batting her eyelashes like she was the sweetest little girl anyone had ever met. Licking away at the blood that she collected on her fingers.

"Ready to play some more?"

-------

Okay so, there's a dead woman who visits me at night...

Ben groaned into his hands, seated at the dining room table. Surrounded by his school work for the week, since he was officially not allowed back on school grounds. The SRO was considering putting him on a 'hold' which was weird for an officer to suggest to a school.

Ben was 99% sure only doctors could do that, but mom won't take him to a doctor.

Last night escalated in a way he didn't imagine, she was dead. Completely, he had crushed her throat with his bare hands, felt her spinal cord snap. That was a sound he couldn't forget, even if it was drowned out by the buzzing of white-hot rage from her taunting.

She shouldn't have pushed him, he was being so good for her and she knew that he didn't like being called names. But she did, and she fucking liked it?

Maybe he liked it too.

He shook his head, no. No, he did not like hurting people, this was all just a misunderstanding, he would apologize to her and to Poe forever trying to fight back.

Maybe grovel at Dameron's feet so they wouldn't take him to jail for pulverizing their son. Apparently, Ben did severe damage, the fight even made it on the local news this morning. Some reporters outside of the city building where his mom worked to ask her to comment on her deranged son.

Obviously, she had no comment.

She had told Ben to stay in the house today. He wasn't allowed to open the front door for anyone, go in the garage, or even open the curtains. Serial killer rules, something she used to say when he was little and had to be left alone.

Well, now the rules weren't to protect him.

It was others she was worried about.

Ben slid off his chair, leaving his pre-calculus homework to fret over another day. The symbols didn't make any sense anyway, so he was better off not doing it since he would receive a shit grade no matter what.

Trudging up the stairs to his bedroom, but he halted. Looking down the hall at his parents' double doors. If he was careful, he could probably snatch some of his stolen property. That way he could watch something other than daytime television in the living room.

They would be so pissed if he went in there though...

"What? You're afraid of your parents, now?"

Ben's head snapped behind him, half expecting to see her at the landing of the stairs. But there was nothing there, except for a dark shadow from a palm plant in the corner.

Looking a little darker than usual.

Ben squinted, swearing for a moment it moved. Shrugging it off as nothing, he was probably just tried. He looked back down the hall, swallowing slowly, "No, I'm not afraid of them..."

"It sure looks like it, too afraid of Mommy and Daddy to get what you want."

"No-"

"What belongs to you."

Yes, it does belong to him.

Ben's feet carried him down, swinging the doors open in a flurry before he zeroed in on the chest at the base of his parents' bed. When he was little, he would rummage through there for things they took from him. Because he was bad or needed to be punished. Taking away everything he loved, even them.

Quickly, he threw open the crate. Greeted with some folded blankets, Ben huffed in annoyance. Casually throwing them on the floor, he probably should be more careful. He wasn't great at folding but judging by the sight of them, his mom didn't use them often.

Underneath was a box, a lock on it with a code. Black and sleek in its shape, Ben hesitated on it, thinking what could be inside. Most likely documents that his dad would lose in the office if he was allowed to have them, or something expensive that Rey and he weren't allowed to see.

He pushed it to the side, whatever was inside clinked like loose change in someone's pocket. Ben frowned, pushing it a little more to decipher the noise, but he couldn't figure it out. Plus there was a lock, and he wasn't good with cracking codes.

After pushing and yanking items out, he found his laptop. Along with his computer tower which was nestled in a blanket. It was dark blue and frayed, little stars all over it, some spots were almost weathered away from rubbing against something.

He brought it to his face for a moment, touching his cheek. Instantly feeling a sense of relief, "So soft..."

Ben bundled up everything as best he could, cringing at his shitty folding job. But he could close it so out of sight out of mind, the small blanket slung over his shoulder. Against the skin of his neck, he really connected with it, for some reason.

Items under his arms, he waddled down the hallway, his tower was fucking heavy. Shocked that his mom carried it without incident, Ben shuffled the items in his arms, holding out a shaking hand to open his door.

Click

"Shit."

He tried again, the knob unrelenting against his now sweating palm. Did he lock it before going downstairs? He's never done that before, it's his only safe space... Ben can't be locked out?

He can't, that's where he feels okay, no-no-no...

"Why don't you come downstairs and play?"

Down went Ben's laptop, hissing as it hit the hardwood on its edge. "Fuck-fuck, please don't be broken," he chanted, setting down his tower before wrenching it open. Letting out a small breath when there was no crack on the screen.

Ben glanced up towards the voice, seeing the shadow from earlier was nearly invisible. Like there was no longer someone standing there, he gulped.

Walking down the creaking stairs as slowly as he could. Blanket and laptop clutched to his chest while he shook.

Over the edge of the couch, Ben could see her. The back of her head barely cleared the cushion. But it was unmistakable, even though he had only seen her in the dark, no one else would be here.

A melodic hum came from the other side, "Are you going to sit with me, baby?"

A tremor shivered through Ben's entire body like the temperature dropped in his house. Had it gotten darker? he wasn't allowed to open the curtains, maybe there were clouds?

He rounded the couch slowly, breath hitching at the sight of her. All normal, fucking gorgeous, it made his chest hurt. Smiling up at him with her glistening lips, there were flecks of gloss on them today. He smacked his own, maybe they were flavored, what he would give to taste.

"What were you going to watch on your computer," she nodded slightly towards his arms.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, he wasn't sure what to say. Ben was going to bring it to his room and stroke his cock until he passed out from dehydration, but that wasn't something girls wanted to hear. Right?

"Are you afraid to show me? After you snapped my neck last night?"

"That was an accident," he blurted, suddenly feeling defensive.

"Hm."

She spread her arms out over the cushions, looking down at her lap coyly before she whispered, "I thought a big man like you wouldn't be afraid to show his desires, to take whatever he wants... but..."

Ben shoved his things onto the nearby chair, rushing her in a flurry of emotions. Hurt, lust, anger, fucking rage, pushing her with a hand around her throat once more flat on her back.

Not even thinking for permission, bringing his lips close to her ear. Practically growling while she struggled under his massive form, legs pinned between his thighs. His own voice was foreign on his ears as he rasped.

"You know I can take whatever I want."

The two locked eyes, Ben watched as she panted for breath. If though he knows she was killed just last night, something was so fucked up about it all. But she as letting him, her hands fell to his shoulders. Tugging him closer, whispering against his lips, "Do it."

That same voice.

"Do it, Ben."

He didn't know what came over him, his body on autopilot. Tearing his fingers through the slim threads of her clothing. Greeted by the sight of her breasts, bouncing in his face. Ben moaned at the sight, so soft, delicate, pert nipples rubbing against his chest.

Sitting upon his knees, Ben released her throat. Fixated now on this new flesh, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn't get it out. Ben smacked his palms down on her tits, hard. A howl of pain left her lips, eyes squeezed shut tight.

