#killer frost x you

[frosty-the-killer-doll]

ik i critique and nitpick a lot but i do genuinely believe so much of the arrowverse is good. some bits are perfect, even. i think one of the big issues of having a tv universe as big and as generally low-budget as the arrowverse is that it's going to be inconsistent by nature, just from the sheer amount of people behind it. but that doesn't mean we're being unreasonable to expect a certain degree of understanding for a character's core traits, what makes a dynamic work, the development throughout the seasons and the real theme of the over-aching story. some people will have respect for the story they're trying to tell, and some people won't even be trying to tell the same story, so that's where the disconnect comes from, i think. but it's also just common courtesy to expect that the ones getting paid to tell a story know what the story is about, y'know?

[ageless-aislynn]

Hi kinda of new to the Snowells Fandom any good sad snowells stories with great plot twists?

Hello and welcome! It's always so great to see new people joining our small but mighty part of the fandom! 🤗

Now, the first thing to consider is what "flavor" you might be looking for in your Snowells: only Eobard/Caitlin or including any of the Wells doppelgangers and Caitlin or Frost or any of the other Earth variations and can Matt Letscher's Eobard end up sneaking in under that umbrella term as well, lol.

But then I realized I'm kinda drawing a blank on sad Snowells stories of any sort. 😬 I know I've read a few but my brain's doing the old dial-up modem noise screech when it comes to titles and/or authors. That said, let me summon in the troops, lol!

@snowellsweek is a good place to start where a lot of fics have been collected over all of the years. For my fellow Snowells fans, do you know of any fics that fit the bill? Please feel free to rec yourself or someone else! Let's share the love and a box of tissues!

@missoliverstark @helplessdreamersworld @thaddeusthawne @vampcoffeegyrl23 @latetotheparty-again @snowells1234 @tomskonna @stewolf7 @keep-it-i-resign @fandomdancer

If I missed somebody, apologies, my brain is not quite yet over being sick. 😬 That said, please consider it a tag from me if you see this whether you're a mutual or not and would like to add a rec to it! *boops your nose politely*

Of my own fics, I have only 2 of the, like, 150+ Flash fics I've done 😳😉 that are actually sad. Both have a major character death warning to them, which is why I have them tagged mature but there's no graphic content:

"Dark/Light" (Caitlin/Harry)

"Cold" (Eobard/Frost)

Those are pretty short. For something that has sad elements to it as well as a few plot twists:

"The Thousandth and the First" (Caitlin/Eobard) (NSFW, does have graphic content, but also available as a PG13 edit part 1 and PG13 edit part 2)

I hope that helps a bit! Again, welcome and thanks for writing! 😎👍

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

 There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

[its-rach-writes]

Cinnamon and Art Galleries - Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your friend, Emily brings a cute stranger to your art exhibition.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, probably ooc Spencer

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this! This was my first time writing for Spencer so he's probably out of character but please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

You smiled as you drew the cat in the hot chocolate foam and handed it to the little girl on the other side of the counter with her mom. It melted your heart when her face lit up and she waved at you as her mom steered her out of the café. It was slow in your café today but you didn’t mind, you used the time to set up for the beginner art class you were going to be teaching on Saturday.

“Hey girl,” you glanced up when the bell rang and your friend Emily walked in.

You smiled when you saw her and gave her a wave. She was the first friend you had made when you moved to DC.

“Hey,” you smiled, “having the usual?”

“Please,” she grinned.

You got to work, making her one black coffee, the other was a milky coffee with a shot of cinnamon syrup. You knew that Emily drank the black coffee so you couldn’t help but wonder who the overly sweet coffee was for. You carefully selected the cinnamon roll with the most frosting and slid it into a bag, being careful to not let it stick to the paper bag.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Emily started and you scoffed with a laugh.

As soon as you found out your art was going to be featured in an exhibition, Emily was the first person you told, “the team are coming to see it.”

You raised an eyebrow, secretly you were grateful, “FBI Agents don’t have anything better to do?”

She laughed, “not tonight, I even managed to talk the good Dr into coming.”

“The elusive Spencer Reid?” you rested your hip against the counter as you handed her the coffees, “how did you manage that?” from what Emily had told you, it didn’t seem like Spencer Reid liked social situations.

“I’ve got killer interrogation skills,” she smirked, “he’s cute too.”

You internally groaned, yours and Emily’s definition of ‘cute’ were very different, for all you knew Spencer Reid was an aging Professor, “as long as you don’t try and set us up, like you tried with me and Morgan.”

“No promises,” she laughed as she backed out of the café, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Later that night, you were sipping champagne as people perused your exhibition, your paintings were both inspired by Pre-Raphaelite art and the King Arthur legends. You noticed a man was standing at your painting of the Knights of the Round Table, so you walked over and decided to strike up a conversation.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” his lips twitched into a small smile as he looked down at you with gorgeous deep brown eyes, “you’re the artist right?” when you nodded, he looked back at the painting, “you’re really good.”

“Thanks, I love Pre-Raphaelite art.”

“Did you know that the Pre-Raphaelites were a secret society of young artists, founded in London in 1848? They were opposed to the Royal Academy’s promotion of the ideal as exemplified in the work of Raphael,” he blurted this out like he’d memorised it from a textbook and you worked hard to conceal a laugh.

“I did know that,” you giggled.

“Right of course,” he flushed, “of course you knew that.”

Something struck a memory, something that Emily had told you, “wait, are you Spencer Reid?” he looked at you with slightly wary eyes before nodding and you smiled, “I’m Y/N, Emily has told me so much about you.”

“It’s all lies,” he joked and glanced over his shoulder, “she’s making the most of the bar right now.”

You laughed as you looked over too and she waved, lifting up a glass in a motion of cheers. When she had said Spencer was cute, it was an understatement, he was young and gorgeous.

“Are you interested in art?” you asked as you sipped your champagne.

Spencer nodded, “I like looking at it, I’m afraid I’m not very artistic.”

“And here, we thought you were perfect,” you heard a chuckle from over your shoulder and you turned to see Derek Morgan and the rest of the BAU, Morgan pulled you into a hug, “congratulations sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as you pulled away and looked at the others, “thank you for coming.”

It was a great night and you were grateful for everyone that came but soon, you were starting to get overwhelmed so you went out onto the balcony for a cigarette. Though it seemed as though someone else had beaten you to it. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder and smiled at you.

“Hey, you want some company?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

There was comfortable silence for a while as both of you looked over at the lights of DC, your cigarette smoke curling in the air. Soon enough, Spencer spoke up.

“So what do you do? Is art your full time thing?”

“I own the café by the library, but I’m integrating art into the café, I’m teaching a beginner class at the weekend from there.”

“No way! Seriously?” he smiled, looking animated, “your coffee is so good and your cinnamon rolls? Amazing.”

You laughed, “Emily gets the cinnamon roll with the most frosting for you?”

“Yeah,” he flushed, he opened his mouth to say something else when he was interrupted by Aaron Hotchner.

“Reid, we just got called in,” he glanced at you, an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, it’s okay,” you smiled when Spencer pushed himself off the railing, “it was really nice to meet you Spencer.”

He flushed and offered you a shy smile, “it was nice to meet you too, I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded and Emily pulled you into a tight hug, whispering in your ear, “I’ll make sure he sees you soon,” you laughed, shaking your head as she pulled away.

On Saturday, you were setting up for the art class when you heard the tinkle of the bell and you glanced up. None other than Spencer Reid was standing in the open doorway, the sun like a halo around his head.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

to leave the blood stay in the veins

monster!könig x f!rcursed!reader (no use of 'y/n') 6.6k words NSFW!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️CW: extremely NSFW, descriptions of gore, implied consumption of human flesh by a non-human monster, mention of necrotic curse, monsterfucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting (no omegaverse), outdoor sex, ambiguous ending, pre-established relationship, 0% proofread, könig and reader are both fucking unhinged.

Day 01 of the Haunted Hoedown Challenge by @/inklore

taboo au (monsterfucking) + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." + oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind.

It’s a strange town in the foothills of the Austrian Alps, full of little sicknesses hiding in the corners, and you learned them well when you moved here. No one goes past the treeline at night. Hardly anyone is outside of home if they can help it. Tourists are the beast’s fodder.

Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny. 

König, under his ever-present hood–a not altogether uncommon sight in your town, people come here when they have something to hide, something they are uncomfortable with or find hideous in themselves, and he has given an unimaginable amount for you out of love–laughs, sharp in the tooth.

“Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes. 

“That’s coldblooded, but not wrong,” you tell him, from behind your own mask. Plain thing, blank in expression, modeled from the one from Eyes Without A Face. It covers the ravages of a curse, numb necrosis slowly spreading up your face through the years. “I still want you to get me a gun.”

“What’s a gun going to do against a thing like that?” he asks, tilting his head, the hood bagging off the curled horns that start at his temples and sweep back over his ears. “Something like that, you need silver. I’ll get you a knife. Big one. Nice and fucking sharp, Schatzi.”

The knife isn’t a comfort when the beast begins to hunt in town. It stalks from house to house, preying on people in their beds, their living rooms, their bathtubs–there is no rhyme or reason, not a whit of discernable pattern. 

Only teeth-gouged bones and viscera ground into wall, tile, and carpet alike. Your neighbor falls victim, and you watch the police from your window, flinching when a veteran officer stumbles out into the fall-frosted grass to vomit, sobbing and pulling his hair.

“It got Emil,” you say, still watching through your sheer curtains. 

König nearly cackles from your bed, lounging as he visits. “Good. Emil was a piece of shit. Depperte Fut.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, over your shoulder, before returning back to the circus in the yard next door. “‘Stupid cunt’ is a pretty strong insult. He was an asshole, but I don’t think he deserved to die like that,” you mumble.

“You don’t know all that much about your neighbors, Schatzi.”

You begin to rock side-to-side on your hips, the enormous silver blade König gifted you turning over and over in your hands, the point digging lightly into your palm. 

It’s insane, the way you begin to tell yourself that you’ve seen König’s face nearly everyday for the last two years—you can see it right now. He lies on your bed, pointed teeth gleaming under his split philtrum in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp and the red-blue flash of the cruisers. You know there is a man under the hood, however odd and satyr-seeming.

And yet. And yet.

The blade digs a little too deep, drawing a curse-blackened bead of blood. König’s eyes burn into the back of your neck, and you can only guess his horizontal pupils dilate into black holes. 

Just quit your job. I’ll take care of you.

It’s a simple enough promise, and one you know König will keep, but not one you’re willing to make. You have few shreds of independence, hard-bought through years of fighting back against misfortunes and setbacks, and, no matter the depths with which you love him, you’re not willing to trade your shit wage on faith for love of a man. It doesn’t matter how helplessly besotted he is. 

It’s this molar-cracking grit that delivers you right to the beast. Because you were forced to pick up an extra half shift at the hotel to fold towels behind the front desk, because you needed the money, because you wanted to pay back your beautiful, bloodthirsty boyfriend for the ridiculous blade he begat you. 

The god forsaken thing lumbers down a deserted street, blocks from your little rental, and something fucking horrendous seizes you. It’s enormous, walking on cloven hooves and back-bent legs. Its arms are too fucking long, clawed, jagged. And worst is the skull, bleached white and glowing like a beacon in the dark, an enormous rack of brutally sharp horns dripping trinkets of bone and gold that glints in the street lamp it approaches. 

A horrible fact hits you. It’s not lumbering, it’s wandering. Putting a massive, craggy hand on fences and peering into houses, taking its time, evaluating. You swear you can almost hear it humming. 

You don’t know when your hand found the handle of the silver blade strapped to your belt under your coat, but the leather on the grip bites your palm with the force of your grip, a nauseous, cold sweat terror tearing apart your ability to think. 

It’s a primal fear, one that makes you want to protect your soft, vulnerable neck, even if the blood that warms it runs venomous. 

It’s a bad choice, but there are no good ones. When the beast lifts its head and scents the air, skull snapping your direction and shaking its grisly trophies, you run. You snap the huge blade off your hip and drop into a dead sprint, cutting between yards, trying to escape the horrendous bellow that reverberates through the bony chambers of the monster’s skull.

Choosing to run instead of freezing maybe bought you a few extra minutes before death decided it was time to seize your pulse in reclamation, and it hurts. The physical exertion it takes to bomb through the last stretches of suburbia before the forest closes in feels like you are breaking every bit of your body by forced choice, listening to that awful fucking thing chase after you. 

Your blade makes a slicing sound cutting through the air at your side, the monster’s hooves pound the dirt as it digs in and chases after you, but, good god, it doesn’t sound like it’s even trying.

You don’t dare look back, pushing your body past agony, your lungs shredding in your chest. You’ve never moved this fast, you’ve never run this hard for this long. Your body is TV static—hissing, popping, distant—and, insanely, the urge to cry drills into your eye sockets.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to fucking die, stupidly and dumbly and pointlessly, because you wanted to pay your boyfriend a stupid sum of fucking money, for a stupid fucking knife that he bought you on a stupid fucking joke. 

Two meters from the second worst decision of your life, the monster snaps out, rough hand between your shoulder blades, crashing you into the goddamned dirt. Your eyebrow splits on a tree root, your eyes roll in the back of your head, your hand stays manically tight on the blade, slicing your other arm. 

“Schaaaatzi,” the miserable fucking thing hisses, pressing that same hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you into the freezing dirt. 

Oh, god, no, it has König’s voice. It’s—it’s not him, but it has his voice, thin and washed out as low-hung fog, but you would know that voice. In hell, in high water, in the dirt with a massive, bark-rough hand grinding your skin raw through your coat—you - know - his - voice. 

Furiously, you slash the blade over your head, behind your back, screaming and digging your feet in the dirt. For a brief second, as you hack at the wood of the monster’s hand and wrist, you’re even able to push yourself off the ground by mere inches. The beast growls and shoves you back down twice as hard, knocking the wind out of you, spasming your hand open. The knife drops, and you begin to blindly try digging and dragging yourself away. 

“Stop…hurting…me,” the beast lows, still in your boyfriend’s voice, and you imagine a bathtub full of gnawed bones, a living room with scattered body parts, your kitchen smeared with blood like cave wall art, and you start to scream as loud as your lungs will allow, your mask filling with dirt in your horrendous and futile bid to escape. Bloody murder bellows, filled with rage, wanting to kill and consume and conflagrate.

If König is dead, you will take your pound of flesh. You will either die fighting, or win, and you will hack apart this freak-fuck’s corpse to burn in your woodstove to warm your home. You’ll mount its fucking skull on your front door, so anything else in these woods will know you won’t hesitate to make trophies of them either. 

Bone, warm to the touch, presses against the back of your head. When it breathes, the air is as hot as exhaust, almost scalding your back. “Schatzi,” it bids you slowly once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” it rips your throat raw to shriek it, reaching back and almost dislocating your arms to rip at anything you can. Your hands fall on the dressings attached to its horns, you tear off a vertebra, and a gold wedding band, and a bracelet of rave kandi in plastic beads. “IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL YOU FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The head presses harder, driving your face into the dirt. There is something desperate in the pressure. It spits all at once, grating and wide in a voice you know better than your own, “You pissed off a fucking witch, because you ran out of riddles to tell her, when she was ransoming you to your arshloch grandmother. She never paid. That’s why you were cursed—no one gave a fuck. But I gave her my face for you, to stop it halfway, better than fucking nothing.”

Your rage freezes immediately, your chest heaving under the weight it presses down on you. 

No one knows that. Only König. He’s the only person who would know about his lonely and quiet climb up to the Scottish highlands. Besides you, and the witch, König is the only one who would know why his human face was distorted, malformed, made animalistic. 

“Lee?” you pant, unleashing part of his first name, the only one he ever tolerates. And, fuck, instantly the pressure pulls away, the skull rubbing against your back to soothe it.

“It’s me, Schatzi,” the slow voice promises, nuzzling you. There’s rustling above you that you don’t dare turn to see. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

A tinkling piece of jewelry lowers in front of your eyes, and you can see that it dangles from an enormous, ligneous finger. You’re being shown a sterling silver charm bracelet. You’re being shown your bracelet, the one you thought you had lost months ago. 

Your hand shoots out, wrapping around the finger, the peeling bark shearing off under your grip. You find instantly that you can pull yourself up on your hip, sitting, caged and protected under the beast’s massive body—under König’s massive body. 

He shifts back onto his digitagrade haunches, holding himself over you, still offering your bracelet. He shudders at your touch on his hand, and you imagine that he may’ve never been handled with kindness in this shape. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Because he fucking kills and eats people.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, staring dead into the hollow sockets of his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, turning his head. “Why—you have me so fucked up—what have you been thinking—?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have to—”

“Yes, I have to, fucker.” It’s impossible to wrap your head around the magnitude of what a simple secret and a silver bracelet has done to your understanding of the world. A complete unraveling—upheaval, utterly. 

You take the bracelet from his finger, on which it fits like a ring, and push it into your wrist, sitting up on your knees and grabbing him by the underside of his jaw. Though it puts you in his blind spot, staring dead center at the sinus dimples between his eyes, it feels like you have a mote of power over him. 

(If he were asked, he would say the power you hold over him could corrupt, absolutely. He would badly like you to ask someday.)

“Why are you—what are you? Have you always been like this? Or was this new, with the fucking witch? Are—Jesus Christ—why are—the monster isn’t supposed to come into town, why are you in TOWN?” you run off at the mouth, words stalling and crashing and fusing together as your thoughts overwhelm just how quickly you can speak. 

And up from that impossibly deep throat–simultaneously from the center of your brain, and from all around you all at once–crawls König’s pitchy hyena-laugh, edged, always, with cruelty. He butts the jagged end of his nasal cavities into your stomach, catching on the threads of your sweater. 

“Leshy, Schatzi, say it for me.”

Your hands pull his jaw closer, digging the bone into your stomach, wondering if he can feel the pressure of your deep breathing. Oh, fuck, you could crack. This is your König. You start to wonder how many of his perverse buttons you can hit, the part of you that felt shame for your attraction to what the world discarded as ‘ugly’ long ago removed from your emotional bank.

“Leshy,” you say, really leaning into the word, saying it deep in your chest. One of your hands travels the long length to the hinge of his jaw, gripping tight, directing his head to turn so you can meet one of his empty eyes. “Answer my fucking questions.”

The laugh doesn’t come this time. In its place is a near-violent whole-body shudder that wracks through you. 

“Old! Alwaaays been this way,” and even in the strange disconnect of his voice from his physical form, you can tell his arousal is eating away at him in big bites–clipping his speech, broiling his brain with body heat, “can’t remember ever being young, haa-haa. And why do you think I’m hunting in town?”

Another trap, a stupid pop quiz, wanting to test your knowledge of him, or a gotcha! to check your observations and what you had missed.

Your hands get tighter, and you pull his jaw open, marveling at the sharp grooves ground into his teeth, like nightmarish, ivory rook pieces, tall and straight in the dry sockets. His chest begins to heave, his breath fogging into steaming clouds over your hands, and, remarkably, it smells like nothing at all apart from pin needles and snow.

You’d thought you’d smell decaying flesh or rotten blood. The only blood you can smell comes from your own busted brow and sliced arm, crusting black on your skin and in the fabric of your sweater as it coagulates.

“If I was working on a hunter’s instincts, I would say that Schladming has become too good at keeping people out of the forests. Even during daylight hours. It cuts down on prey,” you say, ice cold and clean as a slit throat. Your eyes flick back up to the socket, surrounded by the feeling that those glass-blue eyes of his humanoid form are drilling into you. He’s waiting for you to hit the hook. “But I’m working on your logic.”

“Oh, yeeaah,” he drawls, his hips shifting, and you feel as if he would bite his lips in anticipation now, if he could. 

“Oh, yeeaah,” you echo him, “the logic of a fucking crazy asshole.” He feels like a huge grin, hands on his muscular, bunched, and flexing thighs. That detail is not lost on you. “You’re hunting in town because you’re pissed off. You reached a limit, and you got tired of sitting on your fucking reaction.”

You swear to god he moans a little. Just softly. It could be a breath, but you know him too well to dismiss it out of hand. 

“That’s good, Schatzi. I like that. I like that you figured that out,” he says, definitely panting in rhythm now, his fogging breath giving away the rhythm secondary. “People are looking at you too much. I don’t fucking like it when they look at you too much.”