He repeated it, loving how the flesh rippled while he landed more and more. Ben remembered seeing this in a video, loving how the actress reacted, but hers was so much better.

Watching how the skin irritated, bruised. He switched his tactics, moving to strike just her nipples, tugging hard on the stiff buds until she cried in pain. Arching her chest into his hands, whispering out his name like a song.

"Please-please Ben, more!"

"You want more," he echoed, leaning over her open mouth. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but a trail of spit left his lips before he could think. Feeding it into her mouth, "Swallow."

Her eyes opened, full contact while she gulped down his spit. A shiver ran through his body down to his throbbing cock, ripping his hands away from her to fumble with his belt.

Her lips needed to be around his cock, even at the chance she would bite his dick off.

She purred at his movement, "You want me to taste you? Suck your cock?"

"I don't care if you want to," he gritted, "You're going to like a good girl."

Her mouth formed a pretty 'o', flashing down as he pulled out his rigid length. Ben scooted forward on her chest, her shoulders scrunching by her ears so he could fit. He should probably reposition, but he couldn't find it in him to move.

Not when he was able to rub the tip of his swollen cock along her lips, feeling her cold tongue flick out and taste him. Ben moaned, canting his hips forward, nudging inside the small opening and filling her mouth with the head.

She sucked a few times, eyes falling shut in a sleepy haze. Ben felt sleepy too, all the sounds in his head were gone when she swirled her tongue, cupping the underside of his tip cradled by it.

He thrust forward, pushing a few inches in her without warning. The sheer girth gagged her immediately, but Ben didn't care. Like a man possessed, his words didn't sound like his own.

"I'm so excited to hear the sloppy, wet sounds your little throat is going to make when I choke you."

She popped off, an awkward angle of her wrist gripped the base of his cock. Squeezing until he felt dizzy, Ben steadied himself with a hand on her forehead. Digging his nails through her hair, staring up at him wickedly.

"Please," a broken whine followed her words, and who was he to deny her?

Ben shot off the couch, standing beside her for a moment before he collected her hair. Plunging his cock inside her mouth, both of them moaning in unison.

Looking down at her face, brows pulled up in pure bliss. Eyes closed, and mouth open like she belonged there. And she did, sucking his cock from base to tip, foamy spit collecting around the edges of her stretched hole.

Fucking her throat a few more times, he thought about what he wanted. He wanted to cum, which was growing closer as she sputtered along his length, but he wanted to cum somewhere else.

With a palm on her forehead, he pushed her back. Back arching over the edge of the couch. Whining pathetically, "What, no-no-Ben!"

He stepped to the sit, pointing down at the carpeted floor between the couch and the coffee table.

"Hands and knees, ass up. Now."

She melted to the floor, eyes growing darker as she glared before obeying. But she was too slow for his taste, swiftly kicking her down to her face. He heard her snarl into the fibers, but still displaying herself for him.

Ben's hearing was going fuzzy anyway, if she did say something he wouldn't hear it. Right now, he was looking directly at her pussy, wet and clenching through the now sheer fabric of her panties. Hugging her sex until it was see-through, Ben gripped thong.

Yanking hard enough to lift her backside off the floor in a yelp, ripping it apart at the seams.

"Fuck!"

Ben collapsed to his knees, sweaty palms on her cheeks to spread her open. He had never seated someone out before, but he couldn't resist. Sticking his tongue in her waiting hole, licking a long stripe along her slit while she wailed.

Rocking her hips back in his face, Ben slurped away her juices, coming out of her like a broken faucet. Bringing two fingers up to her entrance before jamming them in, "Mother of Fuck!"

Ben chuckled at her yelping, funny how this was the same creature that begged him to choke her out last night. Now at his mercy in a much more delicious way, twisting his wrist until her pussy could take another finger. He wasn't stopping until he was balls deep inside her.

Ripping his fingers out, fumbling with his pants around his hips. Pushing them down to his thighs so he was a little less clothed. She shook her hips, impatient with him.

"I'll give you attention, " he mused, "Good girls have to wait for what they want."

She shot a look over her shoulder, making Ben's ice turn cold. Her face was pulled in a snarl, eyes now completely devoid of color.

"Just fucking do it!"

Ben didn't hesitate, pushing his cock inside her twitching walls. Already resisting something so large, Ben let out a scream from the clenching massaging his length. Her pussy splitting for him, Ben looked at her face once again.

Her skin was changing color, to an almost ashen gray. With her veins turning a dark blue on her cheeks. Spreading from her eyes and streaking down like tear tracks. For a second, Ben felt like stopping to see if she was okay.

But her words took that thought and threw it in the trash.

"You little shit, just get on with it before I fuck you myself."

And he was done.

Throwing his hands forward to hook fingers on both sides of her face. Scrambling to reach her shitty fucking mouth, antagonizing him all the fucking time. He slipped his middle finger to catch her lips, prying them apart in a gnarly snarl that was anything but human.

Yanking her back with a fervor he had never felt, all the blood rushing to his cock as she sucked him in even further. All he could do was fuck, ignoring how his vision was blacking out. All the lights in the room dimmed, almost spiraling around the one thing that mattered.

Her, being inside her.

He would do anything to feel this power again, whatever she wanted.

All she had to do was ask, and he would follow blindly. Just to feel her velvet pussy around his aching cock, filling her under he was sure he had broken something.

His strength pulled another sickening snap of her neck, but this time she didn't go limp. Instead, she chanted, yes-yes-yes-more-more!

A crunch focused his vision down to their bodies, connected by his cock. Pain now radiating from his hands, like a fire blazing up his arms until it reached his chest. She whipped her head from his grasp, revealing how the tips of his fingers were gnawed on. Somehow flipping herself over in the process.

Ben was on his back, her hand threatening around his throat as the pain grew. Only dulling when she sunk back down his cock, clenching at the base as she moaned out for all of the neighborhood to hear.

"You wonderfully, silly silly boy," her voice was tight, face still crumbling like it was stone. Her fist tightened around him, delirious from being choked in two ways.

"You'll do whatever I want for me?"

Ben whimpered, nodding pathetically. He was so close to cumming, it's all he could think about.

She grinned, "Whatever I ask? Anything in the world, just so you can feel me?"

"Yes, please, I'll do any-anything..."

She slammed down his length again, groaning as his balls tightened towards his body. He was about to cum, right in her hot fucking pussy, she just needed to do that one more time.

"Ben," she sang.

He opened his eyes, panting through his open mouth. Seeing her complexion return to normal, so pretty, so beautiful, he strained forward. Wanting to kiss her supple lips.

"You won't question what I ask of you?"

"N-no-never."

"No matter what?"

He almost cried, she was just circling her hips now. Absolute torture he could care less what she asked for, if she would keep touching him it would all be worth it.

"No matter what," he parroted.

"Excellent."

And he was a goner, cumming with such intensity that he felt like he passed out. Pumping her pussy full of cum while she moaned. Pushing her chest into the air, hands landing on his knees. He looked down at their bodies, spying a small bulge from where he was nestled.

Spurting out more cum at the sight, he wished he had his phone to take a picture.

She stood from him with a slick pop, some of his spend sliding down her inner thighs before she stepped over him. Grinning down with her teeth on full display, Ben caught his breath. Thinking about what just happened, his brain wasn't fogging like it normally did.

Instead, it was just her.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

"You're such a good boy."

-------

"Leia," called dad from upstairs.

Ben was sitting at the table, surrounded by his homework and his confiscated laptop. Mom had scoffed when she found him on the floor of the living room, thankfully his pants were pulled back up. That would've been embarrassing, to be found like that.

Eyeing his loot that he wasn't supposed to have. Mom told him to sit at the table while she made dinner, so he did. Fitting off a swimming headache again.

Nausea flooding his very movements, the image of your ashen face bouncing around his skull. Terrified of what he had agreed to, but when he thought about disobeying your demands he felt like something was plunging into his heart.

"What's wrong, Han?"

Dad's footsteps came down the stairs, stopping a few feet from where Ben stared at him. Fear, yes his dad looked at him in fear. That was definitely new, looking back at mom before he spoke.

"I was just wondering if you moved the safe..." his eyes darted back to Ben, mouthing out something that he could understand.

Mom scoffed, "No, I didn't touch your gun safe. You probably put it in the garage."

Gun safe?

Ben looked over his shoulder, startled to see mom staring directly at him. He clutched the navy blanket closer to his lap, catching her attention for a brief moment.

"Well, we better find it, Leia. Before it gets in the wrong hands."

"He means you, baby. They think you stole from them."

"I didn't take it," Ben blurted without thinking, looking down at his homework before his parents moved in on him. But all he heard was awkward shuffling, stiffening at someone touching the top of his head.

Ben looked up, mom wasn't looking at him. "I know, Ben."

"Lying to mommy, what a bad boy?"

"What?" Ben blurted once more, whipping his head to the side to try and find her. The voice was there in his head, but where the fuck was she? She had called him a good boy earlier, he didn't do anything wrong...

He started to sweat, breathing shallow while his mom rubbed the top of his head like she did when he was younger. But it felt like nails on a chalkboard, quickly scrambling out of the chair and past his parents.

Blanket tucked to his chest.

And that's how he slept, that night, and the following four nights.

Waking up with a fuzzy static in his ears, his window always angled open. Each morning he found sores along his body, yesterday he had trails of red along his legs.

Like something was trying to drag him out of bed.

He hadn't heard her voice since that day.

And he missed her, terribly.

Unsure if he could handle going back to school without her guidance, she was there to tell him everything he did was okay. He didn't want to make a mistake while in class, what if he gets picked on even worse and he doesn't retaliate?

Does she not want him anymore?

Because he's weak?

He whimpered in bed, curled onto his side, and stared at the door of his room.

Everyone was getting ready to leave for the day, not paying attention to him. He was truly alone, all over again.

That made him mad, so fucking mad.

Whipping out of bed, dressed in just his boxers and a t-shirt he burst from his room and down the hall. Listening for any signs of life downstairs, glancing by the plant by the stairs. The shadow was darker today, maybe it was a good sign.

His heartbeat a little at the thought, maybe if I look for her, she will come?

Or if he shows her how devoted he was to her.

Ben thought about his interactions, all of them centering around him doing whatever she wanted. The last time being a violent fucking, his cock stirred at the memory, and that was triggered by him getting in trouble.

Behind him, a door creaked open.

He slowly deadpanned around, gulping when the hall closet door was inching open. Darkness pouring out of it, like all its contents were stained with the gloomy black of her soul. Ben heard the garage door closing, the house falling silent except for his heavy breathing.

"H-hello?"

Ben held his blanket closer, rubbing at the frayed edges. Mom told him that this was his childhood blanket. She never asked where he found it, just looking at him suspiciously when he held it around the house. He didn't like putting it down, it felt like the last good part of him.

Crash

A box fell from the closet onto the floor, staring straight at him like it was looking through him.

Dad's safe.

"Do it."

Ben jumped, almost crying at the small voice. "Where are you?" He whispered, desperate for her guidance.

"Take it, you know the combination my sweet boy."

He crouched on the floor, hands shaking and sweaty as he fumbled with the lock. Four digits, he thought for a moment and put in a code, gasping when it worked. The click of the latch opening was deafening over the still air.

Ben carefully took out the weapon, spying ammo around before he looked behind him. Zeroing in on the shadow, "What do I do now?"

"What feels right."

------

Ben was sitting on his bed, the gun in his lap. Wrapped in the blanket as he stared out the window. Watching the neighbors walking around, kids laughing and playing like they were every fucking day.

Only Ben was focusing on someone specific, the Dameron family. Three houses down, Poe was back from the hospital. He had watched him enter the house a few hours ago, bandages around his neck where Ben's hand was imprinted.

He chuckled at the thought, knowing that Poe was scarred from him made him feel good.

His fingers twitched around the barrel, remembering how many rounds were left in it. He had taken it to the woods yesterday, practicing, for tonight.

He would do anything for her.

The lights dimmed outside, street lamps barely illuminating the sidewalks. Ben looked down, seeing a shadow standing at the end of the Dameron driveway.

Ben would know that shadow anywhere, she raised a hand. Waving at him before her voice echoed in his ears, "Show me how much you love me, Ben."

-------

With his backpack on, he walked out of the house. Completely dark outside, the air was chilly but he wasn't cold. Focused on one thing and one thing only.

His love.

Ben kicked in the front door, not caring about the noise, none of them would survive anyway. A light beeping filled the house before he kicked the door shut with a heavy boot. He stalked down the hallway, seeing how the house was decorated so differently than his own, family photos all around. Poes cleats on the floor, along with a bag.

He pushed it with his foot, only stopping when he heard a thud from upstairs. Ben smiled, hearing a muffled voice, "Did you hear something?"

Yes, yes you did Poe.

He walked to the base of the stairs, standing like the same shadow he was trying to impress. Ben grabbed the weapon from his bag, checking that the safety was off before storming up the stairs.

The closer he came, the more the voices panicked, and then a door swung open and Ben didn't hesitate.

The gunshot rang in his ears, followed by the loudest scream he'd ever witnessed, but he didn't care.

The simmering rage that Poe brought him was mixing with the bliss of finally taking it out was intoxicating.

He kicked in every door of the house, growing angrier the longer it took to find the others. Stepping into the large room at the end, over Mr. Damerons blown-out skull.

Ben's boot crunched on the floor, slicked with his blood, and purred at the sight.