That’s a sudden thought that had not occurred to you, and you lash yourself silently because it hadn’t. König has always been possessive of you. Jealous. Protective. And he held grudges in ways that could spark blood feuds and successive generations of death.

Like a curse.

It’s a testament to how fucking cracked and perfectly matched the two of you are that you start laughing, stroking his orbital bones in big, pleased pats, kissing the bridge of his nose. 

“Schatzi, please,” he groans, pressing into you insistently. “Promise you won’t tell. Promise me.”

“Why the fuck would I tell?” you laugh, losing track of your faculties, your very sense. What does it matter? What does it all even mean? You’ve found a man that loves you so deeply and truly and twistedly that he slaughters those who desire or deign you. You’ve found, and fallen in love with a man that would sell his face to save as much of yours as he could. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

The slope of his shoulders relaxes, and he moves closer to you, once again shielding you with the massive bulk of his body, warming you in the cold air. Tucked under his chin, you can study the soft suede-like material of his body, how the bark covering his arms gives way to a ruff of dense, double-layered fur around his shoulders and his long, muscular neck. 

The rest of the muscle on him is horrendously hard, flexed like steel cabling under a layer of fat. There is something about this body that reminds you of the shape of the human one so well–long legs, a nipped waist, and flat hips built to strut and rock, all of it buttressing a broad set of shoulders.

You press your face into the ruff, pushing your fingers into it. Dear god, your hand goes deeper and deeper, and it just never seems to stop. His scent is–it’s almost familiar. He’s in there, somewhere–his musk, the metallic tang of blood seemingly sunken into his skin–but there’s so much more to it. Green, and earthy, almost like soil and moss. 

A sound comes from his body, like a house settling. A deep, broad creak. The trophies on his horns rattle together, clinking like dull wind chimes. “More,” he says simply, leaving you to figure it out. Simple enough.

Your hand drops from the ruff, tracing over his convex chest, down to his stomach. Another shudder, and he pulls those big arms around your entire body, a fuller, more protective hug than you’ve ever felt. 

“Schatzi–would you let me…” he breathes, a heaving sigh. 

Another laugh cracks out of you, hysterical, constricted by your mask. Why not? Why shouldn��t you? You’ve always been a woman that loves monsters. You, yourself, are one. You can’t find a reason to halt your hands, nor your body, nor his desire.

In an odd show of tip-to-tail, you push the mask off your face, and kick off your boots, going for your zipper. “Yeah. Yeah, honey, come on. Show me,” you urge him, pawing at his massive waist as you struggle out of your jeans. 

He groans and this obscene trill escapes his body–a low, rattling moan that travels miles through every cell of your body, his legs spreading wider. You laugh in delight and mania, watching rapt as his cock slides out of a sheath you hadn’t even caught sight of, his monstrous body a foreign land you hadn’t traveled yet, but, fuck, do you want to learn the lands well enough to call them home. 

It’s heavy in your hands, a little slick, and, childishly, you almost giggle (holy shit, that is a sound that has never left your mouth in your living memory, and yet, here you are). It’s hot, hotter than you expected, and a vulnerable shade of pale, like a plant slip. Oh, and it’s elegant, almost spiraling. He huffs as you stroke the length of it, pushing your fingertips into his sheath at the base. 

“I don’t think this is gonna fit,” you warn him, and it somehow feels as if you’re challenging yourself with the statement.

He takes it as a challenge for himself, though, and an aspiration to hold for you, “You are going to take all of it. I’m going to make sure.”

His massive hand comes to the back of your waist, finding your fulcrum without needing to search, pulling you off your knees to hold to beneath him. “You naked yet, or still fucking around?” he asks, breathing heavily, and you shove your jeans off the rest of the way. 

“You’re being a little bitch,” you snipe, a dumb swipe at reclaiming dignity after you realize you’re so wet that it slicks your thighs, having darkened the crotch of your freshly abandoned jeans pathetically. 

He throws another coarse laugh, haa-haa, shifting his massive body long, pulling you into place. 

It’s on you, then, to figure out the logistics. Somehow, it just works, even through layers of physical translation. Under your hands, he reads König, loud and clear. 

There’s a brief, flighty moment of terror as you rub the head of his cock between the lips of your cunt, rolling your hips to stimulate your clit against it. It is just fucking enormous, almost half again the size of his human cock. But then you grit your teeth, tipping your weight back so your shoulders rest against the dirt, bleak and unyielding ruthlessness seizing your mind.

You do not back down, you have never done it once in your life, and tonight is no different. 

His head lifts, bottom jaw dropping, and he bays as you push yourself down on his length. The sound crashes into you, rocking your entire body, and the stretch burns, but you buckle down. What are the people in the houses just at the edge of suburbia thinking? Has the fucking abberation that has been slowly killing its way through their number taken to a different form of punishment? Has someone unlucky fallen to its new tastes?

It cuts your mouth into a horrid grin. If they only knew that you were no victim at all, if only they had an inkling of the fact that you are a victor. That you are the hand holding this nightmare’s collar, and he attacks for the sake of you.

Inch by inch, a slow journey, he fills you, pressing completely against your walls, body shaking with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into you. Oh, what destruction that would result in, what a wreckage that would make of your body, what lengths he would go to not ruin you in such a fashion.

“Fuck–fuck–Liebes,” he mutters, just for you, the moment he is as deep in you as he can go, most of his length still outside of what your body can handle, pleading, “I can’t–I. I have to move. Please, meine Liebes.”

“Go. Go-go-go,” you answer back, almost frantic, too full and occupied, needing motion or you might split apart into atoms. The way he answers is instant, undeniable, desperate, rocking into you as if testing waters, going faster as if he finds them warm and welcoming. 

You lose yourselves to it, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your head, gripping onto the elbow of the arm suspending you, blood rushing to your head in an ache from the way you hang off him, forcing you lightheaded. Sap-like blood from where you’d hacked at him in rage drips down your arm, your waist, clinging to your skin in a way that feels permanent. 

He tenses all around you, panting, clouds of steam fogging the air over your head from his pants. Words escape him, leaving nothing but animalistic grunts, the grinding of his dry, exposed teeth as your desperate pussy sucks him deeper and tighter.

You’d taught him as a human to find your g-spot, to destroy your brain with a steady climb, and he doesn’t even need to search now, every movement pressing every inch of his cock into it, and unrelenting onslaught that makes you shake and nearly drool, being fucked like a sacrifice. 

König raps his other fist above your head and pulls out without warning, shaking his head and breathing roughly. 

You imagine brutally grabbing him by the scruff and biting his ear–what kind of punishment would that even be, no worse than a bug bite to him, more likely than anything else–for the loss of his cock. Mostly just an impulsive fantasy, too barbaric and stupid to actually act upon, but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, and it feels like hell to be split open against him with nothing inside you.

Breathless–and naked, sweating, and trembling in the woods–you start to sit up on your elbows, cunt throbbing. "What is it? Are you okay?" you ask, your love for him–your fear for him–overwhelming even your damnation-worthy starvation. 

König, massive and so dark he's almost indistinguishable from the night apart from his skull, shakes his head again and puts up a clawed hand. Fine, the gesture says, and you’re realizing he’s beyond words now, but trying his best to communicate. Then he curls it into a loose fist and pantomimes masturbating and finishing.

"Christ!" But you’re laughing, tugging at a tuft of fur on his chest, spun out in your giddiness. It’s still him, you’ve already known, but to see it. To find him through this–this utterly new reality. "They teach you that signal in the forces?"

In his hollow sockets, twisting his body to watch you closely, he looks pleased with himself, ducking forward, bracing on his free hand to one side of your head as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes deeply.

He huffs, rough fingers running over your back, claws trailing the parts of your spine he can reach as he holds you, before he taps the side of your thigh with his other hand. At your eye level, he turns his finger in a slow loop. Roll over, maybe? It's worth a shot.

"Okay. Alright," you sigh, relieved. When you try to roll in his palm, he shakes his head and sets you down, pressing down against your body, pushing his arm under your ribs. With his other hand, he gestures a flat line on the ground. You ask, "On my stomach?"

Two knocks against the ground next to your head. Yes.

You stretch out flat over the frost-crisp grass, too hot to even register the chill against your bare skin, and König lowers with you, sliding the arm under you down to your diaphragm. With his knuckles, he taps your outer-thighs until they're drawn back together, and your breathing hitches when you understand what he intends.

With his legs on the outside of yours, he uses his free hand to run his cock up the length of your seam to tease your pussy, but he takes his sweet time with it. Impatient, you slide onto your knees with near-perfect timing, driving your entrance against his head, snarling with indignation when he bows away. "Fucker!"

He rumbles something almost humanoid, between a laugh and a gruff, trilling ‘rrrr’ you recognize as cousin to a sharp, challenging hum he makes when faced with an idiot comment in his human shape.

"Stop teasing me. I can't stand it," you try instead, turning to give him big eyes over your shoulder because you know that it works well on him.

He bends down and barely-barely nips the top of your ear, a startling move that leaves you perfectly inflamed all over again again. Greedy brat, it says to you, so pleased in the fact he is so desperately wanted. 

The feeling of him inside you is extraordinary. He lubricates in this state, but you hardly need it with the nearly absurd way you’re wet, slick down your thighs. You wonder if your cunt is glimmering under the dim moon and streetlamps, because he'd said that to you once. Heilige sheiße, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, could just stare at how wet you get for me forever, he'd laughed during one delirious, marathon session of staying sunken between your legs.

He begins to rock his hips, growling quietly and pleased at the wet sounds of your of cunt squelching around him–another sound he enjoys, a marker of pride, how wet can I make my girl get–settling onto his forearm and pressing a little weight against your back. 

He rests his head across your shoulders, burying his snout in your hair, breathing in hard-bought bursts of restraint.

"Yes, honey," you almost seethe, loosening your body, giving up a little of your own iron will to become just a little lost in the feeling of him. You relax your walls in a bid to take more of him, breathing tight, voice pitching up into a plea, "Yes, baby, that's perfect. That's so perfect, keep going. Just like that."

He rocks a little faster, thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little harder. The hand around your waist shifts up to your breast, but isn't dexterous enough to do more than give it an encompassing squeeze. 

With your thighs pressed together, you feel as if your body can't stretch properly to take as much of him as you want (and you want all of him, every burning hot inch, fucking him so well that he cannot disappear into one of his miseries where he will not let you follow, because they all live in his head). 

He ratchets back his speed, tries a new motion with his hips. He rolls instead of thrusting, a more fluid movement, brushing your insides in new ways that leave your swollen clit screaming for attention and your eyes watering. You breathe in ragged pants, fingers digging into the turf over your head, trying not to rip it with the force of your grip by the fistful.

You might cum. You might cum. You want to cum, and you might, and he's so much deeper now, panting hot as fire against your shoulders. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and dance, his horns cutting the air in swipes of agitation above you, and he is so much this way. König: bigger, sometimes bloodier, but always so, so amplified.

"Honey, honey, honey," you whine in a chant under your breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to encourage him. You squeeze your thighs together for the extra stimulation, but you know you’re going to orgasm from him alone, no extra assistance needed. You’re just greedy, you just want it all, but you want him the worst.

When he pulls out this time, you snarl loud and gnash your teeth, digging your dirt-packed nails into his unyielding skin. You were full to the brim and on the wire-edge of climax, and he is so suddenly fucking gone it's almost as abrupt as violence. 

"KÖNIG!" you shout, his callsign cutting from between your teeth like the desire to slit a throat, shattering the quiet around you both, reeling to find him with your burning eyes. 

He collapses onto his side, cock jumping and leaking, and he whines deep in his throat, pulling at you with the flat of his hand. Your thigh, then his hip, your chest, then his–more hand signals, a story-told like a man with a sucking chest wound needing saving. He snakes his arm under you again, whining growing deeper, and you understand.

You roll, throwing your thigh over his hip, tucking tight against his chest. You give yourself one second of feeling cool air against your overheated pussy before you take him in hand and direct him home, and his deep, slick slide into you knocks the air out of your lungs like a punch to the solar plexus. 

You’re only seconds away, and he can't be much farther, driving his head under yours to give you something to rest on that isn't the ground.

You don't utilize his offering, craning your neck as if you'll somehow get a glimpse of your connection from this angle–flat against him from belly to breast, resting your cheek and forehead against his heaving chest. His whine turns into a series of small, strangled howls and gasps as your voice crawls from whimpering to keening.

You’ve known you were going to cum, but you’re still somehow surprised with yourself at how quickly it's raced up, and how overwhelming it feels like it's going to be. You feel like you’re going insane.

His other arm wraps your ribs, too, squeezing you to him like you’re the only thing in the world worth keeping close, and damn him for it. You don't know why, but damn him.

"Cum, baby, cum," you instruct, gasping when you aren't clenching your teeth. You curl close to him, as close as your body will allow, spreading your legs as wide as you can. You drive back down into his thrusts, giving as much of yourself as you can, taking as much of him as you’re able. 

You want it all–everything–every little bit of blood and bone that's built him into a home he offers only to you. "Cum in me. I'm ready, I want you to cum," you demand, finding it truer than true, finding yourself right on the razor-edge.

The command is all it takes. Three hard thrusts, and he's buried in you to the base, punching the wind out of your lungs, and filling you to the point of what feels like impossibility with his spend. It forces you to finish as well, lighting you up like a lightning storm, swallowing him deeper as you cum and cum like you'll never be able to stop, soaking the both of you. 

You gasp a raw-throated howl, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you praise him as his cock kicks and kicks, emptying everything he's got to give into you.

A pressure builds inside you, beginning nearly unpleasant, until something just gives and his knot anchoring him to you feels right. 

It feels special and dazzlingly intimate, and you’re boggled, again, with the knowledge you’re the only person in the world that he's ever shown himself to this way. It’s just a thing you know in your marrow, an immutable truth, like the sun setting in the west, or the cruelty of witches without their wants.

You wind down, sweating and panting and filthy in each other's arms, and you rock against him,  holding him inside, clenching around him what little you can. You feel so wonderfully safe, so immaculately powerful, so stupidly, crazily, fantastically in love.

When your combined breathing evens, and the knot between you retreats, you groan when König shifts back into his human form, but only for the resituating you both have to endure. 

The body against yours is familiar again, and you’re dreadfully sleepy, though you want to clean yourself and eat. You crave something raw, something bloody. You hunger the way an animal hungers after a hard fuck. His spend drips out of you now that his cock's returned to normal, and it forms a trail of cooling wet down the crease where your thigh meets your ass.

You feel lovely.

König laughs, rough and spent, tucking hair out of your face and kissing your closed eyelids. "Holy fucking shit, Schatzi," he marvels, looking at you like you are the only god that has ever mattered. 

Your smile cuts sharp, and your fingers find his pulse point, tracing it thoughtfully. “You hungry? I bet you're fucking starved,” is all you say in return, eyes trailing the way his hand finds the charm bracelet newly returned to your wrist, touching it like a token.

It’s late and dark when you both manage to stumble your way back to your rental. He stays close, needy and soft, his hand on your hip, tugging you into his body when he can, careful of not knocking into the big, silver knife you’d placed back in the scabbard on your belt. 

The hood is back on his head, rolled up to his nose, and his split mouth kisses against your neck and behind your ear, his eyes closed like he endures a waking dream. You, in your own filthied mask again, allow it, craning your neck to give him more room, anchoring him with an arm around his waist in return.

It is late now, and the neighborhood is silent. Again, you wonder what the quiet lives inside must be thinking–whether they think the crimes have increased into a new field of brutality, if they are fearing and wondering what body parts they will find at the treeline come dawn. 

You know they will not leave the safety of their homes to investigate. They would be stupid to do something like that.

“That shower is going to feel so goddamned good,” you mutter, unlocking your door, and he nods against your skin.

“Oh, yeeaah,” he says, and the familiarity of the phrase makes you hum a laugh, shutting your eyes as you push through the threshold. "Get that blood off your skin before it stains. Your poor face, your poor arm. Poor Schatzi."

He splits off from you with a facsimile of a kiss–your masks pressing together at the mouth–and he pinches your ass before he takes off to the kitchen, his stomach growling, not even bothering to take off his boots.

You, however, kick off your shoes, and pull together clean clothes, heading toward the bathroom in the hall, the one with the big shower, in case he decides to join you.

Sleepy and content, you listen to his boots move heavily over the kitchen tile, the sound of the fridge door hissing snickt as he pulls it open, and shoves things around in his search for food. You nearly sway up to the closed door–why is it closed, you barely manage to wonder–your eyelids lead-weighted.

It takes only one thing to make them snap open wide, your back going ramrod straight. A dark smear, curling around the knob, around the edge of the door where it seams to the jamb.

Cold grips your lungs, sending your heart galloping painfully in the cage of your ribs, wondering if it really is copper you smell, or if it is a trick of your mind. The hall is too dark to tell if the swipe on the white door is red or black–if it is blood, if it is König’s or yours. 

There is a presence at your back, and enormous hands on the door on either side of your head, so fast you cannot tell if you were even able to blink before you saw his wide, scarred, and knuckle-broken limbs spreading wide across the wood.

Your hand finds the grip of the knife, looking at the brutal gouges you had hacked into his forearm earlier in the night, and you are thinking faster and harder than you ever have in your life, realizing in a terrible microsecond that you will have to make a decision–that you will have to choose what reality you are willing to live with, or that you are simply mistaken. 

Either way, you are moments from learning.

“Something wrong, Schatzi?” your boyfriend’s familiar voice asks, low and raspy, hot against the nape of your neck.

The laugh in his tone is cruel, and you can’t tell whether it belongs to König, or something pretending to be him.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @dotcie @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @parttimeprophet @pssytrux <3

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Avatar The Last Airbender

Pairing: Zuko x Orora

The Thread of Fate - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, 

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

It Was Nothing

Theatrics

I’m Here Beside You

Big Hero 6

Pairing: Tadashi Hamada x Sakura Kamiya

Light 'em Up -  Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, 

Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson

Mind Over Matter - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen,

(Companion piece to Mind Over Matter)

A Slight Frustration

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Hold Me Closer

First Kiss

Don’t Go!

Crossover - Frozen x Rise of the Guardians

Pairing: Jack Frost x Elsa (Jelsa)

One Step Closer - Part One, Part Two (InProgress)

Digimon

Pairing: Taichi Yagami x Hidemi Senshi

The Next Adventure

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Pairing: Alphonse Elric x Willow Hawkeye(OC)

The Ties That Bind - Prologue, Part One,

Pairing: Edward Elric x Reader

Homecoming

The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Roy Mustang x Reader

I Will Always Choose You

Harry Potter

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Reluctant Friendship

Justice League DC Universe

Pairing: Superman x Lucky Penny aka Clark Kent x Penelope Pennyworth

Lucky Break

Pairing: Superman aka Clark Kent x Reader

Part One - Convince Me, Part Two - I’m Convinced

Wedding Drama

Pairing: (Platonic) Superman aka Clark Kent x 12-year-old reader

A New Life

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Rachel

Kiss It Away

Stolen Kisses, Stolen Moments - Part One, Part Two

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Confessions

Last Night

Empowering

Distraction

Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Clea

Love, A Kind of Magic - Part One, Part Two

Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader

Bleeding Love

Perfection

A Surprising Twist

Sleep Deprived

What the Wife Says Goes

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Nothing But a Burden

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A Pact Renewed

Because You’re Mine

Not a Waste of Space

Just Hold Me

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Never Leave Me

Pirates of the Caribbean

Pairing: Will Turner x Reader

My Heart Calls Your Name

Tavern Brawls

Rise of the Guardians

Pairing: Jack Frost x Evening Star aka The Blue Fairy

Two Spirits Meet - Wishing on a Snowflake I,

Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Serendipity

The Consulting Detective and the Serial Killer

His Love for Her

Your Hand in Mine

Drunken Comfort

Its All Been Arranged

An Unconventional Love Story (Victorian Era AU)

Star Trek(2009)

Pairing: Spock x Kealoha

The Roommate Experiment - Prologue, Part One

Pairing: Spock x Reader

The Little Green Monster

Chasing Away The Darkness

Here For You (InProgress)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Pairing: Leonardo x Amal

Heaven’s Light

A Comforting Embrace

The Amazing Spiderman

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A Nonverbal Confession

Falling For Him

Heal Together

Drunk on Pheromones

Take All The Time You Need

Falling for the Enemy

The Chronicles of Narnia

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Reader

An Unexpected Turn

We Face It Together

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Reader

The King and the Commoner

The Hobbit

Creepy Crawlies (No Pairing)

Pairing: Kili x Reader

You Are Safe

The Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Legolas x Annúneth

Love Happens(Coming Soon)

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

We Meet Again A Confession Years In The Making

My Prayer, My Light, My Fëa

A Little Introduction to Rock Music

A Promise

Written In The Stars

Treasure Planet

Pairing: Jim Hawkins x Reader

A Little Competition Goes a Long Way

[so-long-soldier-writes]

He’s Like A Puppy

kai parker x reader

summary: an argument starts up when damon and bonnie return to the boarding house to find you and kai spending time together. it goes south when you start to defend kai against your friends' remarks.