In the corner, was Poe and his mother.

Clutching one another.

"Holy shit, Solo!" Poe rasped, shaking terribly at the vision of black before him.

His mothers' voice was wavering like a leaf, "B-b-b-ben, what ar-are you doing?"

"I'm here to kill you and your son."

They both gasped, and Ben pounced, opting to use his bare hands to take them on. He didn't remember finishing off Shara, but he remembered chasing Poe down the halls.

All the way to the kitchen, Ben let his bag fall to the ground. Reaching in for the last item, wanting to make the last blow count, that there was no more Ben for Poe to hurt.

Pushing him down to the floor, repeatedly beating him. Spit flying as he called Poe every fucking thing Ben was called. Making sure he knew that he did this to himself, that he deserved it after all the years he made Ben's life a living hell.

Lips blue as Poe rasped out his final words.

"Fucking psychopath..."

And the last thing he remembered before the police flooded the house, was wrapping his childhood blanket around Poes bruised fucking neck until it snapped.

Cackling while they tore him away, leaving it soaked in his tormentors' blood.

Ben watched from the backseat of the police car as his mom and dad stood on the sidewalk. Rey standing in front of them, face streaked in tears and wailing. Ben mocked her bottom lip, laughter bubbling up as he felt better than ever.

Thanking whatever gods there were, for the creature that visited him.

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttles @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @fathersonandhouseofgucci @reyloaddict55 @emeritusemeritus @livi-s @eagerforhoney @xxgarden

Happy Halloween, here is the link to my Ben Solo masterlist and my Mega Masterlist. Be safe and don't murder your neighbors!

#adam driver #adamdriver #kylo ren #halloween fabric #modern ben solo #high school ben solo #loner ben solo #tw: dark fic #tw: gore #tw: blood kink #tw: blood play #tw: m*rder #tw: violence #tw: mental instability #monster f*cking #reader x ben solo #female reader #smut #smut smut

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weasleyswizardpleases · 3 years

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Low Profile (reader x fred and george)

Summary: You and your best friends find yourself entangled in a secret polyamorous love affair, right under their family’s noses.

Warnings/Notes: Cw language, kissing (but no sex of any kind), family not accepting poly/queer relationship, bruising. This is for the wonderful and talented @lunalovecroft’s 2.7k trope-inspired writing challenge! It’s also part of my loose series of fics that take place over the summer when y/n stays at the Weasleys’ house. No twincest- v shaped poly relationship. Here’s my masterlist if you want more! Enjoy!

Ever since you and Fred hooked up the first night of the summer, you’ve been joined at the hip even more than usual, and since George is always with Fred and usually with you, he had to be told once it was clear that you and Fred were gonna be more than a one night stand. You were a bit sad, knowing that it’d probably make him feel left out, in a way. You noticed that George looked a bit miffed when the two of you told him you were dating, in the loosest sense of the word.

“What’s the matter, you jealous Georgie?” you tease, putting your hand on his knee flamboyantly. He blushes and you and Fred exchange a look.

“Oh my god, you actually are, aren’t you?” Fred asks, half-mocking. For once, George seems to be at a loss for words. He looks quite uncertain and a bit sad. You figure that you may as well break the tension and speak honestly; it’s more important to you to be frank and maintain your friendship than anything else. You clear your throat.

“George, honestly, if you’d been there instead of Fred that night, I’d probably have hooked up with you, too. We’ll all still be friends. That’s why we’re telling you, so we’re not keeping secrets,” you say, trying to goad him into speaking. He shakes his discomfort off and begins.

“Oh, I knew this would happen! We used to just be friends before the two of you started making eyes at each other all the time. Now I’ll barely be able to talk to the two of you- my two best friends, mind you- without all this lovey dovey shit. What an absolute nightmare!”

You open your mouth to speak, but George barrels on, looking at Fred this time.

“And you, some brother you are. You know how I feel about Y/N, I thought we had an agreement to keep it platonic all around?”

“It’s not my fault they’re interested in me!”

“George, I said I would have kissed you that night too! Actually, that’s what I’ve been trying to say to both of you. I’ve got feelings for you, both of you.”

They stop bickering and turn to look at you, turning the idea over in their minds.

“What are you saying?” asks Fred, looking a bit hurt.

“I’m saying,” you take a deep breath, “that I’ve never been better friends with one of you than the other. We do everything together. I don’t want that to change. Besides, you two are identical. Did you think your birthmark was that big of a selling point, Freddie? Of course I think you’re both good-looking, look in the mirror for goodness’ sake!”

They blink at you, then turn away to confer with one another in whispers. You tap your foot impatiently, but when they turn around, they’re beaming.

“So what you’re saying is you’d be fine with us sharing you?” George asks.

“More than fine. I’d be absolutely chuffed,” you say, returning their smiles.

“It’s settled, then,” Fred says, and plants a kiss on the top of your head. You look up at George permissively, and he puts his arm around you and gives you a squeeze.

“One thing, though. Mum and Dad can’t know. Mum especially. She’s not the most open-minded when it comes to this stuff. Especially with us. At least, I doubt she is,” Fred says.

“Yeah, funnily enough it never occurred to me to ask what she’d do if my twin brother and I started a poly fling with our best friend who also lives with us and sleeps in our bedroom, but if I had to guess, I don’t think she’d approve,” George adds, smirking.

“That’s ok. We have a pretty good track record when it comes to keeping secrets,” you say, a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

That evening, you’re helping Molly fold linens when she steps away for a moment to take the kettle off. You feel four hands slip around you from behind and soon you’re pulled into a kiss, Fred on your left, kissing you hard on the neck and collarbone, and George kissing your lips, taking your bottom lip gently between his teeth. You kiss them passionately but push them away after a second, regaining your composure.

“Not here!” you hiss, grinning. They exchange a cheeky glance and kiss you on each cheek before scurrying back to their room, giggling. You shake your head and turn back to folding sheets, just as Mrs. Weasley returns.

“My, my dear, that’s quite a bruise you’ve got there, what happened?” Mrs. Weasley clucks, gesturing to your collarbone where you’re surprised to see a dark, newly formed hickey.

“Oh, pickup quidditch match. I’m not very good, I’m afraid,” you say, the rush of the small lie filling you with butterflies.

“Well now, we are wizards after all. We can’t have you running about looking as if you’ve been sleeping under the whomping willow,” she says cheerfully. She extracts her wand and uses a quick healing spell on the spot, which fades quickly. You wonder if she really doesn’t recognize the bruise as a hickey, but you shrug. The twins have certainly gotten away with worse under this roof.

That night, you and the twins are in the kitchen having a midnight snack. The rest of the house is quiet. You’re sitting on the countertop, helping yourself to a biscuit, and George is leaning on the counter beside you. You feed him a little bite and he licks the crumbs from your fingers playfully. Fred is rummaging through the fridge across the room, and George peers into the fridge nosily. Something piques his interest, and he heads over, whispering to his brother indistinctly. You catch them giggling, and can hear snatches of their conversation. They appear to be working on something as they chat eagerly.