≪ originally publishes on ao3: 2/24/23 ≫

tags: discussion of murder, cupcakes, small biblical references, fluff

word count: 967

“Don’t you see that he’s dangerous? You’re insane to think otherwise,” Bonnie scolds you, pointing at Kai in the corner.

Kai, who, at this very moment, is sitting on a stool with a cupcake, a bit of the frosting on his nose.

“Very dangerous,” you comment, holding back a chuckle. 

She rolls her eyes, “you didn’t see him in the prison world. You don’t know what he’s done.”

“Killed some people? Doesn’t everyone do that around here?”

“So you think it’s okay?”

“I mean, no, it’s not okay, but if we’re gonna declare Kai evil because he killed a couple folks, then everyone else here is, too. I mean, hell. Stefan’s been a ripper, Damon’s… Damon, Elena’s famous for turning off her humanity, Caroline’s temperamental.”

“Y/N, he massacred his family, there’s a difference.”

“Is there? Killing your family, or killing strangers who had lives and families that you know nothing about? And for all we know, maybe it was a Menedez’ brothers situation.”

“Okay, yes, I see your point about the strangers. But are you implying it’s okay to kill your family if they hurt you a teensy bit?”

“May I just say it was more than a teensy bit?” Kai interrupts.

“Shut up-”

“You shut up, Damon, I’m trying to hear all sides of this story.”

“Y/N, you’re talking crazy right now! He’s a liar. A manipulative, sociopathic liar. Besides, his name’s Malachai, for heaven’s sake! He said it himself, ‘it’s like his parents expected him to be evil’.”

You chuckle.

“What’s so funny about that?” Damon’s eyes narrow. 

“You do know that ‘Malachai’ literally means ‘angel’, right? In fact, it’s a Biblical name. Malachai was a prophet of… y’know that actually doesn’t matter. Regardless, you can’t tell that someone’s evil based on their name. Unless that name is literally, like, Lilith. Or Lucifer.”

“Whatever. You can’t trust someone based on their name, either,” she counters.

“Didn’t say I trust him off his name. Just said we should treat him as we do everyone else in this massive fucking house that’s killed a bunch of people. And how do we treat them? Oh yeah - with understanding, and reason.”

“He stabbed me in the gut, Y/N.”

“So has Damon.”

“Yeah, but I have the right to kill her because we’re friends.”

“Do you even hear yourself when you speak, or is it white noise in your head while a little mouse plays scrabble with sentences?”

“Uncalled for.”

“Was it?”

They’re left at a standstill. No one is sure what to say next. 

“Okay,” you carefully start, “whether or not you trust Kai, he’s here. And, for reasons I don’t know but I also don’t care, he’s been staying here, at the boarding house. Now, since I’m your out-of-town friend, I am also staying here, at the boarding house. So what’s wrong with us hanging out since we’re quite often, literally the only two people here?”

They, again, see the point in your statement, but continue to bicker about it anyway.

“He could hurt you.”

“Could, yeah. But we were chilling for two hours before you guys came back. Nothing happened.”

“Except he’s eating the cupcakes that Elena specifically made for the party tonight.”

“Maybe you shoulda labeled them ‘no touching’ or something.”

“Are you defending him over this now?”

“Well now I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“I just… Elena’s going to be pissed when she finds her cupcakes gone.”

“Only one’s gone, she’ll barely notice.”

“I’ll tell her he stole it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, what’s she gonna do? Make him throw it back up?”

“One, gross. Two… maybe I’ll just let her finally kill him. That would solve a lot of our problems.”

You can’t help but smirk, “and we’ve come full circle. House of killers.”

Damon’s eyes widen as he realizes, “wait. No, wait. But it’s, ack, you suck. Fine. She won’t kill him. Just get him out of the kitchen.”

You shrug and make your way over to Kai, who’s now licking icing off his fingers. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Sure.” The answer is hesitant, but his excitement is given away with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“What? This was the original problem, Damon! They can’t be alone together! What if he snaps again?”

“Bonnie,” you take a deep breath, “he’s not going to hurt me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at him - he’s like a puppy. Just needs a friend and he’ll be okay. I’ll be fine. We’re gonna go get out of your hair, get out of your cupcakes, and watch a movie.” You state, taking his hand. 

“Call if you need anything,” Bonnie just rolls her eyes.

“Might need a grocery store run, but I won’t need help.”

“Whatever.”

◇◇◇◇

Halfway up the stairs, Kai looks behind him to face you, “why’d you call me a puppy?”

“Because you are one. Y’know, I mean what I said. I trust you, and you’re safe with me. You just need some company, Kai. It couldn’t have been easy being isolated for eighteen years.”

“So… you’re gonna be my company?”

“Is that okay?”

He smiles, his dimples showing on the sides of his face, “mhm.”

“Good. But two things… one, if you’re ever feeling angry or uneasy, come to me first, okay? I don’t want them to hurt you, so give me a chance to help you through it.”

“Okay.”

“And two, let’s not eat any more of Elena’s cupcakes. I know, pissing her off is fun sometimes, and they’re really good cupcakes. But we can make our own so Damon doesn’t kill us.”

“Fine, I won’t eat hers.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Kai.”

“Thank you, actually. Um, for defending me earlier, and being a friend.”

“Of course. Now, let’s go watch a movie. I have Oreos in my room.”

[daydreaming-away-reality]

One Step Back

Jack Frost x Reader | ☁️ + ☔ + 🌠 | 7.7k | Grim Reaper!Reader

Warning: mentions of death, lots of angst

You quietly sat there, staring at the chess pieces deep in thought. The occasional breeze caused the slight creaking noises from the metal décor in the dimly lit space.

Something about the silence brought you a sense of a comfort. Compared to the cries of despair that had recently filled your ears, sitting in front of a very slow strategy game was something you preferred.

“Going to just stare at the pieces all day?”

The deep voice caused you to look up at the yellow coloured eyes that pierced into your own (E/C) eyes, you merely shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“Not all of us have time to spare,” he responded.

“Time is irrelevant when you’re immortal,” you commented. You rested your chin on your palm as you looked straight into his eyes. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have the time.”

Pitch let out a hum of acknowledgement but made no further comment. As your chess partner, you knew he had grown use to your slow pacing. What you lacked in speed made up for in strategy though - it was enough to keep you and Pitch to play chess ever since the two of you had met. 

Sliding a piece across the board, you let out your breath as you leaned back in your chair. 

“Good game,” you softly said.

Pitch frowned as he leaned forward to check your move. As the results dawned on him, he gave a small nod.

“Good game,” he echoed.

The King of Nightmares turned his attention to you, looking at you as if he were trying to figure something out. 

“Something on your mind?”

Your constant poker face was a difficult expression to read, but somehow Pitch had a way of telling when there was something on your mind. As a grim reaper, your life was pretty monotonous. You learn about the next soul put under your care and you bring them to the afterlife when the time comes. When that was done, the cycle would repeat itself.

From serial killers to the rare newborn infant, you had seen souls at every stage of their life leave this world. 

You lived your life among humans, even though you had not been human for the past couple hundred years. Many people who lived around you didn’t see you unless you chose to be seen, letting you live your peaceful life of solitude easier. 

After having this role for so many years, you thought that things would get easier. To live with humans, watch them experience grief and pain.

From the few social gatherings with other grim reapers you had attended, you had soon realized you were softer than the others. Your job records were beautiful, but something always stuck with you.

It wasn’t easy experiencing death all the time.

It never got easier.

While this was a common experience for many new grim reapers that would eventually be accustomed, you still found yourself struggling sometimes.

“You’re too kind, (Y/N). All we need to do is make sure their soul moves on. We’re not doing anything bad.”

Even though all of that was true, the fear in the eyes of some people you were assigned to made you wonder how terrifying you were. What you resembled clearly brought a myriad of emotions, but fear was the most common one. 

“Nothing new,” you finally replied. 

Pitch gave you a look of inquiry but didn’t push any further.

He stood up, walking over to the globe in his lair. Little lights glittered across the world, showing the children of the world who believed in the Guardians.

“If the balance of the world were to change, would you be on my side?” Pitch asked.

Tilting your head, you let his words simmer in your head. 

You had never met any of the Guardians, but you recognized their role in the world. From knowing Pitch, you also knew he had a role to play in the world as well. While some saw fear as a bad thing, you recognized that some people grew stronger from their fears. Not everyone, but some rare cases.

Having heard about the last time Pitch had challenged the Guardians and failed, you knew there was bad blood between the Guardians and the Boogeyman.

If you had a to pick a side though...

You knew your role was one that would be forever bound to your duties. Wars could be fought and whatever decision you made would be insignificant.

“Death takes no sides, Pitch,” you answered with resolve. “So, I would not choose a side either.”

“Is that so?”

Even though he didn’t turn around to look at you, you gave him an uncertain small nod. Some things were inevitable, whether you desired so or not.

Sitting down on your couch and peering out the window with a warm cup of tea in your hand, you watched the rain pour down from the sky. Snuggled into your blankets, you listened to the pattering of raindrops against the glass.

Today was one of those dreary days - one that brought out sad emotions among people. The kind of day that had people mourning their lost ones.

Luckily for you, you had the day off. Or at least, you thought you could afford the day off. 

A letter appeared on the coffee table before you brought a sigh to your lips.

Setting your cup down, you lifted the letter up carefully and checked the name. 

Amber Miller.

Carefully inscribed under the name were the date of when they were born and the death.

Noting the death date, you paused. Doing some quick calculations, you realized that Amber was still young - a child. A frown appeared on your face as you stared at the simple card. 

Most of the time, you received names of those who experienced life longer than this. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if it was a good idea to go check in on this young girl now. Usually you appeared a few days before their death to see if you should make contact with the person, but with younger ones... You tried to spend more time with them so they wouldn’t be scared when time came for them.

When your eyes flickered back to the world outside your window, you noticed the rain had become little snowflakes dancing their way around the sky. 

Weather permitting or not, perhaps it would be good to step out of your house to do a check in. Amber had a week to live.

Pulling on your closet open, you stared at the various dark coloured pieces of clothing staring back at you. Like other grim reapers, your clothing mostly consisted of black, to be respectful to the dead, to not draw attention to yourself and follow the policies in place for grim reapers.

Slipping into a simple black knit sweater and skirt, you made yourself presentable. Finishing off the look with some boots, you grabbed a jacket just in case. Having gone through the process of getting ready to meet your next assignment so many times before, you weren’t too concerned.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your bedroom door and walked out of the bus shelter. The power to transport yourself through doors was one that all grim reapers had. No one around you noticed you, making everything go smoothly.

Following your instincts, you walked towards the nearby hospital. Walking past the receptionists and other patients, you immediately recognized the young brunette who was pressed up against the glass staring at the snow in awe.

Something about her soul seemed familiar to you, but you weren’t sure why. 

She was dressed in the typical patient attire with a paper wristband on, confirming your suspicions around why you were here. Amber was sick.

Walking over until you were standing next to her, you turned to watch the snow with her.

“I wish I could go outside and feel the snow,” she commented.

With no one else around, you decided to check your suspicions. 

“Would you like to step outside with me for a bit?” you asked quietly.

Amber’s brown eyes looked up at you with excitement. “Really?”

You nodded, offering your hand out to her. “Really, we’ll only be out for a moment, so nobody will even notice we’re gone.”

The enthusiastic nod and hand now in yours confirmed things. She could see you. While most grim reapers didn’t like showing themselves before it was time, the fear of growing emotional attachments was common, you made the effort.

“I’m Amber. What’s your name?”

“I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

Walking down a quieter hallway, you lead the two of you towards the small outdoor space on the side of this hospital wing. No one would step out in this weather, so it’d make it easier for the two of you. Taking Amber outside, you shrugged off your jacket and slipped it around her shoulders the moment you two were outside.

“Will you be cold?” she asked, eyes wide as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

You shook your head. “I’ll be okay.”

The oversized jacket on her made you smile as she excitedly tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue. The sight of someone who was still so hopeful towards life, you could feel a deep sense of sadness within you. As you looked up at the sky, the sound of another voice surprised you.

“You don’t look dressed for the winter weather.”

Attention immediately moving towards the source, you found yourself staring at a boy with beautiful blue eyes and silvery white hair. An amused quirk of a smile graced his lips as he held onto a wooden staff in his hands.

“Jack!” Amber excitedly called out as she threw herself his way. “You made it snow!”

“Ahaha, I did. I’m glad you have the chance to step outside to see it today.” Jack responded, ruffling her hair.

Your brain raced to figure out an explanation for what was happening. Amber called this newcomer Jack and associated him with the snow. Somehow this sounded familiar. As your brain tried to make a connection between the information you just received with what you knew, Jack turned his attention to you once more.

He looked you over, taking in your black attire. 

“Who this with you, Amber?”

You straightened up. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Oh, so you can see me,” Jack said with a surprised tone. He held out his hand to you. “Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated but shook his hand.

Sensing something happening inside the hospital, you pushed the door back open. “I think we should head back inside, Amber. Make sure no one noticed us sneaking away.”

“Oh, okay!” The brunette jumped up and hurried to your side. She turned around to wave at Jack. “Bye Jack!”

You looked at Jack once more, information finally clicking in place.

Jack Frost - the Guardian of Fun. 

Ducking your head, you let the door shut behind you before escorting Amber back to her room. The energetic girl was about to pull off your jacket, but you stopped her.

“Keep it,” you encouraged. “It looks better on you than it does on me.”

“Thank you!” she responded gleefully. As she sat down on her bed, she looked up at you.

“Is there anything you want to do this week, Amber?” you asked, sitting down next to her.

The young girl thought about your words and responded with a small shrug.

“I’m not sure.” Her honest words brought a small smile to your face. “Will I see you again, (Y/N)?”

You nodded. “I’ll come by and visit again tomorrow, how does that sound?”

Amber nodded. “Okay.”

Getting up, you gently pet her head. “Be a good girl for the nurses, okay?”

“I always am!”

You smiled. Slipping out of the room, you glanced back once before moving to leave the hospital.

As you stepped out of the hospital, you weren’t paying attention to the person rushing towards the doors and didn’t have any time to react. Shutting your eyes, you felt a breeze as they ran through you.

It was moments like these when you were reminded of your place in the world.

Not alive but living as if you were.

Just as you walked away from the hospital, a cool breeze ruffled your hair and someone fell into step beside you.

“So you’re a spirit as well,” Jack commented.

You looked at him. “Is... there something I can help you with?”

Surprised by your question, Jack shook his head.

“No, it’s just, we haven’t met before and I was curious about you.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turned to face him. Eyes shifting to meet his, you could see the confusion on his face.

“I’m a grim reaper.”

This new information startled him. 

Walking away, you spotted the same bus shelter and headed towards it. Having met Amber now, you had a lot on your thoughts and wanted to go home. It took a moment, but you heard Jack hurrying to catch up to you.

“Really?”

“Most people don’t want to interact with me when they know that,” you said, stopping by the bus shelter door.

“Well, you’re the first grim reaper I’ve met,” Jack responded. He paused and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Amber... there’s a reason you’re visiting her, isn’t there?”

You nodded. 

Hoping to end the conversation there, you pulled open the bus shelter door and stepped through. 

“Wait - !”

As you appeared back in your own house, Jack appeared from behind, coming through the same door you had.

The surprise the two of you shared came from very different reasons. 

You had no idea anyone could follow you through the doors. Meanwhile, Jack had no idea where you had transported the two of you to. 

“Where are we...?” Jack asked, speaking up first.

“Home. My home,” you clarified as you pulled your boots off and put them aside. Letting out a sigh, you sat down on your couch before deciding to address Jack. “Amber has one week left - I don’t plan on taking her until her time ends.”

“Why did you visit her today then?” Jack moved to sit on the armchair perpendicular to you. His tone was genuine - encouraging you to speak.

You curled up, wrapping your arms around your legs. Trying to make yourself smaller, you tried your best to pull your words together. “Life’s... not fair and death doesn’t discriminate. She’s so young... I want to make sure her last days go well at least.”

There was a blanket of silence that fell over you two. As Jack took in your words, you blankly stared at the envelope that rested on your coffee table. With how many letters you had received over the years, you had lost track of how many cases you had dealt with. 

“Maybe I can help?”

Jack’s offer caused you to look up. 

“I’m not sure what I can do, but I want to try to help,” Jack elaborated. 

“That’s nice of you, but... are you sure?” You could tell he had good intentions behind his words but you knew the choice he was making was one with difficulties that he wouldn’t realize until the pain weighed down on him. 

You were too familiar with that feeling to wish it upon anyone.

Death took a toll not only on the person who experienced it, but everyone around them as well. 

The confused look on Jack’s face indicated that he didn’t know about these effects.

“Losing someone isn’t easy,” you explained. “Do you really want to put yourself through that kind of pain?”

Your words seemed to reach him in some way as Jack’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground. His silence filled the air, and you didn’t know what to do or say. 

“I know, I’ve lost people in my life before,” Jack softly responded, his words coming out slowly as he formulated his thoughts. You could tell what he experienced weighed down on him. 

It made you wonder if he had what it took to be grim reaper.

Honestly, you weren’t sure you were cut out for this line of work either. Yet here you were, a couple hundred years in and still going with no end in sight. 

“If I can do something about it and make a difference, I think it’s worth the pain.” 

His optimistic answer had you turning your gaze back outside to watching the snow fall outside the window.

“If that’s what you wish, I cannot stop you.”

“I look forward to working with you then, (Y/N).”

When you had tried to sleep that night, the sound of crying from your past kept you up.

“Time to go,” you softly urged the crying soul. 

They looked up at you, tears still streaming down their face. In the brief moments of realizing their own death, they still carried the burdens of life they experienced.

“There were still things I wanted to do. It isn’t fair,” they wailed. “Can’t I.... Can’t you do anything about it?”

Regrets. 

Almost every soul had them.

You waited. It was difficult to communicate with anyone when they were this emotional. Once the crying had been reduced to sniffles, you finally responded.

You shook your head, looking over at the unfortunate accident that left them lifeless. “You are no longer part of this world, don’t worry about things like that.”

“A little more time... I wish I had a little more time to do the things I wanted to do...”

The clear skies above held promise of a good day ahead. You stifled back a yawn as you made your way to the hospital. Restless nights were common but it never affected your work.

Once you arrived, you paused by the reception. When the receptionist looked up, their eyes met yours.

“I’m here to visit Amber Miller,” you said. “I’ll be taking her out a bit.”

"Alright,” the receptionist spoke in a trance. There was a cloudy look to their eyes. 

When you turned away, you could hear them resuming to their work as if the encounter between the two of you never happened. 

Walking into Amber’s room, you could see her face light up when she saw you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Amber,” you greeted. “You ready to go?”

She bobbed her head enthusiastically. After you reminded her to dress for the weather, she quickly bundled up before standing in front of you. 

Taking her hand, the two of you walked through the hallways unnoticed and made your way outside.

A figure showed up with a chilly gust before the two of you.

“Jack!” Amber exclaimed.

“Sorry for running late,” Jack said with a smile. His blue eyes flickered over to yours, trying to get a read of your placid expression but unable to do so. He turned back to Amber. “The snow is perfect for building snowmen, you up for it?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s go then.” You acknowledged Jack. With him leading the way, your (E/C) eyes wandered back, noticing another grim reaper leading a soul away. 

Hospitals were always a busy place for grim reapers. 

“Here we are!” Jack cheered as you all arrived an untouched patch of snow. “The perfect spot, if I do say so myself.”