“Take the…”

“... and the… yes! Use a…”

“... that’s just bad…”

“...dare you…”

You hear the familiar sound of compressed air decompressing, and Fred whirls around with a pie tin full of whipped cream in his hand, grinning devilishly.

“No!” you whisper-scream, nearly falling off the countertop, but you’re not fast enough. Fred flops the tin into your face with a splat, and George laughs so hard he winds up on the ground kicking. You lick the cream from your lips, hungry for revenge.

You know Fred is secretly quite vain about his hair, and you waste no time sliding off the countertop and wrapping him up in a hug from behind. He suspects your ulterior motives immediately, but it’s too late for him to escape.

“Oh darling, give me a hug my sweet,” you say, making exaggerated kissy noises while burying your pie covered face in his nice clean hair. He flails about, and you tickle his ribs defensively, causing him to buckle. You fall to the ground with him, giggling and shoving at one another. Just as George joins in, trying to drag you off of his brother, kissing you all over as he tugs on your legs, you hear a floorboard creak.

Ginny, whose room is closest to the kitchen, stands at the foot of the stairs, gaping at you. You’re sure she saw the kissing, and, well, the whole situation does look a bit… familiar. You whack George on the head and nod in Ginny’s direction.

“Oh, hello Ginny,” Fred says, disentangling himself from his situation beneath you.

“Hello, big brother,”

“Hello, Ginny,” George says, surprise straining his voice.

“Hello, other brother,”

“Hello, Ginny,” you say uncertainly, standing up and wiping your face off with a tea towel.

“Hello, Y/N,” she says. “Some of us are trying to sleep, you know,” she says, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Everyone speaks in hushed tones once again, having remembered that it is indeed the middle of the night. She nods curtly and scampers back upstairs, smiling cheekily.

“Did she see?” George whispers.

“Oh, she saw,” you assure him.

“But she wouldn’t say anything, right?” Fred asks.

“Surely not,” his brother replies nervously.

“But if she does…”

“We’re toast. No way mum believes us over her.”

“You guys are being too paranoid. Ginny isn’t a snitch like Ron and Percy, she wouldn’t blab on us for a bit of… roughhousing,” you say hopefully. The twins agree, and you help each other get cleaned up, George dabbing your face clean with a wet towel, giving you gentle kisses in between.

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. As far as you know, Ginny doesn’t say anything about what she saw, and life in the burrow goes on as usual. In the mornings, you and Hermione read quietly in the living room over tea. She reads the paper, you look at the comics, every once in a while stopping to remark on a thought you’ve had.

Then George wakes up. He’s quiet in the mornings, a bit slow, although not very grumpy. Then Molly gets up and usually whips up some sort of breakfast, and by the times everyone’s up you all gather round the long table and eat together. Then, if you’re lucky, you run off outside or to a neighbor's house or abscond to the attic with Fred and George, away from prying eyes and away from Molly’s commands. If you’re unlucky, Molly enlists at least one of you in some chores, usually out in the garden.

The next time the three of you come close to getting caught, you’re doing just this- de-gnoming with Fred, George, and Ron when Ron gets a headache and goes inside, complaining that it’s far too hot. In reality, the day is rather mild, although the sun is bright enough that Fred and George both have pink sunburns radiating across the bridges of their noses. You flick Fred on his sunburnt cheek and he winces.

“Ow! What’s that for?!” he asks, nearly dropping a gnome right back into the grass.

“I need your attention!”

“For what?”

“A kiss,” you reply devilishly. He obliges you and kisses you dramatically, dipping you low, holding you in his arms. “Like this, mi amore?” he asks in a silly accent.

“Lunchtime!” Molly calls from the doorway, causing Fred to drop you to the ground and George to leap in front of the two of you oddly, trying to obscure his mum’s line of sight. You brush yourself off and head for the house, hoping Mrs. Weasley didn’t see anything.

“Fred Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley says shrilly, and you all cringe. You hold your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Fred, did I just see you toss Y/n to the ground? That’s no way to treat a guest, especially when you’re meant to be doing housework!” You sigh deeply, relieved. “Come in, dearie, I swear, sometimes I don’t know who raised those two!” she says, putting an arm around you to guide you in the house.

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Three: Beauty

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ description of male masturbation, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of childhood trauma as well as legal battle of custody over a child.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Maxwell had to stifle back laughter from your comment. A hero? There wasn't a chance he was a hero. You didn't know what he had done. How he'd almost destroyed the entire planet without even realising. The guilt was eating him alive, it was all he could think about at any given second of silence. How could he have let himself become so power corrupt— to the extent he'd forgotten what really mattered? Alistair might have forgiven him, but there wasn't a chance the rest of the world would. It had only been a day and Maxwell didn't know how he could possibly live with himself.

"I need help." you announced, breaking the silence. Maxwell looked at you momentarily in curiosity but then looked away, sighing with discontentment.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want my help." Maxwell told you with a frown. You admired the deep shade of brown that was his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, they were hypnotic.

"You're the only person I know," you explained to the businessman sheepishly. "You and Alistair. And Raquel too, who is lovely, but I sense that she doesn't like me very much," Maxwell raised an eyebrow. You had wandered into Black Gold Cooperative wearing a crazy brown tunic, and you were covered in mud saying words like Themyscira, Hestia, hearth… jargon that not even Maxwell could understand. It didn't surprise him one bit if Raquel was a little put off by you. Until he learned the truth, he was borderline about to call you crazy and run ten mile. He believed you now. He had no reason not to. "I'm looking for someone." you told the man as you nervously bit your lower lip.

"Yeah, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to help you look for him, if that's what you're suggesting," Maxwell hummed. He wanted to get out of here. It wasn't your fault— you weren't doing anything wrong, but since seeing the lasso and remembering what had happened in the bunker just a day ago… a mixture of guilt, anger and hurt consumed him. "I have to go." Maxwell gasped feeling the desperate urge to get some air.

Of course, you chased after him. "I shouldn't really need any help finding him, I shouldn't really ask anyone for help either…" you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers as you shimmied through the revolving doors that led out of his office. "As the goddess of home and hearth, it would be my duty to see the man, and his child, myself."

"So you're looking for a man and his kid?" Maxwell asked, relishing the feeling of relief washing over him as the cool air hit his skin. He wasn't a smoker, he hadn't been since before he moved to the U.S., but in this moment of pure stress and anxiety, he had never craved a cigarette more. He turned to you for comfort. "I'm afraid ‘the world of man’ is full of those."