“(Y/N),” Amber said with a tug on your hand. “Can you help me build a snow bear?”

“A snow bear?” you asked, a smile on your face. “It’s been a while since I’ve built anything in the snow, but sure!”

“Yay! Let’s build a super big one! You and Jack are in charge of the head then.”

You exchanged a look with Jack as Amber scurried off to start her snowball. 

“You heard her,” you said, tilting your head at Amber. Pulling out gloves from your pocket, you slipped them on. “I’m going to need your expert help if we’re going to make this the best snow bear.”

“Alright, let’s do this.” 

After letting Jack start off the snowball (he had made the bold claim that yours wasn’t good enough and that was thrown at him with a feigned cry of offense), the two of you worked together in creating a head for Amber’s snow bear.

With a lot of playing in the snow between you, Jack and Amber, the day passed by quickly. Letting Jack do the heavy lifting, the snow bear was nearing its completion. 

Watching Amber giddily bounce around the two of you, you couldn’t help but smile. 

“We’re still missing the face,” you commented.

“I got it!” Amber exclaimed, holding out some rocks. 

You crouched down and held your arms out to Amber. Her eyes lit up when she realized what you were offering. Moving into your arms, you lifted her up so she could have a better reach of adding the face to her snow bear. 

As she added the final touches, your (E/C) eyes met a pair of blue ones. Jack had moved to stand next to you without you noticing. While it had not startled, you were suddenly aware of how things were feeling like an intimate family moment.

“Ta-da!” Amber cheered as she put on the final rock.

You and Jack let out some cheers as well. Considering the fact that you had never made a snow bear before, this one was pretty cute. 

“Looks amazing.” Jack commented.

You nodded in agreement. “It does. Great work, Amber.”

Amber turned so she could look at the two of you. “Thanks for helping!”

“Nah, you did most of the work,” Jack modestly said.

Noticing rosy cheeks, you bopped Amber’s nose. “You look like you’re getting cold.” Before the girl could protest, you offered her a smile. “Shall we grab some hot cocoa and head back?”

Your proposition immediately brought a bright smile to her face.

It was moments like these that you weren’t sure whether or not that you should be happy or sad. 

Almost as if he sensed your uncertainty, Jack clapped his hands. 

“Let’s go.”

“(Y/N)! Jack!” 

Amber’s delighted cheer greeted the two of you as you arrived the next day. 

“Hi Amber,” you greeted. 

“Hey,” Jack chimed in.

Amber climbed out of her bed and gave you both a bright smile. “Are we going to do something fun again today?”

You nodded. “Can you go get ready? There’s somewhere cool that I want to show you today.”

She excitedly nodded and hurried around the room to get ready. 

Meanwhile, you turned to look at the winter spirit standing next to you.

“Did you know I was coming now?” you teasingly asked Jack. “I don’t remember telling you when I was coming by again today.”

Jack gave you a charming smile. “I had a feeling. Looks like I was right though.”

He took the time to look around the room, but he found himself watching you in the end. Adorned in all black again, Jack still thought that there was certain aura about you that made you less scary and more caring. He wouldn’t have pinned you as a grim reaper with your personality. 

“What are the plans for today?” Jack asked, lowering his voice so Amber wouldn’t hear.

You pretended to zip your lips. 

“Aw, no hint at all?”

You laughed. “I can give you one hint.” 

Walking over to Amber’s bed, you straightened up a few of her animal plushies and gave a pointed look to Jack.

“That’s all you’re getting.”

Jack made a face at you. “You’re terrible at giving hints. That could mean so many things.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him.

“I’m ready!” Amber called out, pulling on an oversized black jacket. 

“Let’s go then,” you said. 

As you went to open the door and lead your trio out on a trip, Jack took a moment to chat with Amber. 

“The jacket looks a little big on you,” he commented.

Amber nodded. “It’s from (Y/N)! She let me have it.”

Jack let out a hum of understanding as he walked beside Amber towards the door. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of appreciation towards you, even if he wasn’t the one who was receiving the kindness from you. 

You were someone special, Jack could feel it.

Once you all went through the door, Amber let out a squeal when she realized where you all had been transported to. There were animals and families everywhere, the air filled with chatter of all the living beings. 

“I know you like animals, so I brought you to a petting zoo,” you explained to Amber. Your (E/C) eyes noticed the bright smile on Jack’s face as well. Looks like the Guardian of Fun approved of this trip. “Ready to meet some animals?”

Amber clapped her hands happily. “Ready!”  

Taking the time to see all the animals, you heard Jack chuckle when you guys approached the bunny enclosure. When he noticed your curious gaze, Jack smiled.

“They remind me of a certain spirit I know,” he explained.

“The Easter Bunny?” you guessed.

“Yeah, although, he seems more kangaroo than bunny sometimes.”

You giggled at his comment. “I would love to see him one day.”

“You’ve never seen him?” Jack asked, surprised.

“You don’t get to meet many other spirits in my line of work.”

“Ah.”

You waved your hand to brush off his comment. Sometimes, as much as you felt alive and hopeful, deep down you knew that being a grim reaper was part of who you were now. Getting to spend time like this with others and Jack... you would cherish this. 

After you dropped Amber back off at the hospital and had her settled back down, you and Jack lingered around for a bit. Amber had been so happy today, it was hard to believe that this little girl only had a numbered amount of days left to live. 

You turned to Jack to say something, but the sound of approaching voices made you stop. You thought about leaving, but something kept you in place. One of the voices belonged to Amber’s nurse. The others... sounds familiar.

“She’s been fine lately.”

“Is there a chance her condition will improve?”

“The chance of that happening is rare - young patients like her in our long term care unit with her conditions...”

You completely tuned out the nurse when the sight of a tired looking couple walked towards you and Jack. Looking at the couple intensely, you then turned back to catch a glimpse of Amber. 

That feeling from before. 

The familiarity of Amber’s soul.

Everything seems to click for you when you saw her parents. You’ve seen them before.

“(Y/N)?” Jack called out to you as you stepped back in almost a retreating manner.

“I...” 

The memory of a blank letter page held in your hands brought you a sense of uncertainty.

“I should go,” you decided. “Thank you for spending the time with me and Amber today, Jack.”

With that, you turned and disappeared through a door before the Guardian of Fun could do anything to decipher your stranger behaviour.

When you got back home, a memory from a few years ago vividly resurfaced. 

Having just finished delivering one soul, you had found another letter waiting for you to deal with. Work had been relentless for you for the last few days. While there was always work to do, this week in particular had been non stop work.

After glancing at the name in the letter, you turned back around to deal with the soul left in your care. 

They were expected to leave today. 

Finding yourself in the hospital, you let out a sigh as you looked around. Your eyes paused as you looked at the couple, presumably the parents of the soul you were here to take. They sat outside the operation room and looked anxious. 

Understandable. 

You moved on, moving closer to the operation room. Sounds of the doctors and nurses working relentlessly, trying their best to help the young girl in the room reached your ears. You could sense her soul hanging onto life.

Human life in situations like this always felt so fragile.

The heartbeat monitor let out a shrill noise and the energy in the room grew frantic. Although you were supposed to get ready to seek out the soul you were here for, something felt off. 

There was an unshakable feeling that something wasn’t right. 

Pulling out the letter, you checked it once more.

Only to find the page blank.

Your (E/C) eyes narrowed as you flipped the page over to make sure you weren’t seeing things. 

Still blank.

Listening carefully once more, you could hear the regular beeping of the heartbeat monitor again. 

A miracle. 

It was extremely rare, but sometimes the letters were wrong if something miraculous happened and the soul was not ready to leave. 

This meant more paperwork for you to do, but the girl would live for now.

Turning away from the operation room, you left.

The girl that you had originally meant take a few years ago.

Fate had you back again for your unfinished work.

You took a few hours to let yourself process the new found information and rest but then pushed yourself to get back to it.

If Amber only had a limited amount of time, you wanted to have her spend days well. Seeing her again the next day without Jack, you had brought her to the hospital cafeteria and let her enjoy her favourite foods.

Perhaps it was because of your strange visiting hours, but you tried not to bump into Jack. Sure, he was understanding the first time you when you explained your line of work to him. But what if he found out that you were here a second time for this young girl? What would he think then? Would he still want to hang around you? He would probably be like everyone else and believe that you were the indirect cause to her death.

Regardless, from what you heard from Amber, Jack still made the time to visit despite you not being there.

It only took another day or two before you started noticing the signs of fear and worry from Amber.

“(Y/N)?” Amber called out to you as the two of you sat by the window in her room. You turned to look at her, watching her wide eyes stare at you as she clutched her stuffed toy tightly. “I’m scared.”

“What’s scaring you?” you asked quietly. 

“Mommy and daddy seemed worried... a lot more than usual.” The sadness in the young girl’s voice broke your heart. “They keep talking to the nurses and doctors... I think they know something about me that’s making them sad.”

You let her words sink in as you tried to find the right words to say to comfort her.

“Adults are always worried about things. Amber, it’s okay to feel the way you feel, but I hope you remember that you can also make your parents the happiest.”

Later that night, Amber had fallen asleep listening to a story you were telling her. As you stood nearby watching her sleep, you couldn’t believe how fast time was moving by. 

There wasn’t much time left now.

It was like an unspoken truth that everyone including Amber seemed to know.

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

The deep voice startled you. 

Coming out from the shadows of the room was Pitch, his eyes gleaming on the little light that came from the night light in the room. 

“Pitch,” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“I sensed fear,” Pitch responded, moving closer to the bed. He looked at Amber, then his eyes flickered back to you. “I’m sure you sense it too.”

You nodded. Pitch knew your profession, he would know exactly why you were here. 

Although the two of you had not played chess in a while due to his choice in actions, the strange relationship between the two of you still existed. Neither of you would cease to exist as you were both immortal.

“Her nightmares would be powerful,” Pitch commented.

You immediately frowned and defensively moved towards him. “No.”

“Do you intend to stop me?” 

“For her, I’d do anything to stop you right now.”

Pitch stepped back, then took a few steps around the room. “I thought you said you wouldn’t take sides.” He moved closer to you, fingers touching your chin and tilting your head back to stare into your (E/C) eyes. “What is happening now, little miss grim reaper?”

The door to the room opened slightly and someone slipped in. 

Turning to see who it was, you immediately froze.

“Pitch! And... (Y/N)?”

Jack looked at the two of you with a mix of emotions. It was clear enough that he was in disbelief though.

“Ah, the Guardian of Fun,” snarled Pitch. “Did you come here to play?”

Hearing this, Jack immediately raised his staff and pointed it at Pitch. It wavered though, when he realized how close to Pitch you were.

Regardless, it didn’t stop the rough tone of his voice when he directed his words to you.

“(Y/N), you know Pitch?”

“Know me? Of course she does,” Pitch responded. “We’ve known each other for hundreds of years.”

Jack’s eyes questioned you, waiting for your response. 

You didn’t want to lie, but the truth was probably one he didn’t want to hear.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you acknowledged. 

Betrayal flickered on Jack’s face and Pitch seemed to notice that. 

“Ah, I see you must of have met (Y/N) just recently,” Pitch commented. He moved towards Jack despite the staff being point his way. “Death and fear, what a combination, am I right?”

“Leave. Now.” Jack demanded.

The sound of frost crackling on the windows seemed to remind Pitch that he wasn’t as strong as the Guardian before him. His yellow eyes met yours and he could tell that he had no advantage here. 

Wordlessly, he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving you and Jack behind.

“Jack - “

“You should leave too,” Jack coldly said. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

His words hurt. But you knew that now wasn’t the time to explain yourself. The enemy he had fought a few years ago with a girl he met only days ago who was a grim reaper. Even you knew it was a strange sight. You didn’t owe Jack any explanation, but you wanted to explain things to him later on. 

Ducking your head, you moved around him towards the door. 

“She only has two days left,” you said as you reached the door. “I will be back, whether you like it or not. I have a job to do.”

With that, you opened the door and went through.

Amber’s condition was getting worse. 

When you had the chance, you would pop by and check up on her. At this stage, you could not take her out to go out and play anymore. But you made the effort to bring her surprises and chat with her.

Time was running out.

You still had a job to do.

During those next two days, you didn’t see Jack at all. After the encounter with him and Pitch, you weren’t sure what more you could say to the Guardian of Fun. You had told him almost every from the beginning. 

What did he expect? 

Hopefully, he would have taken some time to realize that death did not take sides. It was simply a part of life. To live and to die. The chance of you taking sides with Pitch was never going to be a reality.

Regardless, you tried not to bump into him if you could. 

It seemed like the two of you needed space.

But that evening of the second day, you had a strong feeling that things were drawing to a close and you stuck around. If Jack showed up, then so be it. 

He wasn’t going to stop you from doing your job.

He couldn’t, even if he tried.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned look at Amber, reaching out to hold her outstretched hand. 

“Are you and Jack fighting?” she asked. “How come you two don’t visit me together?”

You gave her a bitter smile. Children. They always sensed when things were different much sooner than adults. They caught onto emotions so easily. They were always the most innocent when it came to death. 

Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, you pat her head.

“We just had a misunderstanding, Amber.”

“Do you need to talk to him?”

“I probably should.”

Amber pointed to the space behind you. “Maybe you should talk to him now then.”

Turning, you spotted the Guardian of Fun. His blue hoodie pulled up as he stood there, leaning against the wall and watching the two of you. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but you knew Amber had a point. 

It was now or never.

If you let this chance pass you by, you might let this misunderstanding stay between the two of you forever.

The sound of voices outside in the hallways made you tilt your head slightly, trying to better listen to who it was. Recognizing them as the doctors and Amber’s parents, you knew this was your best chance to step aside.

“Yeah, I’ll go do that.” You leaned in closer to Amber. “Make sure you take the time now to say what you want to mom and dad, okay?”

“I’m running out of time, aren’t I?” Amber asked, voice quivering.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Every part of you knew that these would be her last moments. She deserved to know.

“I’m sorry,” you softly whispered back. “I’ll be here to guide you when it is time though, okay?”

Amber nodded. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

She opened her arms out to you for a hug. While you were holding onto her embrace, you felt another set of arms wrap around the two of you. The cool presence you recognized had to belong to the only other spirit in the room. 

Once the group hug was done, Amber shooed you and Jack out to talk just as her parents made their way inside her room.

“Let’s go this way,” you said, leading the way to a quieter hallway. Jack silently followed behind you.

Standing in the empty hallway, you and Jack stood there for a moment before you knew you had say something.

“Do you really think Pitch and I had something between us?” you asked, gauging for a reaction.

“It sounds like the two of you have known each other for a long time,” Jack pointed out. 

“We have,” you agreed. “We play chess together sometimes. But that’s about it.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Jack paused, but could only nod his head. “Fair enough.”

You fidgeted with the bracelet on your wrist as you gathered your thoughts. You didn’t need to tell Jack everything, but you felt like you should. You had grown to care and perhaps even like the Guardian of Fun, you didn’t want to lose him over something that felt as trivial as this.

“Not many people would ever befriend a grim reaper,” you explained, voice quiet. “It’s a lonely existence. Even among other grim reapers, its hard to fit in when I carry the weight of every soul I take like someone who was turned recently when I’m one of the most experienced reapers out there. Most of the other grim reapers have grown numb to the task, but that’s something I just can’t do.”

“(Y/N)…” Jack reached out to you.

When his fingers brushed up against your cheek, you looked up at him and Jack could see your glassy (E/C) eyes. You carried a lot more than what you were willing to show. 

“Death takes no sides,” you recited. “What Pitch was implying... Its not something that could ever happen.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, pulling his hood down and taking a step closer to you. “I...”

Before he could finish forming his thought, there was a commotion from the direction of Amber’s room. 

You knew immediately what was happening having experienced it so many times before. It never got any easier. Wiping at the unfallen tears in your eyes, you straightened up and brushed your clothes down with your hands. Hopefully you looked presentable enough.

“It’s Amber, isn’t it?” Jack asked, worry evident on his face. 

“It’s time,” you murmured just loud enough for him to catch. 

Walking towards the room, you stood a short distance away from the door. Jack had followed you, hovering nearby. He reminded you of the new grim reapers that you mentored a long time ago. Nervous and scared. 

A light figure of a soul stepped out of the room. When her eyes caught sight of the two of you, a smile appeared on her face as she approached.

“(Y/N)! Jack! Did you get the chance to talk?” Amber asked.

You nodded, crouching down to her height. “We did. Did you get the chance to tell mom and dad everything?”

“Not everything...” Amber said, looking back at the room. The muffled sound of crying came from the closed door. “Do you think they know?”

“Of course,” Jack reassured her. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Moms and dads always have a way to know what you can’t say.”

This brought a smile to Amber’s face. 

For someone who never had to experience this, Jack was doing fine. Seeing them interact made the bubble of sadness inside you grow. Now was not the time to show how you felt. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. It fluttered out of your hand and landed on the door at the end of the hall. 

A light glow emitted from the other side of the closed door.

You held your hand out to Amber. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Bye, Jack,” Amber said as she took your hand. 

Jack gave her a small wave. “Bye, Amber.”

Giving Amber one last moment to linger, you led her towards the door. Like every child that you were responsible for, you hoped that if Amber had another chance at life, may she live a long, healthy and happy life.

Opening the door, you took a deep breath, looked down at the little girl you were with and stepped through it together.

The next few days were quiet for you luckily. After Amber, it was like the someone knew you needed time to recover and gave you a break.

You took the chance to hole up at home, hiding under blankets as you tried your best to manage your sadness. 

Your tears had dried up, your heart still felt heavy, but you were still here. 

Being a grim reaper was tough.

The sound of knocking on your front door was what dragged you off your couch. Cracking the door open, you were surprised to see a magical snow bunny dance in front of you before turning into a small shower of sparkling snowflakes.

“Surprised?” 

You turned to see Jack watching you from the side, casually leaning against his staff.

“Jack,” you said, looking at him. “How’d you find me?”

“I came by one time, remember?” Jack approached you. At the sight of your still swollen eyes from these last few days, his expression softened. “Mind if I come in?”

You nodded, letting him inside. 

Jack left his staff by your entrance, propped up against the wall.

He came into your place with a bit of familiarity, yet still looked around as if this were his first time here. His eyes settled on the pile of blankets on your couch. 

As you trailed after him, you were startled when he turned around and swept you into a hug. Despite being the bringer of winter and cold, Jack’s hug felt warm and comforting. His breath tickled your ears as he held you close.

“I’m not very good at saying the right things to comfort people,” he admitted softly. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, snuggling into his embrace. Your response drew a relieved sigh out of Jack as he pulled you in closer. He gently pet your hair as he let you hang onto the much needed comfort you needed the last few days. There were no more tears left inside of you to cry and having someone here for you was more than enough.

After some time, you shyly stepped back from Jack. He was reluctant to let you go though, hands still placed on your shoulders.

“Thank you. For being here with me.” You mull of your thoughts for a moment before ultimately deciding to voice them to the man in front of you. Meeting his eyes, you try your best to not let any emotions show in your words. “Jack, perhaps you shouldn’t spend any more time with me.”

Confusion settled on his face. “(Y/N)...”

“Being a grim reaper is like being surrounded by sadness and death. No spirits like interacting with us. Humans think we’re a bad omen. It just comes with the profession - we’re not meant to get attached to anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Jack gently protested. His hand caressed your cheek, causing heat to rise to your face as he looked down at you. “I see you, (Y/N). After everything we’ve been through this last while, I have a pretty good understanding of who you are. You can’t let your job define you.” 

He gazed into your eyes, checking for any signs of rebuttal or conflict. It was the glimmer of hope he saw from you that gave him the confidence. 

Jack leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Give yourself a chance,” he murmured as he leaned his forehead against yours. “And if you feel the same way as I do, give me a chance too.”

While his confession surprised you a little, you knew deep down, you had felt the same connection he was feeling.

Raising a hand, you touch Jack’s cheek. It felt as warm as how your own were feeling. 

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you help me along the way.”

“For you, anything.”

[frozenlight-gvf]

It's a Scream, Baby

summary: (dom!jake x fem!reader) it’s the night before Halloween, and your boyfriend Jake takes inspiration from your favorite scary movie to fulfill a twisted fantasy of yours

word count: 5.8k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI— language, brief talk of murder/killing, masks (obvi), oral sex (m-receiving), bondage (handcuffs), blindfolding, overstimulation, fingering (f-receiving), penetration (f-receiving), period sex and blood kink... starts super fluffy then dissolves into filthy madness and then gets fluffy again

a/n: this resulted from marathoning the scream franchise, having impure thoughts about jacob, and all the blood talk on this hellsite... so enjoy this disgusting smut (also pls listen to gus black’s cover of “don’t fear the reaper”)

***

The scent of cinnamon swirled through the air, the essential oil diffuser working diligently to infuse every surface in the house with the cozy spice. Cold rain from a late-night October thunderstorm pattered on the windows. The sky outside was black and plastered with turbulent clouds, but you had never felt more at peace: wearing your favorite Halloween pajamas, you stood on a step ladder hanging up orange and purple fairy lights, casting your face in a colorful, festive glow. Even the screams coming from the shitty horror movie that you had on while you worked couldn't pull you out of your contentment.

The last of the lights had been hung, and you stepped down from the short ladder to admire your work. The living room was now softly illuminated by the stringed lights, the diffuser, and the jack-o-lantern you had carved-- the electric tea light inside flickered warmly; it couldn't replace a real flame, but you couldn't risk burning down the apartment you just started renting with your boyfriend. Not yet, at least.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and placed them on your hips. Then, you grabbed the remote that had been haphazardly thrown on the couch, putting a definitive, long overdue stop to the recently-released movie that everyone told you you simply had to watch, that it was the scariest thing they'd ever seen. You had given it an honest try, but once again, your theory that horror peaked pre-2000’s had once again rang true.

Your slippers-- which were covered in cartoon bats, matching the little ghosts on your soft, orange pants-- shuffled on the worn wood floor as you ambled towards the dark kitchen.

You opted not to flip on the lights, enjoying the lingering light leaking in from the living room. The digitized red numbers on the stove read 10:28. You were going to wait until you had company before you started the movie you really wanted to watch, but it seemed that he wasn't going to be home anytime soon.

The spark on the stove ignited a small woosh of flame, your unfocused eyes contemplating the tendrils that curled and licked at the chilled air. You hugged your jacket tighter to your body, trying to thaw the frost from your bones as you scrounged the cabinets for the Jiffy Pop you had bought specifically for tonight.

As you set the pan on the heat, the kernels rattled in their tin foil cage, slowly bursting one by one.

Just like the movie. You smiled, taking comfort in pretending to be in that world even for just a moment.

Suddenly, too much like the movie.

You jumped as the landline rang, rattling against the wall.

Rationally, you had a good chance that there wouldn't be a serial killer on the other end, but after all, Casey Becker had thought the same thing. You felt your heart beat quicker, blood surging through your veins. Scenes of Casey's losing battle with Ghostface flashed through your mind, picturing yourself instead of her with the knife buried in your chest.

Shaking your head, embarrassed at your shaking fingers, you answered timidly, "H-hello?"

"What's your favorite scary movie, pretty girl?"

"Jesus, Jake," you exhaled into the phone, clutching your chest, the voice of your boyfriend bringing you immediate comfort. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Hm, never heard of that one. What's it about?"

"You're hilarious," you said dryly, trying to hide the smile in your voice.

"So..." Jake started, doing his best to mimic Ghostface's rasp over the phone, "You gotta boyfriend?"

"I do, actually, his name is Jake. He's strong and he's handsome and he plays guitar in a famous rock band."

"He sounds perfect."

"He is, except he's not here right now, so I'm all alone and vulnerable," you said, coating the words with theatrical drama, but letting some disappointment slip in under it all. "I might even forget to check if the door is locked."

"Oh, no, well that's not good," he teased, picking up on your bit.

"I hope he comes home soon and saves me before I'm brutally murdered."

His studio session with the band had run really late, leaving you alone on the night before your favorite holiday. It stung, but you kept reminding yourself that it wasn't Jake's fault. And besides, the joy that decorating for Halloween brought you was enough to keep you entertained.

"I'll be home soon, darling. I promise I'll make it up to you," he paused. "Save me some popcorn."

"No promises, angel," you said, shuffling the the aluminum pan, the foil tent gradually rising. "Drive safe, please. Love you."

"Love you most."

You hung up the phone, flicking off the fire when your popcorn was done, slightly mourning its comforting warmth. You settled on the couch, cocooning yourself in a thick blanket, as you cycled through your purchased movies and selected Scream.

***

It was about midnight when you heard keys jangling at the door, briefly startling you as Sidney Prescott finished off Billy Loomis with a shot between the eyes. "Not in my movie," you moved your mouth to quote with her. You heard Jake sigh and set his bags down heavily in the hallway, guitar case clunking against the floor.

He called miserably from the entryway, "Hey, pretty girl, I'm so sorry I'm late, the session was-"

"Don't worry about it," you said, tossing the blanket off of you to stand up and meet him. You pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. The tip of his nose was slightly pink and cold from the chilly October air. "I'm just glad you're here now."

"I know, but it's your favorite holiday," he whined, rubbing his hands up and down your covered arms.

You glanced back at the stove clock in the kitchen. 12:14 AM. "Well, now it is," you smiled weakly.

He hummed, looking down at you. "Happy Halloween, darling." He wrapped his hands around your waist, kissing you deeply as you felt any ire you held up against him melt away into nothing, leaving only fondness. "Mmm," he said, licking his lips once he pulled away, tasting the remnants of the salt from your snack. "Did you save any for me?"

"Nope," you said plainly, biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin. "But feel free to kiss me again if you'd like another taste."

Jake's second kiss was deeper, hungrier. He walked you backwards against the couch as his tongue swiped over your lips, trying to taste more of you. You happily granted him entry, letting him lick into your mouth, the pair of you breathing heavily. His cold fingers brushed the soft hair at the nape of your neck, holding you firmly against him, the sensation causing a tingle to run down your spine. Warmth was blooming in your stomach, and you felt yourself growing damp between your legs as he pushed his knee into those sensitive parts.

"Over the phone," he started, talking against your lips.

"Mhm?" you prompted, pecking him.

"I promised I'd make it up to you."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I've got a surprise," he said, kissing you again. "Wait right here."

He disappeared out of sight to the entryway where he had dropped his bags. The absence of him left you shivering. You stood-- slightly breathless-- exactly where he left you, leaning your hips back on the couch, anxious to see what Jake had up his sleeve.

After some rustling, Jake reappeared a few seconds later with an evil little smirk, holding something behind his back.

"What's this?" you giggled, genuinely curious about his behavior.

He coyly quirked an eyebrow. "Close your eyes."

You gave him a questioning look, but he smiled and rolled his eyes a bit, silently asking you to humor him. You sighed and closed your eyes.

"Jake, what is this?" Slightly exasperated, you wished he would just forgo all the games and fuck you.

After a few seconds, Jake spoke, his voice dripping with desire.

"It's a scream, baby."

You opened your eyes to Ghostface standing only a couple feet from you. A gasp shot out of you as you flinched backwards-- completely on instinct. But the fear that coursed through you soon dissolved into pure adrenaline once you cognized that it was Jake under the mask.

"Jake," you breathed, already starting to squirm, "are we finally doing this?"

You could hear him starting to breathe heavily under the mask. With tingling fingers, you reached for the buttons on his navy shirt— he had already done most of the work for you by wearing it sluttily half-open despite the fall weather. You licked your lips, hypnotized by the rise and fall of his smooth, defined chest.

“You wanna play psycho killer?” you quoted, the sound coming low and sultry from your chest. You slid each little pearlescent button from their respective holes on his shirt teasingly slow.

Jake nodded, the distorted white face moving up and down slowly.

You leaned in close to his ear once you had his shirt completely undone. “Can I play the helpless victim?”

Jake nodded once more, sealing your fate.

Arousal flooded your body as he slid off the slouchy zip-up hoodie you had hanging on your shoulders, revealing the dark spots of your hardening nipples under your white tank top. A barely-audibly groan came from under the mask, the rubber and fabric muffling any noise Jake made.

His sly fingers toyed at the sensitive skin right below the waistband of your fleece pants, making you pay for the teasing you had dished out to him earlier. You pushed Jake’s shirt all the way off of him, leaving his torso bare. The orange light in the room cast his skin in a warm, sensual glow. You hummed a sigh, beyond pleased at the situation you found yourself in.

“Living room or bedroom?” you whispered, running your hands up his body, resting them on his chest.

You had yet to christen-- so to speak-- the living room of the new apartment, so a sliver of you was hoping he would take you right there on the couch surrounded by all the festive decorations, but when he nodded his head back towards the bedroom, you knew he had something devilish planned.

Suddenly, he reached down to grab your thighs, scooping you up so your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. He was always deceptively strong, making you feel like putty in his arms. You rested your hands around his neck, feeling where the ends of his soft brown hair emerged from the edge of the mask. In this new position, the urge to have his warm lips on yours again grew overwhelming, so you started to lift his mask up from the front, eager to see his pretty face.

Jake quickly slid one hand from his firm hold on your ass and grabbed your wrist roughly, stopping you in your tracks and pulling a surprised whine from your throat. He shook his head slowly, the grotesque face silently chastising you. You felt your core clench against his sturdy abdomen. Tonight was gonna be fun.

***

Jake carried you to the dark bedroom, and you stared into the mask's large black eyes the whole way, unable to see even a sliver of your boyfriend's face. He then tossed you on the mattress, jostling a yelp from you. The storm outside had long passed, and the clouds had parted to reveal the stereotypical Halloween night full moon. Its gray light slotted in through the open blinds, slicing through the blackness of the room. The cold glow lit Jake’s bare chest enticingly, and it made the bright white mask look even more haunting in the semi-darkness.

He crawled on top of you deliciously, leaning down so his head next to yours. “Remember our safe word, pretty girl?” his voice raspy, positively dripping with lust.

You nodded, “Wes Craven.” A smile creeped over your lips.

Jake sat up and nodded, clearly satisfied and ready to begin. Tingles fluttered through your skin; they started in your toes and snaked their way up through your legs, finding their destination at your throbbing heat.

You squirmed, unable to contain your desperation for his touch.

He climbed off of you and kneeled at the edge of the bed, tugging on the ankles of your pants. You lifted your hips so he could pull them off, leaving you in nothing but your panties and your barely-there tank top. You shivered in the cold air, your nipples perking up even more.

The night hadn't even gotten past a PG-13 rating, as Sidney would say, and yet, the tent that had formed in Jake's pants already looked painful. Forgetting your own pleasure, your mouth watered at the idea of taking care of his.

You slid off the bed and kneeled on the floor in front of him, so close you could hear his quickening breath. You tapped the tops of thighs to signal that you want him to stand up. Jake did so slowly, almost unsurely, looking down at you the whole time. With deft fingers, you made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans, pushing the rough denim down low on his hips, not having the ability to tease him anymore.

His thick, defined print through his boxers almost made you moan. You ghosted your fingertips along his clothed length, in awe of him. He spasmed hard under your touch, making you gasp in surprise. There was no way he was already this sensitive.

You leaned forward, mouthing him through the cotton, creating a warm wet spot on the fabric. A pained groan sounded from above you, and you looked up to see that Jake had not moved his head the slightest bit, meaning that, under the mask, his eyes were still locked on you; he was taking great pleasure in watching you make a mess of his underwear.

Smirking, you pulled his boxers down, and he sprung free, bobbing appetizingly up and down. You were in disbelief at how hard he was already; Jake always got off on giving you pleasure, not the other way around. Could it be that he was enjoying your fantasy as much as you were?

You took his heavy length in your hand, his skin velvety-soft. Pumping him slowly, you traced the fingers of your other hand over his hipbone, considering your next move.

You decided to do something you'd never done before, just for the fuck of it. You had an urge to reward Jake for fulfilling this fantasy of yours. So, slowing removing your hand from him-- really wanting to make a show of it-- you brought your palm to your lips and spit thickly into it. A string of saliva hung between your mouth and your hand as you resumed stroking his cock, gripping him tighter this time. The muscles in his abdomen visibly flexed, and you could tell Jake was holding back a whimper from the choked noise he was making. He gathered your hair out of your face into his fist at the back of your head.

You knew he wanted to fuck your mouth, but you weren't going to let him just yet. You were going to savor this, assuming it would be your last few moments of being in control for the rest of the night.

You began pumping him faster, the slick of your saliva making the movement sickeningly easy. You rested your free hand on his thigh, feeling his muscles tense and contract repeatedly. As soon as he thrusted his hips into your hand, you broke all contact, making Jake exhale heavily, a whine sneaking in at the end.

Looking up at him and batting your eyes, you stuck your tongue out flat, moving it so that the head of his cock rested on it.

You flicked the tip of your tongue at that sweet spot under the head, and his dick twitched madly. You persisted your kitten licks, knowing that you were slowly swelling up his desire to throw you around and have his fucking way with you.

You wrapped your lips around his throbbing head, swirling your tongue around it and tasting the precum that leaked from it. You purposefully moaned loud and long so that the vibrations went straight into his dick, making him quiver.

Daringly, you pushed your mouth further down his cock, and the fist Jake had wrapped around your hair tightened, slightly pulling your chin upwards. Once your nose was brushing the soft hair at his base, you hollowed out your cheeks, pulling your head back and sucking him hard all the way up his shaft and back down again. His knees almost buckled.

You would have murdered the rest of the town of Woodsboro to see the pleasure splashed out on his face. His cheeks always grew so prettily pink, his lips red and parted, gasping for air.

You shamelessly ground your covered pussy into the floor, aching for friction. Jake noticed this, and he used the leverage he had on your hair to yank you away from him. You whined in protest, but he wasn’t having any of it. The realization sparked in your mind that the reason he stopped you was because you had almost made him cum. Already.

He pointed his finger stiffly to the bed, instructing you to get back on top of the sheets. You did so quickly and obediently while he tugged his pants and boxers all the way down and off, leaving him fully, stunningly naked, save for his silver medallion necklace and the Ghostface mask.

God, you had dreamed about this pretty much since you met the guy at that Halloween party back in college. You were a slutty vampire, and he was, of course, dressed as Ghostface, and you would have bet money that the mask he was wearing tonight was the very same one from all those years ago. The sentiment had almost distracted you from the feeling of his fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tank top. You nodded, thinking he was asking for permission to bare you to him, but he just kept rubbing the seam between pinched fingers. Humming with understanding, you sat up and reached to grasp the fabric where his fingers were. Closing your eyes seductively, you slowly revealed the skin of your torso bit by bit, inch by inch, letting your breasts be the prize you made him wait for.

Pausing in disbelief at the plucky acoustic guitar that had begun to whisper through the room, you swallowed hard as you listened close, praying you were hearing what you thought you were. A breathy, haunting voice began to sing,

"All our times have come,

here but now they're gone..."

The very same voice that serenaded Sidney and Billy in the movie.

Jake was setting his phone down on the bedside table right beside the Bluetooth speaker. You were hazily astonished by how he was able to do that in the time it took for you to take off your top.

“You... are…” you started, unable to hold back the arousal-soaked laugh that shook from you as his knees straddled your upper thighs, “unbelievable.”

He said nothing as he tucked a finger in the waistband of your panties and ripped them off of you, making you gasp at the sudden roughness that punctuated the serene, yet painfully arousing music. He held up the pathetic strands of fabric that your underwear had now become, dangling them so that you got a good look of what he could do to you. You hummed a moan behind closed lips, loving the overt display of dominating masculinity. Tossing the ruined panties aside like the garbage they now were, he touched the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pulling it down and prying your jaw open. The action dizzied you with seduction, and you let loose a loud, uninhibited moan, giving him just what he wanted as his fingers dipped into your wetness and brought them up to rub small circles on your clit.

The fire inside you was scorching every crevice, your edges smoldering. You were more than happy to let Jake take you all the way to the edge and over it just with his skilled fingers, which you knew he was more than capable of doing. But that’s clearly not what he had in mind when you felt his weight suddenly absent from the bed. Your eyes lazily blinked open to stare at the ceiling when you heard a drawer open, knowing that there was a whole variety of things he could be grabbing to use on you…

Ghostface reappeared in your field of vision, necklace and hair dangling a foot or two above you.

As well as the strip of black silk and the fuzzy handcuffs he was holding.

You were so overcome with anticipation that your vision went blurry, the back of your head pressing deep into the pillows.

“Wow," you gulped, gasping for air, "you’re really running with the ‘psycho killer’ theme, huh?”

You did your best to hide it, but your voice betrayed exactly how turned on this made you.

Jake nodded tantalizingly.

First came the blindfold. Once the cold silk was tied securely around your eyes, the rest of your senses were instantly enhanced; you felt every fiber of the sheets beneath you, and you could even faintly smell the cinnamon wafting in from the living room.

The handcuffs came next, but not before Jake took both of your hands and pinned them above your head. He closed one of the soft loops around your left wrist, the clicking sound and the almost-too-tightness sending a flood of arousal through you— you were surely soaking the sheets by now.

You heard him thread the free loop through the bars of the headboard and close it around your other wrist, hissing at the sensation. You tested your new range of movement, finding it deliciously limited. Your clit prickled with pleasure, knowing that whatever happened next was out of your control. You'd put up a good fight, but now you were thrilled to just lie down and take what was coming to you.

“Alright, pretty boy,” your voice silky with pleasure. “Do your worst.”

He let you lie untouched for a moment, your need growing rapidly.

Then, his fingers attacked to your hot center, rubbing up and down your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered.

You whined when his fingers left you once again, starting to regret wanting this. He could tease you and edge you like this for hours.

What hit your ears next had you gushing. There was an obscene slurping sound as Jake sucked your slick off his fingers. The vulgar noise alone caused you to moan loud and long, your hips writhing.

He stilled your movements with a strong arm across your pelvis, pressing you down into the bed as he punished your clit, rubbing harder and faster, his fingers lubricated with his own spit. You felt your legs start to go numb, your chest and face flushing hotly.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Jake still had the mask on even though you couldn’t see it; the only reason he'd have it on now is if he wanted it. But when he finally pushed a finger inside you, a groan escaped him despite his best efforts-- still muffled by the rubber.

When he brushed the pad of his finger against your g-spot, you let out a high-pitched moan. The stimulation was divine, but it wasn't near enough to get you off, which you needed more than you needed oxygen in that moment. You desperately wiggled your hips under his arm, desperate to be more filled. He acquiesced, pushing a second finger inside, stretching you delectably. Jake started to pump in and out, rubbing the pad of his thumb on your throbbing clit.

You were submerged in euphoria when you felt a warm liquid drip down from your pubic bone and into your folds-- Jake had spit on you. Like you were some dirty slut. Fantasizing about being fucked by a masked serial killer? Yeah, you were a filthy whore. And you loved it. Clearly, so did Jake.

A pitiful whine slipped past your lips as Jake picked up the pace, pumping and rubbing faster and harder, the pornographic squelching noise it made had your mind going numb. The blood in your veins had seemed to be replaced by pure liquid pleasure as the feeling of Jake’s fingers on and inside your most sensitive parts shot you ever-closer to your looming peak, threatening a vigorous collapse.

“Jake, please,” you pleaded. “Shit…need more,” you panted. You meant that you wanted his thick cock shoved deep inside you, but he simply kicked up his fingers a notch or two, sending you hurtling straight into the wall of your high, but excruciatingly unable to climb over it.

“Fuck, Jake!” You grappled with your restraints, wanting nothing more than to grab his wrists and pull him away from you. The pleasure was way too much. Pathetically overstimulated, it took you way too long to realize that Jake knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You’re evil,” you sobbed, tears soaking the black silk over your eyes. Your mind couldn't understand or perceive anything but Jake’s merciless fingers at your cunt, the sensation beyond unbearable.

Just before you thought you were going to explode into fire, leaving nothing but ash and cinders, Jake relented.

Tear-stained and absolutely dripping wet, you were sure you were a sight to behold.

“Fucking bitch,” you spat, trying to catch your breath. It took you a good minute to remember where you where.

You then felt his strong palm come down hard on the side of your hip, sending you right back up into the stars. “Ow, Jesus, Jake!” you shouted, swallowing hard. But you both knew how much you liked being smacked around. His hand soothed the red mark he left.

His thumb gently brushed your cheeks, drying the tears that had flooded beyond the silk covering your eyes.