"That's what I was afraid of," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "There's not a single man on Themyscira, we are all children of Zeus, sculpted in his image only,"

Every time you mentioned your homeland of Themyscira, or one of the Olympian Gods, Maxwell's curiosity piqued greatly. He had so many questions— so much he wanted to learn about you. He wondered if you'd even give him the time of day to answer them.

The delay in a response from Maxwell prompted you to speak up again. “As I was saying… I don't know anyone in D.C., I don’t have a place to stay… so I was wondering...”

Maxwell’s head snapped to face you, his eyes going comically wide. “I don’t know.” he said quickly and almost defensively. Yes your beauty was unimaginable and he had so much he wanted to ask you, but was now really the right time? What would happen once you learned about the terrible things he had done, how he was an awful father? And why did he care so much about what you thought of him when you were merely just a stranger? You looked down at your feet, your toes beginning to feel fuzzy as the evening grew colder. He couldn’t just let you stay out on the street, alone. Without any further prompting for you, he pulled out his car keys and tilted his head in gesture for you to follow him. Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat as you waited outside. “Are you coming or not?” Maxwell huffed.

“What is this?” you asked after sliding into the passenger's seat. You were completely awe inspired by your surroundings.

“It’s a car,” Maxwell said hesitantly. “Wait, let me guess. You don’t have cars on Themascream, you have unicorns.”

“It’s Themyscira,” you corrected again, feeling only mildly irritated and wondering if he was deliberately just being that obnoxious. “And no, don’t be silly, unicorns don’t exist. We ride horses.” you sighed, shaking your head. Maxwell almost had to stifle back an incredulous laugh. Everything he once believed to be mythological was turning out to be true, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you had a license in Pegasus flight.

As he turned on the engine and began to reverse out of his parking space, you gasped, clutching onto the gear stick. The same gear stick that Maxwell was holding as he pushed the car into reverse. Your hand grazed his, and the skin on skin contact practically took Maxwell’s breath away. You grabbed onto his hand in fear as the car moved, and you stared out of the window. Of course, this was your first time in a car. Maxwell’s eyes flicked between the road, the frightened delight on your face and the way your soft hand enveloped his. He wanted to curse at the feeling of your touch and how it went straight to his manhood - this was the second time you had him feeling things he shouldn’t. Was there something in the air? It’s not like he wasn’t that touch starved. He shouldn’t have been reacting to you like this, but he was, and he didn’t know why. Swallowing the lump in his throat he gently removed his hand from yours and placed it back on the wheel. He wondered if the sexual tension was one side, if only he could feel it. He saw the innocence in your pretty eyes. You were just an oblivious girl trapped in a new world, seeking guidance from Maxwell, out of all people.

“Is this car… dangerous?” You asked nervously, the palm of your hand resting against the window.

“Not as dangerous as a horse,” Maxwell chuckled, taking his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I once knew a girl back home who fell off a horse and broke her leg. Couldn’t walk for a month. But, she deserved it.”

You gasped in horror at his statement, your eyes widening as your lips parted into a perfect ‘O’ shape. “How could she deserve it?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She wasn’t a nice person,” you watched as Maxwell’s face hardened at the memory.

You frowned but chose not to question him further. “So, you aren’t from here?”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” Maxwell asked, feeling a well of familiar anxiety.

“You said ‘back home’.” You acknowledged and Maxwell’s grip on the steering wheel tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. You were certainly right about that. You’d caught him out.

“Yeah uh, that’s just something we say over here. In the ‘world of man’.” Maxwell muttered, hoping you wouldn’t question him further. And thankfully, you didn’t.

“I think there’s a lot you can teach me about the world of man,” you smile pleasantly at the businessman who is doing his utmost to keep his concentration on the road ahead, rather than getting lost in your divine beauty. “Mr Lord?” You asked when he didn’t reply.

“You- you don’t have to call me Mr Lord,” Maxwell said awkwardly, turning at a junction.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” you quizzed.

“My name is Max Lord.” he was a little taken aback upon realising he hadn’t yet introduced himself to you. He’d just made the assumption you already knew exactly who he was, just like the rest of the world did. He’d come to think that maybe that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well then who is Mr?” “I’m Mr,” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. “Mr Max Lord.” “Why does Raquel call you Mr Lord?” you quizzed further, and Maxwell could feel an onsetting migraine. He actually hated talking about himself.

“She- because- I-” Maxwell stammered out, before shaking his head profusely. “Doesn’t matter okay? Just call me Max.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being annoying.” You admitted timidly after another silence.

Max sighed. “You’re not annoying. Look, we’re almost home.”

The final five minutes of the journey were sat in complete silence. You spent most of the time looking out the window, trying to find clues and wondering how you were planning to find Lorenzano. There must be a way. You contemplated asking Maxwell for help, but you knew, as the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of home and hearth, it was your duty to find him and help him yourself. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. Of course, it was hard to ignore your mother’s word’s before you left Themyscira, regarding Romulus and Dolos. The God of Lies. You looked over at Maxwell who was staring dead ahead. You wondered if you could poke his brain about that… or even about the two dreamstones. Might he know something?

While you were thinking about your objective, Maxwell simply couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashamed to admit it, but his cock was still semi hard and it was becoming difficult to ignore when he couldn’t help glancing at your reflection in the rear view mirror. He’d known you for barely an hour and he could already feel himself growing attached. Maybe it was the glitter in your eye or the way you spoke every word like it was your last. You had such joy and passion in your soul. Maxwell didn’t have any of that. All he had was his deep, dark secret as well as the anxiety and guilt which was eating him alive. There was something so perfect about you. Maxwell had sworn that nobody could be perfect, but he had also sworn that places like Themyscira, magical lassos and Gods and Goddesses weren’t real. He could be wrong about one more thing.

You followed Max as he slipped out of the car, and you found yourself absolutely astonished by his large D.C. home. Like everything else you had seen so far, it was beautiful. It seemed extensive in size, especially for just one man and possibly Alistair, but you refrained from making a comment. The exterior of the house was framed with beautiful greenery, tall trees, blooming bushes, and flowers that you only assumed could be native to the world of man. You knelt by a bush, admiring a red flower, as Maxwell fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“What is this?” You asked, unpicking the flower from the bush.

“Be careful.” Maxwell gasped, his eyes widening when you hissed and saw blood trickle slowly down your finger. “It’s a rose, and they have thorns and if they prick you it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. Are you okay?” He grabbed your hand and pulled it to his face. You swiped your thumb over the wound, cutting off the bloodstream and healing yourself within seconds.

“I’m okay.” you confirmed, pulling your hand away from Maxwell’s. His vision crossed you in bewilderment.

“How did you?” He stammered, rubbing his eyes. “You just-”

When Maxwell saw you shiver from the cold, he ushered you inside his home and shut the front door behind him. He walked behind you, taking in your every step as you looked around his home. You admired all the little things, like the oil paintings that were hung upon the cream coloured walls and the ornaments scattered around on every surface. He supposed he could tell you to make yourself at home, but as you bent over and let your fingers grace the softness of the living room carpet, he figured maybe you already had. You stood up again, taking a deep breath before turning to face Maxwell.