He grazed his hand from your chin, down your exposed neck, to your collarbone, and down to trace where the swell of your breasts began, obviously reveling in the image of your naked body all tied up and leaking for him. You felt his calloused fingers pinch one of your hard nipples while his free hand kneaded your other breast, making your back arch up into his touch, feeling divinely sensitive. A whine left your throat, your hips bucking pitifully.

His hands dragged down the sides of your waist and hips, finally settling and digging his fingers into your skin. You inhaled sharply as you felt his throbbingly hard cock run through your folds, sending shockwaves up to your head, fogging up your mind once more.

“Please,” you whispered a prayer, hungry for his cock.

Stars exploded behind your eyes when suddenly, Jake forcefully thrusted into you all the way, not giving you even a moment to get used to his size.

Your whole body was attacked with tingles, that familiar heat growing in your stomach again when you felt Jake lean over you, shivering at the feeling of the cold metal of his necklace landing on your chest. The heat and softness of his bare skin on yours felt so intimate compared to the outrageously obscene slapping sound that was erupting from between your two pelvises. Your pussy was exponentially wetter than normal, attributing it to the arousal of your long-time fantasy playing out on your favorite night of the year, as well as Jake’s talented cock brushing your g-spot with each quick snap of his hips, leaving you a moaning, blubbering mess.

“Jake, please, I’m almost there, I need more.” You had the urge to reach down and rub your clit to skyrocket you to your peak, momentarily forgetting your restraints; the sound of the metal chain that connected the loops rattling against the headboard along with your desperate whines seemed to encourage Jake. He started thrusting into you even faster and harder. One of his hands left your hips, and before long, his pointer and middle fingers were pushing past your lips. You sucked on them eagerly, moaning around them as you greedily swirled your tongue all over his skin, tasting his salty sweat and your own lingering arousal.

Sufficiently slicked, he pulled his fingers from your lips with a ‘pop,’ bringing them down to rub your clit hard. At this point, you were screaming in pleasure, writhing against your restraints, chanting Jake’s name like he was a god. He was everywhere; on top of you, inside of you, within you. It was overpowering.

Your toes began to curl as you felt yourself teetering on the edge you wouldn’t be able to come back from, about to be launched into the most extreme pleasure you’d ever felt.

“I’m about to cum, Jake, fuck!” you sobbed, breathing so heavy that your head started to spin.

One more particularly expert thrust of Jake’s hips sent you screaming into the deep, vast abyss of unimaginable pleasure. Your walls clenched like a vice around Jake’s cock, wetness flowing out of you. Your whole body went white-hot numb, making you forget your existence in this reality.

All the while, Jake was still thrusting into you, riding you through the waves of you unbearable euphoria.

Blinking hard, your breath gradually slowed as you regained feeling in your body. Jake was caressing your hips, helping to bring you back down to earth.

Once your breathing evened out, you felt him peel his torso off of yours, the both of you damp with sweat.

“Shit,” you heard him exclaim breathily— the first time he’s spoken this whole time— the single word drawn out in pure incredulity. The click that followed was him turning the dim bedside lamp on.

“What? What is it?”

“See for yourself.”

He removed your tear-soaked blindfold, your vision blurry and stinging from being in total blackness for so long. You squinted as your eyes adjusted in the low lamplight to see what had Jake so amazed.

Streaks of red were splattered between you, painting the both of you with fresh, dark blood.

“Oh, fuck, Jake, I’m so sorry,” you gasped in utter disbelief and embarrassment. “I didn’t know I was starting, or else I wouldn’t have-“

You trailed off as you watched Jake remove the Ghostface mask: his brown hair was disheveled, eyes half-lidded and lips open, visibly stunned. He tentatively dragged his fingers across a particularly thick streak of blood on his stomach and held up his hand as he watched it drip down over his palm. He was entirely dumbfounded, like there were no other thoughts in his mind except your blood on his skin. He pulled out of you, still hard and twitching.

You watched in hazy awe as Jake began to slowly pump his cock, using your slick blood to glide over his length. His eyes were locked onto to his streaked fist. Gradually getting faster and faster, his breathing quickened and high-pitched moans and whines started to slip past his fucked-out pink lips. He threw his head back, and the sweat on his flushed neck glistened in the low light. His eyebrows furrowed, concentrating hard on his impending release. He grunted deep and long as he came on your already-painted stomach, shooting hot and hard.

His chin fell to his chest, every ounce of his energy drained from him as he collapsed back to sit on his heels.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, still breathing hard and admiring the red blood marring the pale white flesh on his hand and his cock.

You didn't have the words to express how turned on you were. You simply stared at him as he sat between your shaking legs.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he breathed, wiping his bloodied hand on his waist and sliding off the bed, rushing to your side to release you from your handcuffs.

He took your hands and kissed both of your wrists, your soft, sweet Jakey resurfacing. Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bathroom.

***

As the warm water of the bath Jake drew for you soothed your aching muscles, the fog in your brain slowly dissolved into bliss. You watched as steam swirled around the white-tiled room. Jake, having quickly cleaned off and changed into a sweatshirt and flannel pants, had returned from the kitchen with two classes of cold water. He passed you one as he kneeled beside the tub, stroking your hair.

You cleared your throat to try and rejuvenate your weak voice. "That was amazing."

"I couldn't agree more,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Are you ok?"

You nodded and hummed a response, leaning into his touch on your jaw.

"Never thought I'd get so hot and bothered at the sight of you covered in blood," you said with a giggle.

"Well, we already knew you were a bit twisted, what with you wanting to be ruined by Ghostface," he joked, a grin spreading over his lips.

"And ruined, I was."

Jake held out his hand to help you step out of the bathtub, handing you a fluffy white towel. Once you were dry, he tied his soft robe around you, taking a moment to worship the sight of your body.

You turned to head towards the linen closet to grab a fresh set of sheets, thinking about the crime scene that was yours and Jake's bed.

Jake grabbed you by your waist and turned you around to face him. "Mm-mm. Already done, pretty girl. You have nothing to worry about." He placed a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose.

"You already changed the--?"

"Yep. All clean."

You hadn't any idea where he had found the time to do that, but you almost moaned at the idea of sinking deep into the fresh sheets next to Jake.

Once more, you found yourself with your legs wrapped around Jake's waist as he carried you back to the bedroom, your chin propped on his shoulder.

He set you down on your back on the mattress, leaning over your body to kiss you deeply. It was passionate, yet spilling over with tenderness. In that moment, all you knew was Jake's solid body and his soft lips.

You gasped and chuckled at the feeling of Jake already hard again between your legs.

He looked down at the bulge in his pants. "'God, you see what you do to me?'" he quoted Billy Loomis with a smile, talking against your lips.

"No, I don't," you said coyly, returning his smile and wrapping your arms around his back, pulling him flush to you. "Why don't you show me?"

*

PART TWO!!

taglist post!

[weixuldo]

Pancakes and Pastries

Linecook/Roommate! Anakin x GN!Reader

a/n: this is based on this lovely asks from @ddejavvu (link here). Just a preface, I didn't assign a gender becasue I wasn't sure what the ask implied (if u want me to change it I gladly will :) anyways, other notes will be at the end to clear up more abt the story.

You’re a terrible cook and only sell the baked goods at a small cafe downtown. Thankfully, your roommate, Anakin is an experienced linecook and is ready to make anything for you. Too bad he's a natural flirt, otherwise you might just find yourself falling for him.

Warnings: gn!reader, cursing, banter, no use of y/n

________________________

6:30 a.m 

The tiny brass bell above the cafe door dinged continuously as the working crowd came to grab a small bite before heading off to work. 

The cafe was filled with the warm aroma of coffee beans and fresh pastries. The display windows held rows of all types of treats; macrons, muffins, strudels, bagels, cookies, toast, and many more. A plethora of coffee makers and different flavorings to cater to each customer’s specific desires, lined the back counter.

Mornings were always pretty busy, you were in the heart of the city after all.

You had gotten up ungodly early to prepare for the day, so once you got everything ready and opened the shop you were pretty tired. But regardless of the exhaustion creeping in, you still had a full shift ahead of you so you needed to put on your best customer service face and seize the day. 

Latte, snickerdoodle cookie, iced chai tea with two pumps of vanilla, farmhouse roast with cold foam, 5 assorted macaroons, a slice of key lime pie, a frosted eclair, strawberry crepes. The orders came in waves and you prepared them all. 

You weren’t even scheduled today, but your boss called you at the last minute because the new guy got fired for stealing inventory (really what was he stealing? There was nothing but ingredients in the back), so you hauled ass down here.

Sadly today the staff joining you today were rookies, so you had to take orders and keep an eye on them too. 

It was bad enough that the bakers in the back were being lazy today, but to deal with new workers who didn’t know the system was even more frustrating. 

It was going to be a a long day.

3:50 p.m.

The cafe closed early on Sundays, so you flipped the “we’re open” sign over and got ready to close everything down when you heard a knock on the door.

Whoever that was would just have to stay disappointed because you were too tired to deal with another needy customer right now.

They knocked again and you had to collect a calming breath to make sure you wouldn’t go off on them when you turned around. Much to your surprise behind the glass door was your roommate….your handsome roommate.

Anakin Skywalker was an interesting guy. Deviously handsome looks, insane confidence, witty humor, and radiating charisma.

A few months ago you were apartment hunting but the rates in the city were way too high for you to pay alone, so you put out an ad for a roommate. A lot of the requests you got were from older people and you didn’t exactly feel the most comfortable as a young adult, just starting out, living with someone two or even three times your age. 

After a few days you stumbled upon Anakin’s application. Maybe his picture captured your attention… maybe you stalked his instagram to see if he was a serial killer (and to look at more of his pics).... Either way, the two of you obviously ended up living together. 

When he first moved in you were worried he would be bringing chicks back every night based on his stunning looks and flirtatious personality, but thankfully you were mistaken.

He was just a normal guy; go to work, come home, shower, eat, sleep, repeat. You didn’t mind that at all, because your routine was basically identical. 

A small blush rose to your cheeks as you headed for the door. His hair was held back by a folded black bandana and he had his own apron in hand. 

“The door was open, ya know” you said, motioning him into the establishment. 

“Oh, the sign was flipped, so I assumed…” he said, motioning to the door. 

“Mhmm”

“We are almost closed, but i’ll allow you one purchase, just cause i'm so nice” you teased. 

He walked up to the counter and surveyed the sweets, “oh, are you now? If you’re such a kind person, how about giving me a coffee cake on the house, sweetheart?”.

“Woah, woah, woah… you’re asking a bit too much there pretty boy” 

He leaned over the counter slightly with a smirk, “aww, you think i’m pretty”.

In response you playfully rolled your eyes, “yuck! It’s just an expression, Skywalker, don’t get an ego about it” .

He grabbed her beaten up wallet out of his back pocket and laughed, “You already know i’ve got an ego”. 

“That I do” you quipped back as you grabbed a coffee cake slice

“You love it though” he smiled as he handed you a ten.

Your eyes lingered on his forearm as he offered you the cash, he was a fit guy and the veins on his arms bulged just right; plus he was a line cook, so you knew that he had good dexterity in those pretty fingers too. 

“Whatever you say” 

You weren’t going to tell him, but you added your 50% off employee discount (since you were on the clock) just ‘cause. 

The cash drawer popped open with a ding and you went to hand him back his change.

“You heading back to the apartment?” he asked as he gathered his cake. 

“Yea, I’m gonna take a nap, I’m tired as shit. I’m guessing you’re about to go into work?” 

He drew his lips into a thin line, “yep, I’m livin’ the dream. Are you gonna get lunch?”

“Probably” 

“You should, food is important…Have a good afternoon though”. 

You returned the gesture and went back to wiping down the coffee bar when you heard a few clinks and the door closed shortly after.

Your brows furrowed at the speed at which he left, but to be fair his shift was literally starting in two minutes. You walked up to the register to lock it when you saw he had tossed the rest of his ten in the tip jar; a small smile spread across your tired face.

11:02 p.m.

Your sleep schedule was so fucked up from all of these awkward shifts so you were just waking up from your nap (if you can even call it that).

Before you could register what to do next, your stomach let out a hungry growl and you groaned. You forgot to eat lunch and missed dinner so you were starving; sadly, it was grocery shopping weekend for you and you were out of instant meals.

A sandwich then. 

You put on a small tank top and some gray shorts and headed to the kitchen. You hated cooking and you weren’t good at it either, so usually you had a salad kit, turkey dinner meal, or a premade acai bowl in the fridge. But since you were out of your usual options, you had to stick with a good ol’ PB&J.

You heard the click of keys in the door and you knew Anakin was back from his shift. Some of you wanted to dash back to your room and just wait until he went to shower to make it; you were lowkey intimidated by him. Before you could leave he noticed you and greeted you. 

“Oh, Hey Anakin, how was work?”

“It was fine, the Sunday night rush is insane though, I’m so glad I go in later tomorrow” he groaned, sitting down at one of the barstools in front of the counter. 

“You makin’ a little snack?” he asked, leaning over to see the ingredients in front of you. 

“It’s more like dinner and lunch-”

His eyes widened, “lunch?! I thought you were getting something on the way back?”. 

You shrugged, “I guess I forgot”.

“So you’re going to use a PB&J to supplement two missed meals?” he asked, bewildered. 

“Uh huh” you nodded. 

“No, no, no…” he muttered as he hopped off the stool and came around the counter beside you. 

He took the knife from your hand and began to put the spreads away. 

“Hey!” you exclaimed with a frown.

“Listen, If you’re going to break a two meal fast, I’ll be damned if I let you break it with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich” he huffed out a laugh. 

“Alright wise guy, what do you suggest instead? We both know I’m a horrible cook”.

He bent down and grabbed a pan from the cabinet and some ground beef.

“What are you doing?” you asked curiously. 

“I’m making you some food. Go ahead and sit down, I’ve got this” he said softly as he started up the stove.

“No, it’s really alright Anakin, you just got off of work. You really don’t have-”

“I want to,” he responded.

You stopped talking and took a seat as he maneuvered around the kitchen like he had been here his whole life. 

He chopped the beef and while it cooked he mixed spices to season the meat with. You watched him intensely; when he cooked his brows furrowed in concentration and the right one arched ever so slightly.

He lightly bit his bottom lip when he shook the pan to flip the tiny pieces of beef, and the tendons in his pretty hands flexed with every movement. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about your roommate this way, but sometimes it was almost impossible not to. Inside, you cursed yourself for even thinking you had a shot with him; he was just a generally flirty guy and acted the same way he did with you when you brought friends over (though he was honestly just being nice). Plus there was no way that you would be his first choice out of all of the people who wanted him. 

Anakin stood over the pan and shook out the seasoning he had just made to flavor the meat. Sure, he was tired from a seven hour shift, but this was for you; when it came to you, he would do almost anything. 

He wasn’t exactly sure when his little “crush” started, he just knew that it was definitely there. Maybe it was when he realized you worked in the cafe beside his restaurant, so he would pop in as often as he could to grab little sweets; ones he could easily make himself, but he chose to buy them just as an excuse to see you (much to the detriment of his wallet). 

Or maybe it was when he realized you discounted all of his purchases.

Or was it those late nights where the two of you would put on movies and share funny commentary whilst sharing a bowl of popcorn. 

Or was it simply because of the way you maneuvered through life? Your sunny disposition, wonderful personality, and genuine kindness… plus you were drop dead gorgeous.

Whatever it was, he was locked in… of course he still kinda flirted around, but he was a natural flirt. At this point he couldn’t imagine wanting someone as much as he wanted you, he was entrapped by the possibility of having you in the future. 

But of course, being the oblivious guy he is, he had no idea his feelings were reciprocated at all. So he chose not to act on his feelings out of fear of losing his spot in the apartment (if it went bad, you could kick him out and look for a different roommate to replace him). 

“It’s done,” he said, turning the oven off and putting the pan on a cool burner. 

“What is it?” you asked, walking around to his side. 

“It’s meat for a taco,” he said, grabbing some cheese, guac, and lettuce. 

“Oh, wow! That’s awesome, you made that so quick!” you exclaimed, looking at the pan. 

“Here, let me grab a spoon to get the meat out” he said passing behind you.

Your eyes widened when you felt his strong hands on your waist as he moved past; did you feel that right? Did his hand linger? And why were you feeling hot?

“Here” he handed you the spoon.

“Thanks Anakin, this is really sweet” you said, getting your taco ready. 

“No problem roomie” he said in a sing-songy voice.

“And with this you’ll have left overs so you can have lunch tomorrow. Don't forget again” he fake scolded. 

“Alright dad” you quipped back. 

He laughed and shook his head as he headed back to his room to take a shower. You observed his broad back as his shirt defined his shoulder blades and muscles while he walked. 

Fuck. You were getting way too attracted to him. 

___________________________

You woke up to a sweet aroma of pancake batter and fresh fruit. It wasn’t often that you and Anakin ever got up around the same time but apparently today was your lucky day. 

He truly loved the culinary arts because he never faltered with his ambition to prepare a quality meal. He cooked breakfast a lot, but most times you were already at work and just saw the dishes in the sink or only got to have a quick bite. Though, every so often, on a rare day like this, both of you were able to share a delicious breakfast together (he always made sure to make breakfast for you when he knew you were off). 

You walked out of your room with a yawn and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Once you took a seat he handed you a freshly made plate and tossed some strawberries on top. 

“Look who finally decided to get up” he joked with a smirk. 

You yawned once more, “Listen master chef, if my boss didn’t call me in for every little inconvenience- maybe my sleep schedule might not be as fucked”. 

“Fair, fair” he nodded. 

“Thanks for breakfast, it looks yummy” 

“Of course” he smiled back

You looked at the plate with hungry eyes, it looked amazing, the only other thing you would add was-

“You want some of this, don't you?” Anakin smiled, flaunting a new bottle of whipped cream in front of you. 

“Ugh” you rolled your eyes.

“I know how you take your pancakes,” he laughed, “you’re very predictable”.

“Am I?” you said before trying to quickly grab the can from his hand. 

He laughed again and raised his arm higher, “that’s not gonna work and you know it.”.

“What can I do to get some whipped cream around here?” you cried comically. 

“Well this stuff isn't cheap and we’re going through the largest national whipped cream shortage in history” he said, trying to sound serious. 

“Oh, wow that’s tough” you returned with an unamused tone. 

“Isn’t it though?” he added. 

“I guess if you want some, you’ll just have to pay me” he looked away. 

“With what Mr.whipped cream enthusiast? We both make shit money” you exxagerated. 

“I may consider non monetary payment… possibly a kiss on the cheek?” he said.

“You want me to kiss you on the cheek?” you asked.

It probably came out more rude than you intended, it was only becasue you were flustered and your tones always got jumbled when you were nervous. 

“Well you know what they say, “kiss the chef”. But if you don’t want any whipped cream…” he stated; he was a little nervous that he put himself too out there (he was never the best at subtlety). 

“No, no! I want my whipped cream, so I will comply” you said proudly. 

“Alright” he smirked. 

…

… …

“Are you going to come collect your compensation or just stand there with the bottle in your hand?” you asked playfully. 

“Oh, right. How dare I make a customer wait” he smiled, walking towards you.

“You’re so full of shit, Skywalker '' you teased as he bent down so you could kiss his cheek. 

He felt butterflies when your soft, pillowy lips landed on his flushed cheek. How he had imagined that feeling. 

“Alright, here you are mam” he shot out a dollop.

“That’s it?!” you exclaimed, unsatisfied. 

“Each shot is one kiss” he shrugged, “national shortage…remember?”.

“Ugh” you rolled your eyes and continued to kiss his cheek until you were satisfied with the amount on your plate. 

“Alright, alright. Thank you for the great customer service, I'll be sure to leave a good review on yelp” you joked as you pushed him away so you could eat in peace. 

“Much appreciated, thank you mam” he smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever” you responded, with a light blush tinting your cheeks. 

5:30 p.m.

Anakin groaned from his room before entering the living area with his scrunched up apron in hand. HE stopped in his doorway to stretch. 

“Man, I really don’t feel like going in today”.

You hummed in acknowledgement, “It shouldn’t be too busy, since its only a monday ''.

“Yeah, I hope so” he said, putting his work shoes on that he kept by the door. 

You glanced over your shoulder to look at his muscles rippling as he tied the laces; it was mesmerizing. 