“Us Amazons aren’t like humans,” you began, your eyes still scattering around his spacious living room. The sofa, although not as big as the one in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative, was still extensive in size and made from the same plush velvet, this time in a coppery colour. It seemed he had a television too, which just so happened to be the biggest one you had seen yet. He had so much stuff, but his home was so big it still felt kind of empty. You found the mismatched patterns and colours endearing and you wondered if he had decorated himself.

“I’ll say,” Maxwell mumbled, walking over to the mini bar in the corner of the living room and pouring out a glass of whiskey. “Can I get you anything?” Max offered.

“No thank you,” you hummed, looking at all the paintings on the walls. “We’re immortal.”

“Immor- so you mean, you can’t die?” Maxwell looked at you dumbfounded.

“Immortal not invincible,” you laughed, and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed, this was all extremely new to him, and yet, he didn’t want you to think any less of him. He wanted you to believe he was smart and knowledgeable. “We don’t age. We’ve lived on Themyscira for centuries. We have enhanced strength, coordination, agility, stamina…” Max listened intently as you educated him about your kind. “If the injury isn’t too bad… I can heal.” you explained nonchalantly but then frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glass of whiskey down on the grand piano and walking over to you.

“My powers aren’t as refined as the other Amazonians,” you said weakly. You had been so used to being made feel inadequate by the warriors around you. They'd judge you and call you for being the goddess of home and hearth— telling you your powers were pointless and would never lead to greatness. Maybe not their greatness, but you had truly found your calling and maybe this time, just for once, things could be different. With a sudden bolt of confidence, you felt Maxwell take your hands. You looked up at him with a doe-eyed expression. "Are you judging me?" you couldn't help but ask him. It wouldn't surprise you. Everyone else judged you.

"No," Maxwell replied almost breathlessly. He was too lost in your eyes, too enamoured with every word you spoke. "I think you're… sensational."

And with that, your lips curved into a small smile. He was so entranced by your beauty. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to lean in and kiss you. He tried to shake away the feeling, like it wasn't all he'd imagined since the moment he laid his eyes on you. It was wrong of him. Besides you had only just met, and once again, he was swarmed with guilt. If you found out about what he'd done, you'd want nothing to do with him— nobody would— he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time before even Alistair walked out for him. Alistair. That's when Maxwell remembered the letter Theodore had given him, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet.

"Zeus brought me to D.C, he will bring me to the man from my dreams. And with the lasso of Hestia to aid me, it shouldn't take me long at all," you told Max. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Maxwell wanted to tell you to stay. He didn't want you to hurry. He'd come incredibly lonely over the years and he was really beginning to value your company.

"Zeus is your father… right?" Maxwell asked, trying to recall the way you spoke about him earlier.

"Yes."

"What's he like?" Maxwell prodded further with genuine furiosity.

"Oh, I've never met him," you replied, rubbing your eyes.

So he's a deadbeat— Maxwell thought. Max knew exactly how that felt. "But he's king of the Olympian Gods, the ruler of the skies. He crafted us all in his own image and gave us a purpose."

"And your purpose is to find this man?" Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

You nodded in affirmation. "It may seem simple and unimportant, but I assure you, it isn't. This man is special. He's unlike any other man and Zeus will bring me to him for a reason. Before I left, my mother Hestia told me of two Gods, Romulus and Dolos… they were the God of Lies,"

Maxwell's eyes widened. He had heard of them, very little, but he'd heard their names through researching the dreamstone. "They were deceiving and created a darkness amongst the world. They harnessed the power of wish-granting and were responsible for death and destruction… the world of man had to be rebuilt from scratch." you explained, a horrified look on your face as you recalled the events that your mother, Hestia had educated on.

For Maxwell, this was hitting far too hard. Things weren't adding up but he did deem it to be more than a mere coincidence that you had shown up just a day after the world had gone to hell. He didn't understand— he couldn't fathom the connection he had to you, or that laying on his sofa was a beautiful Amazonian goddess. He hoped that he could figure it out soon enough, but for now, he had his own troubles. He has to focus on fixing things with Alistair.

"I'm tired," you announced with a yawn, breaking Maxwell out of his thoughts. You raised your hand and cupped Maxwell's cheek, mirroring his own actions to you back at the office. "Your home is beautiful." you whispered lovingly.

You found the crinkles in the corner of his eyes so handsome, and you even pondered if the perfect curve in his nose had been sculpted by Zeus too. He wasn't like the Themysciran depictions of 'man', he was worn and slightly miserable, but there was no denying the connection you felt to him. For a second, you wondered if he was your reason. If he was your purpose. You'd grown so attached to him in just a matter of hours, you'd even grown attached to Alistair without even realising. Alistair was the first person you had met upon waking up in the world of man. But there was no way, you were looking for Lorenzano. Lorenzano…

You slipped your hand away from Max and sat on the soft couch, relishing the same feeling you loved so much back in the office. You took off your tiara, placing it on the coffee table, and unbuckled your sandals. You went to remove your tunic and skirt, but were cut off by a yelp from Max as he diverted his eyes.

"What- what are you doing?" Maxwell gasped, looking away.

"I'm undressing," you replied simply. "Amazonian clothes are so uncomfortable to sleep in."

"I- I'm sure," Maxwell nodded his head, feeling himself become flustered. "But uh- you can't just- I mean, I don't know what it's like in the Themy place-"

"Themyscira." you deadpanned.

"-Right, well I just think. You know. Maybe don't get naked, right now. Not yet anyway," Maxwell wanted to curse out loud. Not yet anyway? What was he saying? "Let me find something for you to sleep in okay? Something comfortable."

"You don't sleep naked?" you asked, tilting your head and readjusting your skirt so you were covered up again. Maxwell turned back to you.

"I- I do, sometimes." Shit, Max was definitely blushing.

"So why can't I sleep naked?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"I just… don't want you to be uncomfortable." Max trailed off.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" you questioned further.

No, it didn't, but the thought of you laying naked on his couch went straight to his cock. "Let me get you a shirt." he said, avoiding your question.

While he was gone, you turned to the small side table to the left of the sofa. There, in a small frame, was a man who, although younger, was very clearly Max. He was sitting in a chair, smiling holding a newborn baby in his arms. You picked up the photo and analysed it, admiring every part. You guessed the baby was Alistair. It was hard to see the child's face, being that the photograph had aged and was slightly blurry. It dated ’1978 in the corner. Six years ago. That would make Alistair only six years old.

Maxwell was back in no time with a folded pinstripe button down. You took it and muttered a thank you before going to undress yourself again. Seeing this, Maxwell turned back around and figured he could grab you some soft blankets from the guest bedroom. When he returned, you were already sleeping peacefully on the sofa, wearing his shirt.