He stood and you whipped your head around quicker than you thought was possible. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later. It’s my week for trash right?” he asked, grabbing his keys.

“Mhm”

“Ok, I’ll take it out when I get back tonight. Don’t worry, I won’t forget” he smiled before waving a small goodbye and shutting the door. 

Something about him was just so homely, he was so sweet and thoughtful; you felt that living with him was just natural at this point. 

________________

The restaurant was actually pretty busy when he first arrived, he saw a few party tables as he walked in. Great…

After clocking in, he got straight to work; manning the char grill, making sure all the orders were getting out in a timely manner, and goofing around with the other cooks. 

In passing one of the cooks asked how his crush was doing. 

“What do you mean?” Anakin innocently asked with a stupid smile on his face. 

“Oh, just the one you live with. Ya know, no biggie” he laughed. 

“Doing well, I made us breakfast this morning,” Anakin proudly stated.

___

All of the staff knew about Anakin’s not so little thing for you. He had been working at this restaurant for a while and was pretty acquainted with everyone. The cooks all knew abt you because everyone liked to talk in the kitchen, plus some of the other guys were curious about Anakin’s love life, seeing that he was so desirable (all of the waitstaff thought he was fine as hell). 

He showed them your instagram when the two of you first started living together and everyone in the kitchen cheered him on. 

The waitstaff on the other hand were not so thrilled that the handsome and mysterious line cook already had his sights set on someone else… someone who wasn’t them. Of course they were jealous, but when they got your insta from Anakin, they couldn’t even find anything bad to say about you;l you were stunning. 

Doesn’t mean they liked you though…

___

A new order buzzed onto the screen above that had all sorts of modifications; Anakin was about to groan, until he recognized something familiar…

Usually no one asked for a salad without tomatoes and cheese but instead with rice, cucumbers, raspberries, strawberries, and chicken- or cinnamon on their mashed potatoes; there was only one person he knew who ever ordered such a peculiar combination.

You.

The waitress who rang in the order walked by and Anakin caught her attention. 

“Hey, the person who ordered thi-”

“Yeah, I know. They’re such a pain. Like, at this point, just make it at home if you want so many modifications” she rambled

He then described your appearance to her and asked if the customer fit the description.

“Yea, sounds like ‘em” she said before carrying on with her work. 

He smiled, you came into his place on your day off. Suddenly he felt a warm sensation in his chest. 

The waitress came barreling back in and shouted Anakin’s name, “they apparently forgot to say they didn’t want-”

“Butter on the mash” he finished, already knowing what was coming next. 

“Yea, how’d you know?” she asked, confused. 

“That’s my roommate, I make this for us all the time back at home”.

She gave him a look before walking away to whisper something into another server’s ear. He knew they were then going to go out and judge you because they were jealous. Typical. 

He continued to make your plate with care and since it wasn’t busy, even spent time drawing a little hearts with the cinnamon and salad dressing (not very subtle Anakin). 

The other cooks notice and start making fun of him and he playfully starts winding up a rag to snap at them. 

Once your food has been run he slipped out of the kitchen for a “bathroom” break; obviously everyone knows where he’s going.

He walks out into the front house and is immediately relieved by the cooler AC in there, next he scanned the tables and booths until he spotted your familiar face.

Soon enough he offers himself a seat in the booth opposite of you. 

”Anakin!” you exclaim, “You scared me”.

“My apologies Sunshine, Just thought I’d come out and see my favorite customer” he said before winking. 

“How’d you even know I was- “ you began before you looked down at your plate and realized. 

“Yea, not many people are out here ordering such a peculiar combo” he teased. 

“I should have known it was you who made the plate, well with the hearts and all. That must take a lot of time, they were really precise” you said, taking a sip of your water. 

He laughed before answering, “I reserve those for very special guests'' (he only did those when you came in). 

“Well, I wonder if you do this to persuade certain “people” to cut back on your rent for the month” you arched a playful brow. 

He clenched his chest and looked offended, “Of course not! I would never do such a thing”.

You laughed at his stupidity. 

He loved making you laugh, it was one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. 

You saw a few other cooks poking their heads around the wall that divided the kitchen from the seating in curiosity. 

“I think your co-workers want you to hurry up” you smiled, pointing towards the entrance to the kitchen. 

He let out a sigh, “I guess so”. 

As he stood you thanked him for stopping by; “My compliments to the chef” you teased. 

“I am always at your service” he dramatically bowed before jogging to the back. 

When he left you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your heart was racing… you were in too deep (but so was he). 

Anakin spent the rest of the night happily making orders; he no longer cared he was at work, because you had just made his day. 

Everyone in the kitchen began to tease him because he had a certain glow to him and they all knew why. 

“When are you finally gonna go on a date?” someone asked him. 

“Yea, you seem pretty damn sure about this one” another butted in. 

He smiled to himself, “Soon guys. soon…”

***

a/n: The reader likes some weird ass combos lmfaooo. Basically these two are both missing the point that the other likes them. Now to clear up some things, I know cafe's are usually open all day but I needed it to close early for the plot. Also, I worked at a steakhouse and modeled Anakin's work as such just cause its what i'm most familiar with (Ironically I don't eat meat lol).

[neonovember]

Hi babes!

Could you possibly write a battinson x sunshine vigilante!reader where the reader is just an absolute sweetheart in and out of the suit. Like she's super sweet to literally everyone she meets but she's also a badass vigilante. Maybe her and Gordon are close friends and that's how Pattinson meets her and he is just absolutely lovestruck when he meets her for the first time. Like a love at first site kind of thing, he's just absolutely whipped and enamored by the reader. Maybe written from Batsy's pov.

Much love babes

thank you so much anon for sending this prompt! I know this is super duper late, but it was a wonderful idea I truly wanted to do it justice. I made the reader a little morally grey cause I think it would be a little different, so I hope you enjoy darling! Feel free to send in any of your requests and asks and even if it takes time I’ll make sure it's done. (who I write for)

Carved in stone

pairings: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of drug trafficking, morally grey!characters, Gotham itself (its a warning alright), mentions of loss and grief, and a hint of touch!starved bruce if you turn it upside down and squint.

word count: 4.6K

The darkness that surrounds Bruce as he steps into his cave is one that he embraces like an old friend. The light that shines from every frosted window of the Manor stabs his eyes with an insistent twinge akin to a razor blade that had been left to rot on a windowsill during one of Gotham's thunderstorms.

There is a child-like fear in the air of the glacier cave sheathed in its darkness, the kind that materialises into green monsters and pale ghosts in the thin veil of nightmares. The kind that causes your parents to check under your bed, behind your clothing rack, in your closet.

Places where shadows and darkness would settle and make a home for itself. For most children, that gripping fear would outgrow itself over the years, replaced instead with reaching the 5th bar on the playground, failing driving tests, and falling in love for the first time. That was life, but Bruce Wayne was hardly a normal child. He had surpassed his pupils years before they had even begun to walk on two feet, and yet, that gripping fear of the dark still sprouted open deep within his stomach every time.

He has to shake it off of himself, as he reaches for his seat in front of the blaring screens projected from his desk. What he had found was too important to be tainted by the pathetic fears he allowed into his mind. Placing the contacts into the surveillance reader, Bruce combs through the hours of footage captured by the camera placed over his pupil. 

He had been trailing a shipment of drugs and armed artillery that was masked as a children's book delivery that had frequently made its route through Gotham's city streets. You didn't need to be Batman to know that it wasn’t the next edition of Captain fuckin’ Underpants being delivered to the underfunded children's orphanage. No, greed had taken over any sliver of humanity within Gotham governors long before the barrel of murders rocked through the suburban neighbourhoods and left hundreds orphaned.

He could hunt those killers down, but the crooked thug that had massacred his family was something Bruce would never be able to make it right.

The irony burnt a hole through the veil of what was left of him.

Gordon had been no help in tracking those marked vans down, whispering under the guise of the moonlight one night atop Gotham PD’S rooftop that it made his officers nervous. ‘Jittery and anxious’. Especially after so many of their dear brothers in blue ended up neck-deep in the underground crime syndicate they were meant to investigate, only to have their heads on a stick at the bottom of Miller Harbour.

Oh yes, Bruce knew all too well how greed had the habit of seeping into the morals of even the most respectable men, corruption had a way of appealing like salvation when you had no choice. That's what Gordan had said, and Batman laughed at that, shook his head and spit out in venom,

“There is always a choice, Gordon”

So it was up to Bruce now, the vigilante sheathed in darkness to uncover every small detail that could lead him to where these vans were heading too. This was different however, there was an unsettling itch behind his eyes, something pressing into his mind, begging him to see. And it isn't until he catches the flash of silver from the corner of the warehouse that he notices that someone else has been watching them too. Clicking on the magnified frame, Bruce leans in to try and decipher the glimpse of a face turned to the side, obscured by a black hooded cape that seemed to camouflage them into the darkness. The facial recognition software embedded in Bruce's computer pulled up nothing, not even a single trace of a face like theirs, obscured as it was.

Someone that lived in the shadows as Bruce did, someone who made it a home for themselves.

Bruce needed to find out who they were.

Now suddenly, Bruce has an actual reason to go to Gordan.

You rip off the latex body suit that enabled you to glide through the air, and shove your face into a navy hoodie in the backseat of your car parked outside the GCPD parking lot. It wasn’t safe but you had no choice, anonymity wasn’t pretty, and it sure isn’t easy.

But what you had found tonight, trailing after those marked vans that drove down the streets of Gotham like they fucking owned the place, was too sensitive to hold onto any longer than you had to.

Your eyes strain and survey the dark city streets filled with drop heads stumbling around and the thugs that fucked with them, for that same marked van charging towards you. You knew they wouldn’t dare come within the vicinity of the police department, and most importantly, you were smart enough to not leave even a hint of a trail.

It was irrational, but you knew enough of this life to know not to bet on rationality to keep you alive. You have to force yourself to shake it off before slamming the car door behind you and marching towards Gordan's office.

Officers decked out in uniform, glance at you twice before recognition fills their features, barking out hushed hellos and waves of acknowledgement towards you with confused faces as you walk through the department walls. You couldn’t blame them, your dark makeup had smudged from the humid air of rainfall and fog, and the incessant itch of your eye didn’t make it any better, even your cover outfit was washed in a deep midnight black.

They were used to seeing you in bright colours and skirts every time you met with Gordan to transfer any knowledge you had gathered the night before during your vigilance. Usually, you would wait until the next morning, when the mask of your pedestrian outfit and a sunshine smile would keep any questioning looks from the Officers around you at bay. To them, you were just a friend of Gordan who happened to actually like the last few pieces of Old Gotham. 

It wasn’t like you were putting on a facade, despite the incriminating outfit you wore now, you loved the colour as much as a child loves colouring outside the lines, your home itself was true to that. A true reflection of the warmth and sunshine you radiated, filled with potted plants hanging from ceilings and in corners, dyed pane windows that reflected warm hues of orange and yellow when the sun set over your studio apartment.

But that didn't mean you would let crime syndicates tear through your home, and this couldn’t wait until the next morning, no, no it was too personal, and oh how you loved mixing pleasure and business.

You couldn’t wait until you got their jaws crushed beneath your boot, watch their blood run through the city streets until it washed away all the crime, and the filth was clean.

You had a special hatred for people who exploited children, using them as a cover to transport drugs and arms had motivated you enough to spend the entire 3 nights straight documenting their every move, where their vans lead to and from when they would start their daily route of drug trafficking. It was imprinted into your brain, an obsession you would have to pretend was for the good of peace to Gordon, and not for your own twisted vengeance.

You don’t knock as you charge through the office doors of Gordon's chief floor, your connection to Gotham City’s Police commissioner gives you free clearance of the department, and your baked honey biscuits were good enough to bribe even the stone-cold assistant parked outside Gordan's office anyway.

You shut the door with an even loud ruckus, causing Gordan to sigh as he rummaged through papers stained with smoke scattered across his desk.

“Now what do I owe the pleasure of having Ms Sunshine in my office this goddamn late in the night?” Gordan says, not even having to look up to know it’s your loud boots against the hallway floors.

“Gordan” You reply, marching towards his desk until you are standing across from him.

“Yes?” Gordan replies, still skimming through the backlog of case files and police reports that seemed to double every night.

“Gordan.” You reply again, this time with an edge of urgency in your tone, and it’s sharp enough to cause Gordan to flicker his focus towards you.

“Those vans I was telling you about? The ones I’ve been trailing since August? I’ve finally found something, the cold must have loosened them up a bit because they got pretty fucking lazy” You start before Gordan cuts you off with a half-hearted sigh.

“You’ve been on them for months now Sunny, every bit of information you’ve squeezed out of them has led us to dead ends. Every time we’ve found a trail to their hideouts it’s packed up and shut down by the time we arrive.” Gordan replies before you shake your head quickly

“No, listen, Gordan, we’ve been looking at it the wrong way” You press on, but Gordan shakes his head

“I can’t afford the manpower Sunny, you know how my men have been feeling lately, the whole department is just holding their breath. Fucking restless, you damn near scared me marching in like that”.

You grit your teeth as you mutter under your breath, Gordan wasn’t listening to you, you didn’t need his men, they were all cowardly corrupt assholes on a power trip anyway. You just needed him, and he wasn’t listening.

“Sometimes you won’t always get to win every battle alright? It doesn’t work that way for us, you gotta save it for the big ones, the ones that are so bad you can’t even see them yet. You start putting your heart into it like you're doing right now? You’re gonna lose yourself along the way”

“They’re using fucking kids Gordan” You bark out when he begins another speech, you can’t help it. Gordans acting as if this is some small drug bust in a crack house. It’s way bigger than that, more sinister, it always is.

Gordan looks towards you wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to talk before closing it again.

You see that as a guide to continue,

“We’ve been seein’ those vans' as transporting the drugs through the cover of the orphanage, but they’re only using it to get to the warehouse. We can never find the drugs on them because it never was, they’re using the goddamn kids to traffick it, Gordan, fucking middle schoolers”.

“Jesus Christ”

“Okay, alright-uh” Gordon mutters under his breath as he gathers the paperwork strewn in front of him. He reaches into an unmarked drawer, pulls out a white card, and scribbles a mix of numbers onto it you had never seen before.

“Take this-” Gordon begins, motioning to hand you the card before you shake your head

“Gordan-”

“Take this, and meet me tomorrow, please” Gordon pleads, looking up at you, you wait a bit before nodding and taking the card from his palm.

“Come at the same time, but maybe next time you come barging in you at least change first” Gordon groans, knowing the litany of questions he was bound to get hounded for the second you left.

You roll your eyes, “I did” You mutter under your breath before saying Gordan's name again

“Thank you, Gordon, seriously, you're the only hope I have left in Gotham you know, the only one who actually cares what happens to this goddamn city,” You say

“I’m sure that’ll change soon Sunny” Gordan hides a smile, nodding towards you, before you leave his office quickly. You are too absorbed with the hidden message Gordan had said just before you left, to notice Gordans secretary staring into your back, what did he mean?

You ruminate over it as you pass the officers and down the precinct stairs, piling into your car and driving through backlit streets illuminated by just the moon in the sky and the sound of bats.

The visions of the cries of children fill your nights and leave you restless in the morning. You know you shouldn't, but you spend the break of dawn surveying the barren city streets for any sign of their presence, and when your obsession leaves you coming up empty you pull over and step out into the harbour bay.

You stare off into the Miller manor, watching the violent waves of the river crash into each other. Some people had an unrelenting fear of the ocean, of what may lay in its depths, but you had grown to fall in love with its beauty.

It was simple in its destruction, washing away the dirt and filth of the world. You had wished to escape in it, swim down to the bottom where you would lay for eternity, let the waves crash into you and take you away from it all.

You spent the entire morning standing there, blinking back hot tears and the brick that formed in your throat when you began to think too much of what you had lost.

You went home, for the first time since yesterday, and slept until you forgot.

-- -

Decked out in a light-coloured skirt and your face free from the dark black eyeshadow streaming down your face, you marched into the police department once again.

This time the officers greeted you with a genuine smile, seeming to forget about the events of yesterday, and were even more elated when you uncovered the Tupperware filled with the cookies you had made. You figured food would make them forget about it all but it seemed Gordan had beat you to it.

Opening the door to Gordan's office, you can't help but let out a chuckle when you see the commissioner in the same position you had stormed into last night. Gordon perks up at the noise, rolling his eyes before collecting the papers into a neat file and walking towards you.

Gordan begins to say something before a loud commotion muffled his reply, you reach for your gun fitted into the holster on your waist, and shift your body to point it towards the door of Gordan’s office.

It begins to shake as the loud sound of metal on wood gets increasingly closer and you can't decipher it until it stops at the front of Gordans office to understand what it is.

Footsteps.

Your eyes catch the door handle and begin to turn slowly, and you take a tentative step closer to the door, forming into a defensive stance with your gun pointed straight ahead and your finger dangerously close to the trigger.

The door opens much like it had before, with a loud bang, and you aim your gun towards the darkness that follows.

“Wait!” Gordon screams towards you, but you don't dare to take your eyes off the dark figure missing your perfect shots. There is a release of compartments before the figure uncovers itself, and there he is, in all his beautiful and dark glory:

Batman.

Batman’s POV

“What the hell Gordon?” You murmur, the glow of the table lamp illuminates your features, highlighting every dip and curve and line and Bruce can’t help but stare.

“Listen, please put your gun down Sunny, I invited him alright? Because there is no one in this precinct who can help you half as much as he could'' Gordon says, and Bruce catches your scrutinising gaze that seems to penetrate him through his cowl.

He raises his eyebrows as if testing the waters to see if you'll really do it, but you sheath your gun back into the holster hidden under that patterned skirt that's got Bruce thinking thoughts he shouldn’t.

“Uh, I think this conversation is better equipped somewhere more..discrete. Follow me” Gordon coughs, before opening the office doors. Bruce follows the dark patterned shirt of Gordon back from a short distance, you by his side, the heat emanating from you causes Bruce to step further away.

Bruce moves like he knows the ins and outs of the building, his shoulders tense, and his eyes always searching, but his body moves fluidly through the halls like muscle memory etched into him and you can't stop staring.  Bruce catches your eyes once, his cobalt blues stare right back at you with no hesitation, a flicker of recognition flashes over his eyes and Bruce begins to piece the face that's got his heart stopping and his hands reaching all at once.

You shift your eyes to the wainscotting lining the walls of the precinct, and Bruce's chest burns with a desperate need to see you seeing him. Bruce didn't know what overcame him, it seemed like the fear of the dark was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again. Bruce didn't even know your name, just Sunny. Bruce wanted to see how it would taste on his tongue, speaking your name and having your reply.

“You sure you know your way ‘round this building Gordan?” You sigh, as it seemed you both were  through endless hallways

“We’re here” Gordon replies, before pushing a lever door that opens into the precinct rooftop.

Bruce steps out into the rooftop courtyard, the cold chill of the night breeze does nothing to the burning hot in his stomach, but your visibility shivers and Bruce has to stop himself from covering you with his own damn cape.

Gordan passes you his worn-out leather jacket and you take it gingerly before he nods to Bruce in understanding moving to the far end of the roof.

You step towards the edge of the roof, knuckles turning white as you grip the handrail and Bruce watches you gaze out into the sky-scraping towers of Gotham City, glistening under the pale moonlit sky.

“It doesn't look so bad from up here you know?” You murmur, and Bruce's eyes flicker from the city streets below to your gaze.

Bruce shakes his head “No, no it doesn't”

“But then, doesn't everything get uglier up close?” You continue, your gaze flickering back to the city skyline

“No, not everything” Bruce replies in a whisper, but it's loud enough to hear and you shift your gaze back to Bruce

“You were there, weren't you?” Bruce says, the recognition hit him the second you stared off into the city, that same dip in the cheek, that same mark on your jaw. You were sheathed in the cover of the warehouse darkness then, and adorned an outfit akin to what Bruce was wearing now, but it was you the entire time.

“I suppose it was, but how were you there, Batman?” You reply, eyes flickering down to Bruce's tall stature,

“Been trailing them for weeks, but every single thread of their trail-” Bruce says

“Is a loose end” You murmur, and Bruce nods in agreement.