Maxwell thought he could've spent hours just watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. He watched as the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, he admired your little snores and the way you stirred slightly now and again. He'd never been so entranced with anyone in his entire life. Not even Julianna.

And shit— he was still semi-hard. He was going to shower, he'd decided. He'd shower away all these feelings, all this anxiety and he was going to be okay. He'd wash his hair, brush his teeth— he'd make an effort. He couldn't keep sulking around. He had to try for his son.

Maxwell gasped as he stepped in the shower. His hunched up shoulders became relaxed and he was able to unclench his fists as he let the hot water envelop his body. His eyes fluttered closed as the image of you scattered his thoughts. He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Just knowing you were laying on his sofa in one of his dress shirts stirred something primal within him. He dropped his hand down to his cock and began to jerk himself off, his fingers rubbing against the small slit in his tip as he wiped the precum down his length. The hot water felt so good, and Max had forgotten to open a window so the steam from the shower made the air foggy and moist.

He dragged his fist down his throbbing length, his movements becoming fast and erratic as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to hold out moans. He couldn't let you hear. He couldn't let you know. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd always had his assistants at his beck and call, he never needed to relieve himself in the shower since his and Julianna's marriage broke down.

You consumed his every thought. He imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, he imagined you giving him sweet kitten licks as you massaged his balls. He imagined you gagging around him as you took his long, thick length to the back of your throat. He imagined fucking your mouth. The thought of him being able to get a literal goddess to choke and whimper really urged his power complex enough to throw him over the edge. In only a matter of minutes, Maxwell spilled his milky white seed over the tiled bathroom walls, gasping your name as he came.

And when it was over, he felt a familiar remorse. A familiar guilt. He knew he did not deserve you.

Maxwell had to force himself to get washed, using his apple scented shampoo and even conditioning his hair. He was satisfied with his minty fresh breath as he walked into his bedroom in only a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Since it was approaching night, and fast, he picked out a pair of light grey sweats and a wooly sweater before combing through his unnatural dark blonde hair which just so happened to be naturally wavy.

He sighed, padding into the kitchen quietly being careful not to wake you. He knew what he had to do next, what he'd been putting off since he received the damn letter. The envelope was staring at him on the cabinet. He picked it up, an anger engulfing him as he read the name ‘Maxwell Lorenzano’ on the paper. He ripped it open furiously and opened up the letter.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano

I, Theodore Thomas IV, attorney of Miss Julianna Grey, present you with a civil lawsuit case regarding full custody of Alistair Lorenzano in favour of my client, Miss Grey.

-—- please see proceedings below -—-

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano's divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

-—- proceedings concurred -—-

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Sincerely,

Ted

Maxwell screamed as his face turned bright red with astonishing rage. He crumpled up the letter into a ball, throwing across the kitchen. Tears fell from his eyes in complete and utter disbelief. No, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to Maxwell. He'd rather die than not be able to see Alistair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces.

It was ridiculous and down right unfair. Max began to laugh manic as he swept the plates and glasses that were standing by the sink into the floor. He'd forgotten about you, sleeping in the other room. He didn't care. He was done being considerate.

Maxwell had made a lot of mistakes in his life— a lot, but he loved Alistair so much and Alistair loved him. He couldn't let Julianna and her stupid lawyer boyfriend rip him away from his son. If that happened, he'd be no better than his own father. Maxwell let out another scream of frustration, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white. This was nobody's fault but his own. He was too much like his own dad— too much like his own fucking deadbeat, abusive dad. Max had tried his whole life to make Alistair proud, to be different, a good different. But he wasn't a Lord, he was a Lorenzano, and maybe blood was thicker than water. He was nothing but a low life conman who had almost singlehandedly destroyed the entire world and now, he was about to lose his son.

How was he ever going to win this case? Julianna literally had one of the best family lawyers in the state on her side, and Maxwell wasn't even sure if he could afford a lawyer given the circumstances. What he had failed to think about, was the fact he had a literal goddess sleeping on his sofa. A goddess who’s purpose was to reconcile families.

A shatter of broken glass awoke you from your nap. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, lifting up onto your elbows before hearing a thud and a crash. Alerted, your eyes snapped open and you swung your body out of the big warm bed, bolting into the kitchen where you had heard the noise. Fragments of a broken vase were scattered over the tile floor, soil spilled everywhere and some daffodils that looked like they had been dead for at least a month already. The sound of gushing water drew your attention to Maxwell, who was standing at the sink. Stepping over the broken glass, you padded over to him and placed a hand into the small of his back. He jumped slightly at your touch. You peered over his shoulder and saw a really deep cut in his hand, blood dripping into the sink. Not even the water coming from the faucet was enough to wash it away. It trickled down his arm and you looked up at him, noticing he was pale in colour.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, your voice smaller than it intended to be. Your gaze trailed along the kitchen surface tops until you spotted a roll of kitchen paper. Taking plenty, you ripped it and gently wrapped your fingers around Max’s wrist, maneuvering his still bleeding hand away from the sink. A few drops of blood fell to the tiled floor, but you quickly wrapped the paper around his wound and applied pressure. “That looks really deep.” you hummed, looking up at your friend with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Maxwell mumbled, watching you intently as you cared for his injury. It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked out for him the way you did, and you’d only known him for a few hours. Your soft was gentle, he even noticed the way you subconsciously began to rub comforting circles into his skin, like it was just natural for you.

You frowned, slowly lifting up the soaked tissue paper and discarding it in the waste bin. The bleeding had settled down, but it still looked incredibly sore. Dampening another paper towel, you tried to clean around the edges of his cut. He hissed in pain as your finger accidentally grazed over the wound and you shot him an apologetic look. Maxwell was like putty in your hands. He let you do whatever you needed to - and he absolutely wasn’t like that with anyone else. “You might need stitches,” you sighed, taking a closer look. “If only we were on Themyscira, I have a friend who could heal you in a matter of seconds.” Themyscira - there it was again, the mystical place Maxwell had never even heard of. “What happened?” you asked eventually, your gaze meeting Maxwell’s.

“Uhm-” his eyes flicked around the room, searching for something that would fuel the white lie. "Was changing the flowers and dropped the vase."

His lie didn't account for the broken glasses and plates that were also on the floor. You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing he wasn't being entirely truthful to you. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay with you right now. He had to go see Alistair. "I- I gotta go." Maxwell said quickly before bolting out the house.

He left you standing alone in the kitchen amongst all the mess. As you began to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, you noticed the scrumpled up ball of paper in the corner. Picking it up, you slowly unravelled it in hope it would give you a clue regarding Maxwell's behaviour.

Your heart practically sank when you read the first three words.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano,

Lorenzano. He was Lorenzano.

-----

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