“I know it may look like it isn't, but I've been after them for even longer, and it’s like this has become my entire life now you know? If they can’t be stopped, if I can't stop them then’”

“What’s the point” Bruce replies

You nod thoughtfully, it was why you had barely slept in the last month, barely ate, this vengeance, this thirst for justice, it consumed you. And now it seemed you had met someone who was consumed by it too.

“How did this” You gesture between Bruce and Gordan “alliance even form” You question, it didn't really hit you then but this was the known vigilante that had been plastered on the front of newspapers across Gotham, now standing, comfortably on GCPD’s rooftop.

Bruce hides a chuckle, shaking his head “It’s a long story, but you see that light projector there” Bruce gestures his chin to the signal hidden near the edge of the rooftop, tilted to the sky.

“It’s a distress signal, carved out in a bat wing, and whenever Gordan turns it on, I always come, no matter what”. Bruce says

“I’m not foolish, these people we're both after, aren't the normal crooks and pickpocketing gangs, and together we can put an end to all of this, and I know you I haven’t made the best defence compared to the hundreds of newspapers calling for my head, but I care, I care about Gotham-

“I know, Batman” You stop Bruce mid-way through his erratic tangent, reigning him back in with that heavenly voice of yours.

“Bruce” He replies, after a heated silence, and a flash of recognition fills you.

How could you not have pieced it before? You don’t know if Bruce sees the surprise in your eyes but it dissolves right back into the space between you.

“Bruce” You nod, his name taste sweet on you tongue and it has him yearning to hear it again.

“I thought I would be scared if I ever came face to face with Batman, but, all I feel, all I really feel is understanding. I know you, Bruce, I know you because I see myself in you. This long life of fighting, of putting your everything in your purpose. It gives you a reason to survive in this hellscape, but it also fucking destroys you.” You say, eyes searching Bruce’s .

“How did you get into this life?” Bruce says

“I know from this darn skirt that is yellow of all things it may not look like it but I’ve been fighting the plague of crime and greed that had taken over this city for years”

“First with the power of books that could lead me to become something those rich fucks needed and then with my fists after this city took something from me it had no right to. And honestly? I’m surprised I hadn’t run into you sooner”

“Don't say sorry because I’ve hated that word ever since it happened” You reply

Bruce nods, his grip on the rooftop rial tightening as he stares off into the city skyline, Bruce wore his loss like a tattoo imprinted on his forehead, anyone could see what the violence of this city had done to him without having to read the hundreds of newspapers detailing his parent's gruesome death.

But you, at first glance seemed like a damn tourist in this city, unfazed by the crime and death that seems suffocating to Bruce, radiating a kind of glow and kindness Bruce had long forgotten exists.

“And for the record, I don’t read the newspaper” You reply, causing Bruce to let out a chuckle

“Oh yeah? You’re too prestigious for ink on paper?” Bruce replies

“No, not really, I just like to get my news first hand, as an observer. My uniform may not be as prestigious as yours, but it gets the job done and is a hell of a lot more discreet” You reply, a smile pulling at your cheek.

“Discreet is definitely the word to call it, couldn't even decipher your face in a damn near million-dollar computer” Bruce replies

You look at him in confusion, but he simply shrugs in response and before you can let out a reply, Gordon comes back into view from whatever dark corner he had ventured to.

“Now that you have acquainted yourselves, why don't we find a way to take those sick fuckers down” Gordan replies, and Bruce catches the delighted expression that forms over your features. You nod enthusiastically towards Gordon's words, interjecting pieces of information that even Bruce himself had not acquired. Bruce watches you in your element, formulating a plan with a million other plans B’s, that same unstoppable desire to protect this city that drives Bruce to put on that cape each day, and it’s like Bruce is falling in love.

“So we’ll hit them from the orphanage rather than from it, hopefully, their lack of diligence continues in our favour, Batsy, you okay?” You reply, eyeing him in worry as Bruce stares back with a glazed expression before snapping back at the sound of your nickname.

“Batsy? Now that's a good one” Gordon chuckles

Batman eyes you in question to which you reply with a shrug

“Batman is too long, and I figured if you're gonna be callin’ me Sunny, I’ve got to give you a nickname too, right?” You justify, and Bruce fails to hide the smile that erupts across his face at the mention of him calling you Sunny.

“He’s smiling Gordan!” I made Batman smile!” You giggle, shaking Gordan's shoulders, and if Bruce could he would bottle that sound and keep it forever.

“That's definitely a first, isn't it Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce simply shakes his head

“Can we get back to what’s important here?” Bruce replies, but the smile in his voice is clear as ever, and you don’t know why but it fills you with a burst of joy in a place that had remained empty ever since your sister had left.

“Mhm” You reply, and Gordan shares a knowing look towards Bruce as if to say “I’ve found you out”, and for some strange reason Bruce wants him to, he wants the entire world to know he's completely enamoured and enthralled by you the second he stepped into Gordan's office.

“Alright, whilst you both were arguing over costumes, I got a distress alert from one of the squad cars surveying the area near the orphanage. One of the vans seems to be making some sort of detour, we’ve got to hit them now, I don't know when they will be this unprotected” Gordon replies.

“I’ve got a car waiting for me, so Sunny, you’ll ride with Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce doesn't have a hard time seeing the smile hidden behind Gordan's stern face.

Bruce bristles at the mention of having you so close to him in such an enclosed space, fearing you would protest out of fear of him and all the other insecurities Bruce had burdened. But you nod and smile towards him, and it's like every doubt, every worry is dissipated, and every anxious thought sounds so stupid because nothing else matters but you.

And so, just like moments before Bruce walks side by side with you down the endless corridors of the Gotham Police precinct, but now, with the heart scorching desire to follow you down a hundred endless corridors, to dampen the burn in his chest with your silken soft voice.

Bruce didn't believe in prophecies, or soulmates that transcended time and space, but right now it was as if you both were meant to be. A sacred bond that was carved into stone long before Bruce had started to lose himself in his own purpose, long before the fear of darkness had seized him all those years ago.

Bruce had thought you made a home in the darkness within you, but it was so different now. You embraced this darkness, this thirst like a mother embracing a child, carved it into you like a relic, until it transformed within you to become the light Bruce had been blinding himself to.

And Bruce pleaded for the first time, he begged to the midnight sky for the first time since he cried out for God to will the loss of his parents to be erased. Bruce was left with the bitter taste of a silent sky then, but now he’s on his knees, begging that you would make a home for him too.

Bruce wanted to take the darkness you carried, wanted to uncover it from your skin and bones until all that was left was the illuminating glow Bruce knew he would ruin. But he didn't care, for the second first time today, Bruce wanted to be selfish, and have you all to himself.

Wanted to feel your touch hold him until the burn of your absence was stamped away, wanted you to uncover his cowl and run your fingers through his hair, wanted to curl into your body and under your skin at night, wanted everything. 

Bruce wanted it all.

[fandomnerd9602]

Brother of Barry/Speedster x Caitlin Snow and Killer Frost as R and Frost are helping take care of a sick Caitlin.

Y/N speeds in with a bowl of chicken noodle soup…

Frost takes the thermometer away from a sick Caitlin

Frost: I don’t know what’s more ironic. The fact that you got a cold or that you didn’t get it from me

Caitlin: I’m fine!

Y/N: no you’re not. Now just lay back and let us take care of you

Caitlin: okay

[ageless-aislynn]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people that reblogged from you!

Aw, thank you, hon! 🤗 Yes, I know this is not asking my top 5 ships or characters but my beloved blorbos truly make me so happy, so that's how I'm choosing to answer. If you've been around here for a while, this will not be a surprise to you, lol. 😉In no particular order because I love all my bbs so very much! 😍💖😍

John and Kai (Halo the series)

John and Cortana (Halo the series)

Eobard and Caitlin (The Flash)

Eobard and Frost (The Flash)

Harry and Caitlin/Frost and Nash (The Flash) And that's totally not cheating, it's a tie. *nodnods* 😇

💖💖💖

[thebisexualdogdad]

Earth 2-Barry Allen x Male!reader headcanons

*I'm currently doing a rewatch of the arrowverse and got to the earth 2 episodes and earth 2 Barry was so adorable I just had to write something for him. Anyways here's a quick recap for earth 2 for anyone who's forgotten because I surely did; Barry is still a forensic scientist, Iris is a detective, Joe is a lounge singer, Caitlin, Ronnie and Cisco are all evil metas and I brought Eddie back just for fun since Barry is with reader

● you're a new detective who fell for the adorable nerdy forensic scientist Barry Allen of earth 2

● when you originally asked him out on a date he thought you were just messing with him cause everyone at the station knew he liked you

● but why would the handsome detective (who was also his best friend Iris' partner) want to go out with him?

● Iris assured him that you really did like him and that date eventually led to you guys getting married 3 years later

● every morning before work you make breakfast while he makes the coffee

● it's a nice peaceful moment to start your day and spend quality time with Barry

● you also help him pick out a bowtie that matches whatever sweater and vest he's wearing that day

● double dates out with Iris and Eddie to see Joe sing at Jitterbugs

● as well as having dinner once a week with his parents

● you hear the "so when are we getting grandkids" question all the time

● "soon mom, soon"

● he's so pure and never swears

● he only says "what the heck" or "dang it" or "fudge"

● it makes you laugh at how sweet it is

● watching sci fi shows with Barry and not knowing anything that's going on

● he tries to explain to you all the sciency stuff behind it which still doesn't make any sense but he gets so excited and is so cute doing so you happily listen to him

● being impressed by your husband every time he creates new tech to help in your hunt for Killer Frost, Deathstorm, Reverb and other metas

● Barry keeps tracks of every meta you have put away and all of your other achievements to brag about how great of a detective you are

● one time you and Iris faced off against Killer Frost and Deathstorm and she nearly froze you to death

● Barry never left your bedside in the months you were recovering

● "Barry stop worrying I'm okay"

● "you're the love of my life Y/N I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you"

● "well it's a good thing you don't have to find out"

● when you get approved to go back to work Barry and Iris throw you a big welcome back party

● Barry is super romantic

● he plans something big for every anniversary from the anniversary of the day you met to your first date/first kiss and even the day you proposed

● you don't know how but he manages to get reservations at the most exclusive restaurants in Central city

● Iris "so what did you and Barry get up to over the weekend?"

● "Barry surprised me with dinner at that fancy French place downtown"

● "how?? Eddie and I have been trying to get a reservation there for months but they are booked until next year"

● even though you've been together for years Barry is still so nervous in the bedroom like it's the first time

● he's clumsy and always knocking things over, you've had to replace so many lamps in your home

● he gets embarrassed by how his body reacts to you and still apologizes for moaning too loudly or bucking his hips uncontrollably

● which you always have to reassure him that it's okay for him to enjoy what's happening and that you love how turned on he gets

● especially when you are role-playing and pretending to arrest him

● or when he sees you in your gym clothes after a work out

● he really can't help staring at your biceps it's his weakness

● when earth 1 Barry shows up to fight zoom he is shocked to find out you two are married (as you are Joe's partner on his earth that he's been crushing on) after you take him to an empty hallway at the station to make out when he was pretending to be your Barry

● your Barry finds out and is not happy about it, "he got frisky with my husband?? I have to find this guy and give him a piece of my mind"

● "you're so cute when you're jealous"

● Cisco "I've been trying to get my Barry to ask you out Y/N for so long now I have proof that you guys would be adorable together"

● Barry "maybe we are just meant to be on every earth"

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Jason Holding Your Hand While You Struggle To Walk Beside Him

Jason Voorhees X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, abuse, bodily injuries

Word Count: 940

(A/N:) Happy Friday the 13th sick things! I'm here to bring your boy Jason as a favor to my friend! She loves the franchise and this masked slasher! Guess he's her equivalent to my Michael Myers. I had to write something for her and I really wanted to post it today because duh! So hopefully this will make the other Jason Voorhees fangirls happy! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Your parents had forced you into being a camp counselor at the newly reopened Camp Crystal Lake. Despite your protests at having to spend summer with cruel students you went to school with, you were shipped off and left to fend for yourself. It didn't take long until the horrible things that they did to you during the school year began to happen at the camp. It didn't matter how many times you told the overseers of the camp, your dilemmas fell on deaf ears. Two days into your camp stay and you escaped to your cabin and refused to come out. You locked the door, letting the pleas of the staff go ignored. Thankfully your mother had packed you snacks, so you had no reason to leave.

That second night you had been holed up everything changed. You had fallen asleep, the sounds of night bugs filling the silence until a scream pierced the air. You jolted awake, a shiver going down your spine. Several moments passed as you tried to steady your breathing, your mind chalking it up to the others trying to get you to come out of your cabin. Laying back down you tried to go back again, when another scream froze your blood. You could hear thundering footsteps as the door to your cabin began to shake. One of the counselors beat upon the door, pleading for you to let them in.

"Haven't you tortured me enough," you shouted pulling your blankets over your head. "Go prank someone else!"

Another scream as a machete pierced through the wood of your cabin door and blood splattered across the frosted glass. You choked back a scream, trying to keep as quiet as possible, praying that whoever on the other side would go away. No such luck as the door shattered letting in the attacker. You shook violently at the giant of a man standing before you. Your eye had been blackened from your fellow counselors throwing rocks at you and the palms of your hands had scabbed over where they had tripped you on the gravel.

"Please," you whimpered. "Don't hurt me."

Though he didn't treat you the same as the now dead girl on the ground in front of your cabin, he didn't just leave you alone. You found yourself walking beside the tall killer through the camp that now was stained with the blood of his victims. Your legs felt like jello as you tried to think of some way to get away. He put a hand at the small of your back, trying to be careful of your bruises. No one had treated you so gently but you really didn't want to go into the woods. He was adamant as he pushed you further. How he could see you didn't know as the moon was hidden by the dense foliage of the trees and small bushes. Sticks cracked under your bare feet and despite his large size he stalked through the darkness in absolute silence. You tripped over roots, sticks snagging on your hair, and thorns scratching up your already battered face. He patiently waited for you to catch up, never letting you fall too far behind. The further in the woods you got, the more exhausted you became until every step you took you were tripping. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face and the terror was beginning to swallow you.

The adrenaline you had before was keeping you going, but now that wore out and you were exhausted. You watched the large man disappear in a thick brush. Letting out a relieved breath you hoped that your luck was finally beginning to change. That didn't last long as he returned not seconds later. Seeing you on the ground he slipped the rusted bloodstained machete under his belt and holding out a scarred and bloody hand. You reclined away from his hand. He grunted wiping his hand on his stained pants before reaching out again. He wasn't going to leave so you gave in, placing your much smaller hand in his large palm. He pulled you upwards, getting you back steady on your feet before starting forward again. A few steps in and you noticed that he hadn't released your hand. It was much easier to walk and keep up with him as long as he held your hand tightly. The coolness of his skin against your warmth was a pleasant contrast it had you shivering.

You lost track of the time and how long you had been walking before exhaustion once again nipped at your heels. Despite him leading you, you were beginning to falter once again.

"I'm tired," you mumbled.

Wordlessly and in one motion you were lifted and held in this stranger's arms. He carried you tenderly making sure no branches snagged in your hair or struck your face. He seemed tireless as he pressed forward. Though he hadn't said a word or made any sort of motions to harm you, it had been the nicest you'd ever been treated. The horrors at the camp, not just from his killing spree, seemed to melt away as exhaustion overtook your body. You fell asleep in his arms as he kept walking forward with a purpose. Thoughts of what everyone would think with you missing was at the back of your mind until you were swallowed by sleep. You couldn't bring yourself to worry as you finally felt safe at last, you melted into his embrace and let yourself be carried away. The unknown before you vast and uncharted, but maybe it would be better. Time would only tell.

[voxmortuus]

Hi! How are you? So (Please don't judge me or kill me) I have this request about Hannibal x Fem! College! Reader (Age Gap) . Só Hannibal wants a baby but Reader wants to focus on her education. One day reader thinks that Hannibal is make a sex game but then ended in a non-con situation and in a forced pregnancy, what do you think? Please do not judge or kill me it's just a fantasy

PAIRING: Hannibal x Fem! College! Reader (Age Gap) (First Person POV)

UNIVERSE: Hannibal

WORDS: 766

SUMMARY/PROMPT: See above

Trigger Warning(s): Non-Con & Forced Breeding Implied and lightly described) | Blindfolding | Handcuffing | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT ROMANTICISE OR GLAMORIZE SERIAL KILLERS OR RAPE! I do not condone these actions, nor do I support them! This was written upon request. Do NOT send me hate mail, you will be blocked, do not post on this with any sort of negativity you will be blocked. If you don’t like it don’t read it it’s that simple!!! If you ever encounter this in real life please contact the Sexual Assult Telephone Hotline. Please understand this is a fanfiction, think of it like Hollywood. Also, I’m sorry if this is horrible…..

NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, I'm hoping this finds you well love! PLEASE!! If you ever need someone to talk to about this I extend my inbox to you!

IMAGE CREDIT: Divider by @firefly-graphics | Google I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THESE IMAGES. If these are yours or you know who the creator(s) is please INBOX me and let me know. Thank you.

My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist | Taglist

All of this was such a heavy price to pay, between tuition fees, and book costs, lab fees, I just wanted to focus on school, I just wanted to focus on my classes and graduate and get a good job! But that didn't seem to be what he wanted, he wanted more. He wanted a family. As much as I would love to give it to him, I just couldn't. I needed to focus and it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Coming home one night he approached me and looked me over, tucking some hair behind my ear. He gave me that charming smile, looked me in the eyes, cupped my face in his hands, and sighed softly.

"So, I've been thinking, maybe we could have dinner then we can try something new in the bedroom."

"New? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking that maybe we could try some sensory things."

Looking at him, I let out a slight breath and nodded. Trusting him, I feel that nothing could really go wrong. Little did I know what he was actually planning on doing.

Dinner was fantastic, as usual, and there was no questioning to the amount of wine I had downed, but I didn't have class in the morning, so a little extra wasn't going to hurt.

When he took me to the bedroom it was all done up nicely. A special blindfold, and is that handcuffs? I tilt my head and let out a soft breath. Wined and dined, I feel him grab for my hand and pull me close. Pressing my back against him I rest my head against his shoulder and let out a soft breath.

Feeling his hands wrap around my waist and slowly move up to grip my breasts. I let out a soft moan and my eyes close. Feeling comfortable, feeling like I could take on the world at that moment. I lick my lips and feel his lips move to my beck. My hands draped at my sides as his hands moved under my shirt to remove my shirt, exposing my flesh to the frost-kissed windows.

Letting out another soft whimper I feel his hands moving down my body, looping his fingers in my yoga pants he strips them from me. Looking at me he drinks me in.

Leading me to the bed, I don't question. After all, he told me just what he wanted, and I was willing to oblige. Lying down on the fluffy, warm, welcoming bed. I feel my hands being cuffed to the headboard, and the blindfold being placed over my eyes. Biting my lip I anticipate everything coming my way.

Letting out a shaky breath I bite my lip and listen very carefully. I listen for what he could be doing. I hear the bed move, and fabric moving, his shirt being draped over the chair before he climbed into the bed. Biting my lip I feel his hips against mine. Returning the kiss it isn't long before his lips are moving down my body. As his lips capture a nipple I arch slightly into him and let out a soft whimper. Feeling myself growing wet between the hips I press them upward. Feeling the movement he unzips his pants and before I know it, he's shoving his bare cock into me. At first, I let out a soft whine, but then I grow to panic.

"Hannibal... stop, no. What are you doing?"

He doesn't say anything, he just picks up his thrusts. I start to kick, but I can't grip him, or let alone really fight back because he has me handcuffed.

"I said stop! STOP HANNIBAL! NO!"

But he ignored me. He didn't even bother listening. As he kept thrusting. I kept trying to twist my body but he had a strong grip on me. His thrusts became more painful, more demanding. He was going to get exactly what he wanted to get, and he was only hurting our relationship in the process.

"It's a game love, shhh..."

I knew better, I fuckin knew better!

Sitting there in the doctor's office, I look over at the ultrasound and let out a slow breath, shaking my head. I demanded to know, so the doctor did an ultrasound. Rubbing my face and cleaning the jelly off my lower stomach I close my eyes and shake my head.

After a few moments of talking to the doctor, I am sitting in my car, sniffling and wiping my nose. Picking up the phone I dial his number.

"Hello?"

"Hannibal... we need to talk."